Page 19 of That First Flight
Is she happy now?
I shake off any of those thoughts before I spiral and I pull out my old laptop that has a crack right down the middle of the screen to creep on theNotes from Oliver Fordblog page. He doesn’t post often, but when he does, it looks like it takes off like wildfire.
His most recent post was about his trip to Montana and the first thing I notice is the thousands of comments on the page. Not only does this man have a keen sense of how to make someone smile when it’s the last thing they want to do, but he can capture the beauty of the world through a lens perfectly.
I can confidently say that because I’ve seen those mountains and scenic views in person, his images make me feel like I’m right there again. We must have been in the same area at the same time when we were there because I recognized some of the restaurants he showcased in the blog and his honest review of them.
The Den was one amongst them and he rated it the lowest. He’s on point with that because that place is a total shithole and not worth the time or energy to eat there.
The last photo on the bottom of the post has me doing a complete double take on my screen. Despite the crack cutting through the image, I see all of him.
He’s advertising a brand of outdoor attire on top of a mountain during the sunset. He’s modeling the khaki pants by lifting his shirt just the slightest bit as if he’s about to lift the bottom of it to wipe his face like most guys do with their shirts outdoors. A move that allows people to see the brand name at the waistband of the pants he’s influencing people to buy.
But my eyes land on the chiseled V-cut abs peeking out of the top.
I’m not on the hunt for a relationship of any kind, but I have two weaknesses when it comes to men. When they’re in a pair of mountain boots with a flannel and a backwards ball cap, or when a man is dressed in a pair of dark gray dress pants and a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up just enough to expose their forearms.
Unfortunately for me, I’m staring at a picture of weakness number one.
“Good morning, Mom.” Mackenzie’s tired voice causes me to jump in my seat, which startles her too. “Jeez, relax. It’s just me.”
“You just scared me, that's all.”
I close my laptop quickly, guilt immediately reaching my stomach that I lost track of time and don’t have any sort of breakfast ready for her.
“I’m sorry I didn’t make anything for breakfast yet.” I move quickly to the mini kitchen, assessing what we have that I can make. “I can do eggs and bacon or French toast today.”
“What are you sorry for?” She lets out an amused laugh. “I’m actually happy you didn’t make breakfast yet.”
“You are?”
“Yeah.” She nods, jumping up to sit on the small kitchen counter. “I was hoping you can teach me how to make French toast myself.”
I give her a side eye. “You’re a little too young to work the stovetop yourself, Mackenzie.”
“I’m eight. Not two. I can handle French toast on the stove top. It’s like three ingredients.”
The straight sass from her. Lord help me when she’s actually a teenager.
“You’re eight going on eighteen it seems.” I laugh. “Too smart for your own good.”
“I get all of my bests from you.”
Lack of sleep plus my daughter saying things like that has me blinking back tears. I move quickly around the kitchen to gather the supplies, hoping that she doesn’t see me getting emotional on her.
Ihatethe idea of her seeing me at my weakest because I’m supposed to be the strongest person she knows.
“Let me get the stuff.” She hops off the counter.
She moves around the kitchen with ease grabbing the eggs, milk, cinnamon, and a loaf of bread before she pulls out the only flat pan we have that we make do with because we don’t have room for anything bigger.
I don’t remember much from when I was a child, but she reminds me of me when I was younger. Always in the kitchen and trying to bake or cook something. She moves like she was born to be in here. While I don't think she dreams of being a chef like I do, that's okay.
I want her to chase her own dreams.
I give Mackenzie step by step instructions while I let her do all the work to make French toast, and I decide to figure out what we’re doing tonight to celebrate the New Year.
“What do you want to do tonight? I should be off work before the ball drops.”