Thirty-Eight

Monkey in the Morning

 

Ari was still smiling when they reached the bedroom—then the quiet disappeared.

Lily was already standing in her crib, triumphant, her blanket and favorite stuffed toy discarded behind her like yesterday’s news. Meatball was stretched out beneath the crib, one massive paw forward, one eye half-closed but alert—the picture of lazy devotion, as if he had been on watch the entire time and took the role very seriously.

The second Lily spotted them, she squealed and babbled happily, her whole body bouncing with excitement. Whatever had delayed them clearly hadn’t met her approval, and she looked more than ready to lodge a formal complaint about it.

“Hey, monkey,” Jon said, lifting her from the crib with an easy familiarity that made her immediately settle against him. “Sorry we took so long. Daddy had to help Mommy wash her hair. Very important. Very hands-on.”

Ari didn’t even look at him at first. She reached for Lily’s blanket, smoothing it out with practiced ease, calm as anything.

“Say another word,” she said mildly, “and I revoke your shower privileges.”

Jon paused.

Ari knew that look—that split second where he considered it, weighed the consequences, and chose chaos anyway.

Then he grinned.

“There’s other rooms.”

“All of which you’re welcome to sleep in if you keep it up.”

Lily reached up and gave Jon a tiny, admonishing pat on the cheek, her face scrunched in mock severity, as if she fully understood the situation and had decided to intervene.

Meatball thumped his tail once in silent agreement, ever loyal to whoever was winning the argument at the time.

Jon only smiled wider.

“Give her to me,” Ari said, stretching out her arms. “She needs a new diaper, and you have breakfast to make.”

“Go to Mommy,” Jon said, passing Lily over. “Who wants pancakes?” he added as he headed for the door, already halfway out of the room.

Meatball was up instantly, nails clicking against the floor as he followed. He skidded to a stop in the kitchen just as Jon reached the oversized island, barely managing to keep his footing. He barked once—sharp, hopeful. Then again, louder, as if sheer enthusiasm might somehow speed the process along.

Jon pulled a mixing bowl from the cupboard. “Scoot.”

Meatball hesitated, sitting and standing in quick succession, caught somewhere between obedience and optimism, unsure which version of himself would yield pancakes faster.

“You heard me. Go.”

“He thinks the pancakes are for him,” Ari said, shifting Lily on her hip as she came down the stairs, her voice carrying that quiet amusement she never quite hid.

“They’re not.”

Ari snorted softly and settled Lily in her high chair. A very disappointed dog followed, ears low but eyes still hopeful. Lily immediately began pounding the tray with both hands, delighted with her own noise, while Meatball positioned himself at her feet like he’d been assigned there.

“That a boy,” Ari said absently. “You know who feeds you.”

Jon glanced at the dog, then back at Ari, clearly outnumbered in his own kitchen. He flipped the pancake with unnecessary flair, sending it higher than required, catching it cleanly.

Ari didn’t look up. “Showing off again?”

“Hey. Be nice, or I’ll feed yours to the dog.”

Lily responded with a squeal as Meatball carefully licked banana from her fingers, tail thumping in quiet triumph. Jon just shook his head, resigned.

By the time the pancakes were done, Ari had coffee brewed and juice poured, the rich aroma filling the loft like a soft, steady warmth that settled into everything.

Jon stacked three pancakes onto each plate and carried them over. Ari took the top one, buttered it, tore it into small pieces, and arranged them on Lily’s tray. Lily studied the offering with exaggerated seriousness, her little brows furrowing as if she were evaluating quality, then promptly crushed a piece in her fist. A second later, she shoved most of it into her mouth, victorious, leaving streaks of banana and butter across her cheeks.

Meatball whined softly from the floor, gaze locked with laser focus on the tray above him.

While they ate, Jon talked through the next couple of days. Even with a break in the tour, his schedule hadn’t completely loosened—there were still commitments back in New Jersey that needed his attention. Ari listened, half-focused, already knowing the rhythm of it, planning to stay in Montreal and give Max time with his family.

A piece of pancake slipped from Lily’s tray.

Meatball was on it before it hit the floor.

Ari sighed, equal parts fondness and resignation, and reached for her coffee, wrapping her hands around the warmth of the mug. This—this easy, slightly chaotic rhythm—was exactly how lazy mornings were supposed to feel.

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

After breakfast, they bundled up and headed out for a walk.

Lily was zipped into her snowsuit—no bows, no fluff—just insulation and zippers, practical and efficient, a knit Stones beanie pulled low over her ears. She looked like a baby built for parking lots, loading docks, and long walks between venues. Her mother’s taste showed in every inch of it.

Eyes wide and curious, she kicked lightly against the footrest, testing the limits of her little world, then settled back, satisfied.

The sky stretched above them in a clean, unbroken gray—March in Montreal at its most honest. Not stormy, not kind. Just present. With most of the snow melted away, the city felt stripped down to its bones, waiting to see what would come next.

Mount Royal Park was quieter than usual. Patches of ice clung stubbornly to shaded paths and tucked corners of grass, small remnants of winter refusing to give way too quickly. The sun pushed through anyway—pale, determined, offering light without much warmth.

Joggers passed in steady lines, breath visible in short bursts. Couples and families wandered without urgency, dogs pulling at leashes with quiet indignation, deeply offended by the idea of restraint.

Jon pushed the stroller, one hand firm on the handle, the other tucked into his coat pocket. A low baseball cap shadowed his face, brim pulled down out of habit more than necessity. His stride was easy and confident, like it always was.

Ari matched him without thinking, her coat buttoned just enough, a thick wool scarf wrapped high around her neck, tucked close against the cold.

They walked for a while without speaking, the stroller wheels crunching softly over gravel and salt. As the path climbed, the city noise faded behind them, replaced by the quieter rhythm of wind through bare branches and the steady cadence of their footsteps.

Lily made a soft, questioning sound, her attention bouncing between the shifting scenery—bare trees, lingering patches of snow, puddles catching pale light.

A jogger passed too close, his bright red jacket flashing across her line of sight. She froze, eyes wide—then broke into a delighted squeal, arms jerking against the straps as if she might launch herself after him.

Jon laughed. “Guess he’s popular.”

“She’s easily impressed,” Ari said. “Fast, loud, brightly colored.”

“Just like her mother,” Jon said, not teasing so much as stating a fact.

“I was not that impressed.”

He smiled at that. “I beg to differ.”

“Hm. They say the memory is the first to go.”

Jon slowed, then stopped the stroller entirely. He turned toward her—really looked this time—like he was pulling something up from memory, fitting it into place.

“Let me see,” he said. “‘Take a picture. They last longer.’”

Ari snorted softly. “What I said was, ‘You want a fuckin’ Polaroid?’—after I caught you watching me sleep. I thought you were a creep.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” Jon said easily. “We’re here now, aren’t we?”

He leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose, cold against his lips, then curled his arm around hers as they started walking again.

She didn’t answer.

He wasn’t completely wrong—but she wasn’t about to give him that.

Instead, she leaned into him as they walked, her steps naturally falling into sync with his, her breath matching his rhythm. The cold pressed in around them, a quiet reminder of winter still holding on.

The path curved upward until they reached the lookout.

Below them, the city spread out like a map, the river a dull ribbon cutting through it under the shifting gray sky. Lily stirred at the change in elevation, making a soft sound as she shifted in her seat. Ari glanced down instinctively. Lily blinked up at them, then settled again, one mittened hand gripping the edge of her blanket.

They didn’t stay long. The cold eventually worked its way in, persistent and patient. Jon turned the stroller back toward the path, and they started down.

By the time they reached the car, the air felt just a little warmer against their cheeks—a small reward for the climb. Their faces were flushed pink from the wind. Jon lifted Lily into her car seat while Ari slid behind the wheel, brushing stray strands of hair from her face.

The engine hummed to life, a welcome contrast to the cold outside.

“So,” she said, glancing over, “how about lunch? Somewhere warm. Somewhere the burgers have just enough grease, and the french fries are criminal.”

Jon grinned, settling back in his seat. “You read my mind.”

They drove a few blocks to Petit Soho.

The place greeted them with the smell of fried food and beer, the low hum of lunchtime chatter wrapping around them like something familiar and lived-in. Lily was swept away by Gabriel the second they stepped into the kitchen, disappearing from Ari’s arms without ceremony.

Lunch stretched longer than planned.

Ari moved easily through the space, slipping into a rhythm that clearly belonged to her—greeting regulars, grabbing the mail from the office, checking in without needing to think about it. She stole fries from Lily’s high chair whenever she could get away with it, quick and unapologetic.

Jon watched from his seat, quiet, one arm draped along the back of the chair, the corner of his mouth lifting into a small, private smile as he took it all in—the ease she had here, the way the space seemed to settle around her.

By the time they left, the city had softened into early evening, the edges of the day blurring gently.

The warmth of the restaurant lingered with them as they climbed back into the car, carrying it along as they headed back toward the loft.