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I swallow thickly.
My daughter gestures, “I told her about what happened after bowling. She got upset.”
“Your mother isn’t upset with you,” I sign. “She is upset with me.”
“Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I rub the back of my neck. This is tricky territory. The one thing Ashanti and I promised to do after our divorce was never drag Niko into the middle of our fights. I do not wish to expose Niko to the truth, but she is too smart not to notice.
“Sometimes,” I sign hesitantly, “when adults are scared, they react with anger. Because that is an easier emotion to handle than feeling vulnerable.”
Her eyebrows knit together. She signs, “That’s dumb. Even when you stop being angry, you’ll still be scared.”
“That is true, but…” I speak out loud, “Your mother loves you very much. At the thought of losing you, her heart probably stopped.” I hit my chest.
Niko’s thoughtful look remains. She signs, “I don’t think mom likes Deej.”
The rice spatula clamors out of my hands. “Did she say that?”
Niko makes the motion for ‘feelings’. “I felt it.”
Her observational skills have always been higher than other kids her age. Which is why I did not excuse her for running into the road. She made a deliberate choice that could have cost her and Dejonae greatly.
I try to calm her fears. “Your mother hasn’t met Dejonae yet. She might feel differently if she gets to know her.”
Niko points in my direction.
“Me?”
“How do you feel about Dejonae?” she signs.
I look away, my gaze drifting past Niko to the windows and the star-studded city skyline.
Niko’s fluttering hands drag my attention back to her.
“Do you like her, dad?” she signs.
Akira’s warning about breaking Niko’s heart ricochets in my head. I answer carefully, “If I said yes, what would that mean to you?”
She scrunches her nose and twists her lips. “That’s not fair. I asked you first.”
My eyes flash with affection. I bend over and pinch her cheek. “You have a lot to say tonight. Why don’t you wash your hands and come help me with the rice balls?”
“I’ve got homework!” Niko signs. Popping out of the chair, she hurries to her room. Then her head ducks around the corner. She gives me a thumbs up. “I think it would be nice.”
“What would be nice?” I try to keep my expression neutral.
“You and Deej,” she gestures. “When Deej is around, I feel like mom is here.”
Shocked, I can only stare at her.
Niko grins again and hurries to her room. Her bedroom door slams shut, punctuating her exit.
I sink against the counter and distractedly wipe my hands against my apron. By comparing Dejonae to her mother, Niko just gave her approval.
The rice cooker beeps.
I pick up the rice spatula from the floor, rinse it in the sink and scoop the rice into a bowl. With my thoughts percolating heavily, I am not sure how I manage to prepare dinner without over-salting the corn soup.
