She almost never complained.
But sometimes I’d see her sitting on the back steps after Sophie was asleep, holding a mug of coffee that had gone cold hours earlier.
Those nights, she looked impossibly tired.
Caleb, however, never saw Sophie as work.
He saw Sophie as Sophie.
When she was still small enough for a stroller, he would sit on the sidewalk beside her and draw pictures on his sketchpad.
He brought her dandelions from our lawn.
He learned exactly which silly face made her laugh.
He discovered that if he balanced a plastic cup on his head and pretended to sneeze, Sophie would laugh so hard she got hiccups.
When she started crawling, he crawled around the yard with her.
When she learned to clap, he clapped back every time, even if she did it fifty times in a row.
One afternoon Jenna said to me, “You know he’s her favorite person, right?”
Caleb heard her.
He tried to look casual.
He failed.
For the rest of the week he introduced himself to people as “Sophie’s favorite person.”
Then, about a month before Sophie’s second birthday, Caleb and I were walking through a shopping center when he suddenly stopped.
There was a children’s clothing store beside us.
In the display window hung a tiny red dress.
Nothing extravagant.
Just soft red fabric, short sleeves, a little satin bow around the waist, and a skirt that flared out.
Caleb pressed both hands to the glass.
“Mom.”
I knew that tone.
“No.”
“But I haven’t asked anything.”
“You’re about to.”
He pointed.
“Sophie would look like a princess in that.”
I smiled.
“She would.”
“We should buy it.”
I checked the price tag through the window.
Forty-two dollars.
“We’re not buying a forty-two-dollar dress today.”
His face fell.
“Why?”
“Because we came here for your sneakers, and because Sophie already has clothes.”
“But her birthday is coming.”
That made me hesitate.
Jenna had told me a few days earlier that she wasn’t doing much for Sophie’s second birthday.
She’d recently had several unexpected expenses associated with Sophie’s developmental programs, plus a medical bill that insurance hadn’t fully covered.
“I’ll make cupcakes,” she’d said. “Maybe balloons in the backyard. She’s two. She won’t care about a big party.”
She’d laughed when she said it.
