Waffles. Just us three, after church tomorrow?
When Jackson said that to me after a long, grueling shift at the hospital, I thought I'd been dreaming. But the look in his eyes was so sincere, so genuine, I knew he wasn't kidding.
And nothing sounded more perfect than that.
"You want to go to church?" I asked, dumbfounded.
He shrugged, taking Harriet from her favorite daycare worker. "We both have the day off," he said. "I don't wanna miss a minute with you two."
So, we stopped at the grocery store before we went home and picked up necessary ingredients to make homemade waffles.
"No boxed powder," I said, settling Harriet into the baby seat in the cart. "These are gonna be legit homemade waffles."
"Hear that, babes?" Jackson said, brushing Harriet's cheek with his thumb. "Mama is getting all Chef Boyardee on us."
"I prefer Rachael Ray," I said, pushing the cart through the produce section to make our way to the inner aisles. I picked up a bag of apples and zucchini without noticing that we lost Jackson along the way. That is, until I heard his voice from way behind.
"Babe," he called out. I turned around and saw him holding up a huge, phallic vegetable that I'd never seen before in my life. He had a gigantic grin on his face; he thought he was hilarious. "I'm gonna buy this for you," he told me.
I rolled my eyes lightly. "Get over here," I said, waving my arm. Then, I looked at our baby who was giggling with her fist in her mouth. "Is Daddy funny?" I asked her.
I heard Jackson's footsteps behind me, then felt something poke me hard in the ass.
"Gotcha," he said, laughing as I turned around to swat him.
I took the ugly vegetable and set it down out of his reach. "You're lucky the baby's right here, or else I would've beaten you with that," I said.
"Uh-huh," he said, wrapping an arm around my waist as we resumed shopping. "Keep talkin'."
I'd been exciting for early service on Sunday morning, but now the last thing I want to do is get up. I'm snuggled under the covers, wearing soft pajama shorts and one of Jackson's t-shirts, with his body cocooned around mine.
I feel his heartbeat, steady against my back. One strong arm is under my head with the other slung low on my hip, and one of his legs is woven between both of mine. I'm gratefully stealing all of his body heat, and not apologizing for it. He's stays so warm at night, while I'm always cold.
"Time to wake up, kitty-cat…" he whispers, tracing my ear as he curls a bit of hair behind it.
"Mmph," I murmur, turning my head to the side to smush my face into the pillow.
"What was that?" he asks, kissing the corner of my jaw. "Didn't quite hear you."
"Can't," I say.
"Why's that?"
"Too comfy," I say, arching my back to stretch and inadvertently shoving my ass into the front of his hips.
He groans and I chuckle, eyes still closed as I feel his hands on my waist, pushing me away from his morning erection.
"Get your little ass away from me," he says playfully.
"You don't mean that," I say, rolling over so we're chest-to-chest with my palms resting on either side of his neck.
"You're right," he says. "I don't. But we don't have time for you to be all frisky."
I giggle mischievously. "I'm not being all frisky," I say, swinging one leg over both of his to pull him closer. I can feel his hard-on through his boxers, pressing insistently against my inner thigh. Dangerously close to where I like it.
"Oh, really," he says, tracing the strip of bare skin above the waistband of my shorts. "Then what's all this groping about?"
"Groping…" I trail off, skimming one hand around his body to grab a firm handful of his ass. "Not familiar."
"Not familiar, huh?" he says playfully, pushing me onto my back to hover over me and tickle me senseless. "Not familiar?"
I burst out laughing, eyes pinched shut tight as I wriggle and writhe beneath him. His fingers dig into my neck, armpits and waist without giving me a reprieve. I can barely catch my breath to tell him I give in.
"Babe, babe, babe, stop," I gasp, futilely trying to push him off.
His hands stop moving and he kisses my neck, circling his hands around my waist before going lower and blowing a loud raspberry on my bare stomach.
"Jackson!" I laugh, but all he does is push my shirt higher and continue to blow against my skin. "You're gonna wake up the baby."
"It's time to get up anyway," he says, pausing with the shirt at the top of my ribcage while flashing his eyes.
"Are you gonna get handsy with me?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.
He chuckles to himself, squeezing each of my breasts in his hands before flipping up my shirt and covering them with kisses. I watch him with a bemused smile on my face as he licks the underside of one and pulls the nipple into his mouth, sucking hard so it has no choice but to harden. The other does the same as his thumb rubs rough circles over it.
"They could cut glass," he says, kissing my heartbeat in the middle of my chest.
"Thanks to you," I say, then sit up so the shirt falls.
"Aw…" he says, pulling back.
"You said it yourself," I say. "It's time to get up and get ready. But… give me a rain check for later."
He steals a kiss on my cheek. "Can do," he says.
At church, I wear a green dress with a collar and three-quarter length sleeves. Jackson and I sit in a pew, hip-to-hip, and Harriet busies herself on my lap with the quietest toy we could find. She's teething, so she entertains herself by chewing on it and subsequently drooling all over the skirt of my dress.
I steal glances at my husband every now and then as he watches the pastor preach with curious intensity. His eyebrows are furrowed just slightly, like they get when he's reading through a medical journal. I can't help but smile to myself at the way he looks, like he's desperately trying to learn something, desperately trying to understand where my mindset came from.
I love him for it.
With one arm around Harriet's belly so she won't go tumbling, I use the other to secure a hand on Jackson's knee. He looks over when I touch him and smiles warmly, extending an arm to rest on the pew behind me, fingers on my shoulder. He kisses my temple and I lean into him, giggling when the baby babbles loudly and disturbs the quiet sanctity of the fellowship hall hushed in prayer.
I close my eyes, bow my head and rest my chin atop my baby's curls. I know Jackson isn't praying, but it doesn't bother me. His presence is enough.
I don't have to pray for our happiness, that contentment is already here. Instead, I pray for it to last.
"Amen," I say aloud, my voice lost among the chorus of others.
When it's time to sing, everyone stands. Jackson holds open the hymn book, though I don't need it as I sway back and forth, dancing with the very amused baby.
"You don't have to sing," I tell him, during the intro of the song.
"Afraid I'll show you up?" he asks, then traces his fingers under the lyrics to the first song.
"Oh, Lord, my god… when I, in awesome wonder, consider all the worlds thou hands have made… I see the stars, I hear the roaring thunder… thy power throughout the universe displayed…" I sing, confidently.
I know Jackson loves hearing me sing; I feel his eyes on me instead of the book. But when I look over to meet his gaze, he looks back to the pages and starts to sing. Quietly, but all the same.
"And sings my soul, my savior, God, to thee… how great thou art… how great thou art… then sings my soul… my savior, God, to thee… how great thou art… how great thou art…"
Feeling him next to me, singing a song I've sung all my life, I'm overcome with emotion. So much so, that my eyes burn and well up with tears as the instrumental break plays and I sway Harriet back and forth. I knew marriage with him would be good, I knew I'd love it. I just never knew it would be this much. I never knew I could love someone this much.
When the song ends, one tear slips down my cheek and I smile through it. I glance over at Jackson as he closes the hymn book, and he kisses the wetness away and lingers for only a moment until we sit back down and listen to the rest of the sermon.
For the ride home, he keeps one hand on the steering wheel and the other planted on my thigh. I overlap his grip with mine, tracing the familiar ridges and veins under his skin and relishing the comfort of his touch.
"Who's ready for waffles?" Jackson says, once we get inside and get our shoes off.
Harriet shrieks, and I start laughing. "Let me get out of this dress," I say. "And I'll come help."
Jackson takes the baby from my arms. "She's just worried I'll burn them," he says, kissing her temple repeatedly.
"You know it," I call, over my shoulder. I change into leggings and a pink t-shirt, then come back into the kitchen to find Harriet in her high chair and Jackson getting all the ingredients we need out of the fridge.
I connect my phone to our bluetooth speakers and turn Spotify on shuffle for some background music. I spin around and collect the dry ingredients from the cupboard, joining the ones Jackson has already gathered.
"You can go change out of your church clothes," I say, as he sets the eggs down.
"You sure?" he says. "I know how much you like a well-dressed man."
I roll my eyes and snort. "I like you in sweatpants just as much."
"Yeah, the gray ones," he says. "'Cause then you can see the-"
"Go change," I say, palm pressed flat to the middle of his chest. I look at Harriet as I get out two big bowls to mix the ingredients in. "Your daddy's gonna have to watch his mouth pretty soon. Or else you're gonna start understanding him."
She giggles, flashing a three-toothed smile.
"There's my pretty girl," I say, and as the song switches to 'Melt' by JONES, I hear Jackson singing under his breath as he walks back into the kitchen.
"Whatever happens… you know we're gonna repair. Whatever happens… you know we got somethin' rare…"
I raise my eyebrows in surprise.
"You're quite the singer today," I say. "How do you know this song?"
He saunters up to me, shrugging one shoulder as he winds his arms around my waist. "How do you know it?" he asks.
"It's my style," I say.
"And that's how I know it."
I spin around to face him. "Be serious," I say. "How do you know it?"
If I'm not mistaken, he flushes a little. I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen him do that.
"I listened to it a lot while we… weren't okay," he says, rocking his weight from foot to foot and swaying us both. "It seemed to fit us pretty well."
"I always thought that," I say, tracing the collar of his t-shirt. I can't help but smile. "You must've listened to it a lot to know the words."
He nears his face to mine, lips moving against my ear as he sings under his breath. "We've got the heat… melt with me… you know we've got the heat… melt with me…"
He twirls me in time to the beat, then pulls me close to his chest to dance with me. My smile nearly breaks my face in half, and only grows when Harriet claps her hands together and squeals with happiness.
We dance in the kitchen until the waffle iron heats up, then Jackson gets to work on crafting perfect waffles while Harriet and I wait at the counter.
"You sure you don't need any help?" I ask, leaning forward with my chin in my palms.
"You mixed everything together," he says. "Now, let me do my part."
I giggle and acquiesce, shrugging as I lift Harriet out of her chair and onto my lap. I play with her curls as I watch my husband, equally as amazed by him now as I was on the day we got married.
"Thank you, by the way," I say.
"Ma," Harriet says, swiveling around and planting her palm on my cheek.
"Yes, hi, honey," I say, and kiss her forehead. "Hi, sweet baby."
Jackson smiles softly at us. "You're welcome," he says. "But why are we thanking me?"
"For coming to church," I say. "That meant a lot to me."
"I told you I'd be there," he says.
"Yeah…" I say, voice dying at the end. "But that was a long time ago."
"But I'm not a guy who makes promises I can't keep," he says. "Someone important told me that, also a long time ago. But I haven't forgotten."
"No," I say. "You haven't, have you?"
He shakes his head, lifting the cover to the waffle iron and taking out the first one. "First one's yours," he says, dishing it on a plate.
"I just never thought I'd see you singing hymns next to me," I say, still astounded that it actually happened as I butter my waffle.
"Miracles happen," he says, throwing me a wink as he pours more batter into the iron. "I sang quiet just so I could hear your voice, though."
"Daddy likes Mommy's singing," I whisper into Harriet's ear, and she giggles.
"Daddy likes everything about Mommy," Jackson says, a sure smile on his face.
"And even the things he doesn't like, he loves," I say, finishing his famous words for him.
He points his finger and Harriet screams with joy. "Dada!" she yells.
We both gasp. Up until this point, she's been saying a lot of 'ma' and 'mama,' but this is the first time she's said 'dada.'
"Guess I wasn't the only one driven to speak from Mark's words," Jackson says, then places his hands on his chest. "Who's this, Hattie? Who's this?"
She giggles that loud, infectious giggle. "Dada!" she shouts again.
"You just earned yourself a waffle, little girl," he says, and plops one onto her high chair tray and cuts it up into bite-size morsels with syrup included.
I watch him - the man who thought he could never be a father - fill the role so gracefully, with so much ease. With her, he doesn't have to try. He doesn't have to act like someone he isn't. With his daughter, he just lets himself be. And it's the most beautiful thing in the world.
After we're done eating our waffles and the kitchen is somewhat cleaned up, Harriet starts falling asleep sitting up.
"I'm gonna go put her down," I say, wiping the baby's syrupy cheeks with a warm washcloth. Her head bobs as I do so, and she relaxes against my chest when I lift her out.
Jackson nods and continues to put dishes away, and I go lay Harriet in her crib for her early-afternoon nap. When I come back out, Jackson has switched the music to some low, instrumental tracks and stripped off his shirt.
"What're you up to?" I ask, watching him walk to the rug in the middle of the living room.
"I owe you a rain check," he says. "Don't I?"
I laugh. "On the living room floor?"
"No place better," he says. "Come on. Come here, kitty-cat. It's good for your back. Ergonomically correct, or something."
I sink to my knees and crawl over to him, where he's already stretched out on his back. "You heard that from a commercial," I say, resting on his lower torso and pulling my shirt over my head.
"Probably," he says, taking my waist in his hands.
I bend to kiss him, our bodies flush together, and grind my center against his growing erection. With my mouth open on his, his fingers dig into my ribs and the sensation makes me hum with pleasure.
"Did you mean what you said earlier?" I ask, reaching behind me to play with the hem of his sweatpants.
"About what?"
"About that song reminding you of us," I say.
He smiles. "April, you know me," he says. "Better than anyone else in this world. And you know I don't just say stuff like that." He pulls me down again from my sitting position and kisses my neck. "Of course I meant it. I missed you every damn day we spent apart."
"I missed you, too," I say, making another surprised, pleased sound when his hand finds my breast. "But I think… now, we're even better."
"Me, too," he says. "I'm just so glad to have you back."
"We're gonna be good this time," I say. And they aren't just words. It's a promise.
We make out until our lips are red and swollen. When both of us are naked, I feel his hands on my ass, urging me forward, and my forehead screws up in confusion. He's still on his back, I'm still on top of him, but he's pulling me higher on his body.
"What are you…"
"Just trust me," he says. "I'm gonna make you feel good. Just come here."
I give him a confused look, but comply anyway. I scoot forward on my knees until his face is right below me.
"What do you want from me?" I ask, hands on my breasts as I look confusedly down at him.
"Sit," he says.
My eyes widen. "You're crazy," I say. "You want me to sit on your face? You're gonna suffocate."
"April," he says, practically huffing. "No, I'm not. Shush. Just - come - here."
He yanks my hips down and opens his mouth on me, and my lips part with pure surprised as a shocked yelp escapes me. "Oh, god," I moan, feeling his tongue inside as I'm looking right down at his face. His eyes are closed with pleasure, his hands solid on my thighs; this is an entirely new angle for us. We've never done it like this before.
I can't help it - I start to oscillate my pelvis against his face. In this position, his nose brushes against something that makes my shoulders jolt forward. I feel myself getting closer, so I rub my thumbs over my nipples and grind my hips harder, and he digs his fingers into my ass as he sucks the hardest he has so far.
I fall forward with my palms flat on the rug as I come, the lower half of my body trembling. When his mouth detaches from me, I roll over onto my back and hold one hand to my heart that's beating wildly under it.
"See, baby…" he says, kissing his way up my body until his overlaps mine.
"Uh-huh," I breathe, hands lowering from my chest to grapple for him. I rest them on his hips, where I feel him adjusting on top of me.
"Can you come again?" he asks, nudging my chin with his nose so he can kiss my throat.
I let out a loud gust of air, eyelashes fluttering. "Yeah," I say, pulling his hips forward until he sinks inside me.
I get a little rug burn on my back and he leaves a few bite marks on my neck, but the stinging from both is welcomed after how hard he makes me come, yet again. And when it's over, we lie there on the rug completely naked, wrapped up in each other much like we were this morning.
"I love you," he says, stroking my hair away from my forehead so he can kiss it.
I look up at him, eyes exuding love and admiration. We've had a tough run, and there will surely be more tough times ahead. But no matter what happens, we can always, and will always, come back to this.
So, with my body tucked close to his, I whisper, "I love you, too."