so close to hope

XXV

The nights are finally getting warmer.

It's your favorite time of year -- the muggy transition from spring to summer. Roseanne thinks you're crazy. She loves the start of spring, when brave daffodils push up through the last remnants of snow. But for you, the end of spring -- when the days start getting noticeably longer and May gives way to June -- wins out.

Maybe it's a trust thing. At this time of year it's finally safe to go out all day without bringing a jacket or a flannel just in case the temperature dips.

Besides, warm nights mean dinners on the back patio.

Roseanne fell in love with this little blue house the moment the realtor opened the door, but you weren't sold right away. It was hard to see past the scuffed floors and laminate countertops, and you were about to write it off when you looked out the kitchen windows to the back yard.

Back then, calling it a patio would've been generous. You could barely see the paving stones through the bunches of weeds growing between them, and the trellis overhead looked on the dangerous side of rickety, but you immediately got a sense of its potential.

It took weeks of blood, sweat, and tears to make the patio halfway decent, but you loved every moment of it. Even before you'd saved enough to buy outdoor furniture, you and Roseanne took to spending the summer nights sitting cross-legged on the sun-warmed bricks and drinking cheap wine from dixie cups.

You couldn't imagine being happier.

***

Tonight, as you help your wife and daughter carry dessert outside, you know that there's no ceiling on happiness.

Rami places the bowl of whipped cream on the table with a theatrical sigh (a new habit she definitely learned from her Mama).

"We should get one of those mixers that they have in baking class."

"That would be easier," Roseanne says, laughing. "But my dad always said whisking by hand makes everything taste better. Not to mention that all that hard work will make your arms extra strong."

Ami flexes her right arm and giggles when Roseanne lets out a low whistle.

"And that's how they made whipped cream before electricity," you say, making your history-buff kid's eyes light up. "So it's the most authentic method, really."

Roseanne grins at you and winks. You both know the real reason you can't entertain the thought of buying a standing mixer is that a decent one would cost more than the baking class itself. And you're still paying off the flights to London, which you split among three credit cards. But Rami doesn't need to know that.

"I saw an old ice cream churner on the History Channel yesterday," Ami says. "Maybe we should make authentic rocky road next week."

You and Roseanne gape at her as she scoops a pile of strawberries onto her plate, topping it off with a healthy dollop of whipped cream. You're not totally sure if she's serious until a giddy smirk creeps across her face. Roseanne tosses a strawberry slice at her and Ami shrieks.

Maybe you'll think otherwise during her teenage years, but right now you can't imagine Rami being sarcastic with you will ever get old. You know from experience how much trust it takes for a foster kid to let their guard down this much.

"I miss baking class. And not just because of the mixers." Ami smiles at both of you, biting her strawberry-stained bottom lip. "I think that was my best Christmas gift."

She says that about every Christmas gift you gave her, from the family baking class to the waffle-themed tee, but it never fails to make your heart seize up. Last fall, when you and Roseanne were buying her presents, you assumed asking Ami if you could adopt her would overshadow all the rest, but she doesn't seem to group the "adoption proposal" (a term of Lily's that's stuck) in the same category as the other gifts.