I'm upstairs in my walk-in closet, trying on dress after dress, when the doorbell rings. It must be the babysitter.
"Hattie, honey, will you get the door? It's Savannah," I call down, peering around the closet entryway to make sure my voice carries down the stairs.
"Savannah, Savannah!" Harriet sings, and I hear her feet stomping as she runs towards the front of the house. The security system makes its run of the mill 'beep-beep-beep' as the door opens, then I hear Harriet's voice again as she squeals, "Daddy!"
It's not Savannah after all. Jackson is early. Or maybe I'm late. Shit, shit, shit.
"Hey, Peep," he says, making a playful roaring sound as I assume he picks Harriet up off the ground. "Where's your mama?"
"Upstairs, getting fancy," Harriet says. "Mommy! It's Daddy!"
"I'll be right down!" I shout, then run my hands through my curled hair. Manically, I flip through the dresses that are hanging in front of me - ones I haven't tried on and discarded, that is - until I come across something that Jackson has never seen me in.
In fact, no one has ever seen me in it. I bought it on a whim on a solo shopping trip, during one of the rare times I felt like splurging. It's black and satin with spaghetti straps and a low back. The bust drapes over my chest just right when I slip it on, and I dig through my jewelry box until I find the diamond necklace that Jackson surprised me with on our wedding night.
I glance in the mirror and decide, at the last minute, to tie my hair up in a loose bun instead of keeping it down. He always used to go on and on about seeing my neck and shoulders, and I can't help but remember that. I try to keep the smile off my face as all those memories come back.
I slip into a pair of black heels, grab my purse, and start down the stairs. As I'm descending, Jackson opens the door for Savannah with a smile on his face. She's eating something, but I can't see what it is.
"Oh, hey, can you do me a favor?" Jackson says to her. "April's allergic to peanuts pretty bad. Could you finish that up before you come in?"
"Oh, god!" Savannah says. She continues after that, but I'm too concentrated on the fact that Jackson said something about my allergy to hear what it is.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, everyone's eyes are on me. "Mommy," Harriet says, speaking first. "That is too fancy."
I pretend to gape at her. "What do you mean, too fancy?" I say.
She lifts her eyebrows and makes an animated little expression. Then, she cups both hands around her mouth and whisper-shouts, "Boobies."
"Oh, goodness," I say, flushing a little - especially with Savannah right there.
"Hey, hey, don't be a hater," Jackson says, picking his daughter up and swinging her upside down. "We've got a hater in the building!"
"Nuh-uh!" Harriet says, belly-laughing as her hair hangs towards the floor. "You're a hater!"
"I ain't hating," Jackson says. "Daddy likes that dress. In fact, he loves it. That necklace, too."
As I watch Jackson and Harriet, I take stock of the fact that he looks nice tonight, too. He's wearing dark, slim pants, a turtleneck, and a blazer - as always, he cleans up very nice.
He gently drops Harriet onto the couch, where she bounces once. "Should we get going?" he asks me, walking back to the door.
"Yeah," I say, then look at Savannah. "Bedtime at 8, no matter what she tries to tell you."
"10!" Harriet says from the couch.
"8:30 at the latest," I say, and Savannah smiles and nods. "Her pajamas are folded on her bed; the pink ones are clean."
"Mommy, Mommy," Harriet says, jumping off the couch and running over to me. "Come kiss me when you're home, okay? And tell me goodnight?"
"Always," I say, then lift her onto my hip. I give her a big smooch that leaves lipstick behind, but she doesn't wipe it away - one day, though, she will, so I'm cherishing this age.
"And cover up your boobies!" she says, pressing her hands to my chest.
I crack up laughing and set her back down, then head out the door after Jackson opens it. We get in the car and he glances over at me, and I definitely do not miss the way his eyes travel south.
"Sorry, it's a little chilly in here," he says, then smirks to himself.
I glance down to see what I know he saw - the fact that I should have put nipple covers on under this dress. I smack him with the back of my hand and he cracks up laughing, so I cross my arms over my chest.
"No, no, don't cover up the boobies," he says, starting the car. "Here, I'll turn the heat on. Calm 'em down a little bit."
I shake my head and lean back against the seat, feeling comfortable and at home next to him in his car. At a stoplight, he turns and looks over at me, which means he catches the way I'd already been looking at him.
"Hi," I say, grinning.
He reaches across the console and rests his hand on my thigh, and I can't help but smile wider. Everything about him - about us - is familiar, and it's so nice to fall back into all these old routines. All the good ones.
I overlap his hand with mine and keep it there. As he drives, I stroke his skin and slip my fingers through his, then say, "You told Savannah about my allergy."
He gives me a small, questioning expression. "Should I not have?" he asks. "You grow out of it, or something?"
"I don't think I'm growing out of anything at my age," I say, scoffing.
"What do you mean, your age?" he says, then picks up my hand and kisses it. "You're young. You're still that 27-year-old I met at Mercy West."
"Oh, you are so glad that I'm not," I say, rolling my eyes.
"True," he says, "but only because 27-year-old April would clutch her pearls at what me and freaky ass 40-year-old April get up to in the bedroom."
"You're disgusting," I say, shoving him.
"But am I wrong?" he asks.
"I'm not answering that," he says. "Our first date as an official couple, and here you go with your smut."
"I've never heard you complain about my smut before," he says.
I blush and try to keep the smile off my face, but it doesn't work. We both end up laughing like idiots before I finally get back around to what I had been saying initially.
"You always used to forget about me and peanuts," I say. "Actually, I remember the first time you forgot. On the plane."
He groans. "Don't remind me about that damn plane."
"Yeah, I know," I say. It's not either of our finest memories, nor was it either of our finest moments. "But you forgot about it then. And you did a few more times, too, while we were married."
With a concentrated look on his face, he pulls into a parking space and stops the car. Then, with a deep breath, he turns towards me and keeps my hand. "I forgot about a lot of stuff when we were married," he says. "Important stuff. I forgot that me and you are... me and you. I forgot that we were best friends first, and that we'll always be best friends. I forgot about the peanut allergy, along with plenty of other things."
He squeezes my fingers, then lifts his hand to caress my cheek.
"I forgot about a lot of things while we were apart, too," he says. "I forgot what it's like to laugh until your stomach hurts. I forgot what it's like to fall asleep next to someone who you can't wait to wake up next to. I forgot how nice it felt to get texts from you on a really long work day." He takes a deep breath and sighs it out. "I don't wanna forget that again. Any of it."
"No," I say. "Me, neither. And I know I did a lot of things wrong, too. There's a lot of things I have to address, and fix..."
"Same here," he says, "and we'll get there. But for now, tonight..." He looks out the windshield towards the restaurant in front of us, with its front window glowing a warm, welcoming yellow. "Let's go on our first date."