Before

The fragrant smell of banana had wafted down the hall and woken Ava up. She tugged at the leg of my sweatpants, her sweet brown curls wispy from the night’s sleep.

“Ava make?” she said, pointing at the stove. I chuckled.

“No, honey, this is for grown-ups only. You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself, right?”

The expression on Ava’s face made it clear that she was still fascinated by cooking. Though I knew I should maintain boundaries, should impress upon her the caution required around hot burners and frying pans, I couldn’t stare down those huge brown eyes of hers. Not without giving in.

“Ok, you can help Daddy,” I said with a sigh and picked her up. The delight on her face was worth the capitulation already. She grinned and threw her arms around my neck, kissing me on the cheek with a wet noise.

“I love you, Daddy,” she said.

“I love you too, Ava,” I answered, though I knew she was much more vocal in her affection because I’d given in. Lately, she’d been grouchy with Sarah, who was more likely to enforce a ‘no’ and end up with a crying, dramatic Ava.

Still, I’d take what I could get. It wasn’t going to be long before Ava didn’t want to be held like this, watching in rapt fascination as the pancakes grew firm and small bubbles appeared in them. Already, I’d been noticing ways that she was growing up. A lid on a juice cup had frustrated her the other day, a clear affront to her toddler sensibilities. So she’d asked me to take it off and had struggled to drink from a grown-up style cup.

But she’d managed it: most of the apple juice found its way to her stomach, not the front of her clothes.

It was true. They do grow up so fast. Life felt a bit cliche these days.

Good, though. A good cliche. Sometimes I couldn’t believe my luck.

Reviews for the latest Avowed album had lauded our push to create songs with more depth—after all, there was only so much time I wanted to spend singing about parties, girls, and ourselves. Stevie and I had met just a few days ago to prepare for a set of shows we’d be playing soon. It was looking like it’d be a short, but successful tour.

And Sarah had gotten word about a promotion yesterday. Though I didn’t understand the gradations of accountants, I knew she was excited about it, so that was all that mattered: the flushed, vivid smile on the woman I loved.

Now we would celebrate. It was a quiet Saturday morning, interrupted only by Ava’s early wake-up, and through the darkness outside I could see snowflakes beginning to collect on the ground in the yard.

“Look, baby,” I said, “It’s snowing.”

“Snow!” said Ava, her voice a reverent whisper. “Now we can play!”

A laugh bubbled up from inside me. “Not just yet, honey. We have to finish making breakfast, right?”

“Yes yes yes,” Ava said. Her eyes darted to the spatula in my hand. “Ava try?”

Sarah wasn’t awake yet, and there was little harm Ava could do to herself by flipping a pancake poorly, so I did the first one to show her how it worked. And then I gave her the handle.

Unsurprisingly, Ava’s dexterity wasn’t quite up to snuff, so she pushed the pancake up to the side of the pan, then stirred it around unsuccessfully trying to get it to flip over. Just before she looked like she might burst from frustration, I kissed her.

“Good work, Ava!” I said, taking the spatula and finishing the job. “You helped Daddy so much there.”

Though her eyes watered slightly with tears, ready to explode into a tantrum, the praise worked quickly and counteracted her feelings.

“I know it’s overwhelming to try new things, but I’m really proud of you for trying.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice formal and poised. Then she patted me on the head. “Good Daddy.”

Just when I thought my heart couldn’t be any more full, Ava would go and threaten to make me burst.

She insisted on being held while I finished cooking the final few pancakes, though she was no longer interested in commandeering the spatula. Rather, she cuddled into me and gripped the fabric of my shirt while her eyes never left the pancakes in the frying pan.

When we were done, I set up a tray with a plate of pancakes, square of butter sitting on the top of the stack, a little jug of maple syrup, glass of orange juice, and mug of coffee.

“Should we decorate it a bit more?” I asked Ava. It wasn’t every day that Sarah landed a dream-job level promotion. Maybe we had a bud vase I could find and put something pretty inside.

But Ava had other plans: she nodded in response to my question and then raced to her toy box, where she muttered to herself as she sifted through various plastic animals, building blocks, and a few Disney princesses. Then she found it.

“This one,” she proclaimed, holding up the figure proudly above her head. It was a vivid green tyrannosaurus, about three inches tall and snarling.

“He’s great,” I said. “What’s his name?”

“Mommy,” she said.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I just assumed it was a boy dinosaur.”

“No, it’s Mommy.”

We placed Mommy the T-Rex on the breakfast tray where she could guard the maple syrup, and then Ava led the way to the bedroom. She barged in and jumped on Sarah, chattering excitedly about dinosaur Mommy and the real life human Mommy’s pancakes.

“Morning,” said Sarah, blearily opening up her eyes while Ava sprawled across Sarah’s torso. Sarah and I made a wordless pact to caffeinate heavily; Ava was going to have even more energy once she’d eaten maple syrup.

“Congratulations on being a brilliant mathematician slash accountant,” I said. I then sank onto the bed, covering my chilly feet with the duvet and shuffling closer to Sarah’s cocoon of warmth. I kissed her cheek. “Ava and I made you banana pancakes. Oh, and it’s snowing.”

“Rats,” said Sarah. “I was hoping that I’d be able to drive to Chicago in good weather.”

“Hey, maybe it’ll clear up by tomorrow.”

“Unlikely,” she said. “But thank you so much.” Sarah kissed me, and then pinned Ava down in a bear hug and smothered her in kisses. “You are both so precious to me.”

“Likewise, Mommy,” I said. “But just a warning—see that dinosaur there? She’s edging in on your territory. You’ve got competition.”

“Is that so?” Sarah laughed. “Ava, who’s this?”

“Mommy,” Ava said while she ran a finger along the swirling tail of the dinosaur toy.

Sarah widened her eyes at me. “I see I’m being replaced.”

“Nothing can replace you,” I said. And then I kissed her, the swirling snowflakes outside making the bedroom feel all the more cozy, a safe haven in a storm. A quiet place for us to winter as a family, before I jetted off on the Avowed tour, before Sarah went through the training in Chicago that would help her do this new job.

If only I’d known how much that last day would hurt, in hindsight.

There were no safe places, no havens or sanctuaries or even corners for respite. All there was, after that week, was the haunting, empty echoes of memories of things that we’d never get to be, ever again.