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SittingDuck
My daughter wavesa piece of carrot at me and I smile. “Thank you, Sophie, but I’m going to make something for me and Dante.” A cloud appears on her face. “And you can have some of that, too, when it’s ready, but I didn’t want you to wait thatlong.”
Pacified, she goes back to her sandwich while I try to decide what to fix for dinner. On the one hand, Dante belongs to a big Italian family and, evidently, likes to cook, so I shouldn’t try my hand at spaghetti or lasagna. On the other hand, those are two foods that I know my daughter willeat.
“I’m making spaghetti,” I announce. “Don’t shoot me if you don’t likeit.”
“No complaints here. Let me know if you need ahand.”
Everything is stored in very logical places -- the way I’d organize my own kitchen if I had one. Maybe that comes from running the parts store, or maybe he’s just naturally good at it. In seconds, I have water boiling and a pan out for the sauce.
“You can make the garlic bread if you want,” I say absently.
He doesn’t respond, but moments later I feel him in the kitchen behind me. I don’t hear him until he starts opening cupboards. We work in peaceful silence, sometimes passing each other, and every time we’re that close the very cells in my body tremble.
I half expect him to butt in on the cooking — taste my sauce and offer critiques — but he doesn’t. I put together a salad once everything else is underway, and Dante sets the table. “You want a glass of wine?” heasks.
“No. Thank you.” I feel his eyes on me, but don’t look hisway.
When everything’s done, we take our seats, me between Sophie and our host, but she’s not happy. “No, Mama.”
I frown at her, puzzled; I haven’t even served her any food yet. “No what?” She loves spaghetti, so it’s hard to believe she’s developed a sudden aversion toit.
“Tontay.”
“He’s having the spaghettitoo.”
“No, Mama!” She waves her arms and kicks her legs in agitation.
I’m usually pretty good at figuring out what my daughter wants, but I’m completely baffled. I look back and forth between her and Dante — and then she stretches out her hand toward him, and it hitsme.
“You want Dante to sit close to youtoo?”
“Tontay!” This time beaming.
I shoot him a look. “You don’t have to move if you don’t want to. She’lllive.”
He doesn’t say a word, but he shifts around the table, plate, place setting and all, until he’s on the other side of her. I focus on cutting up some spaghetti noodles for her, not sure how to respond to this development.
Dante’s good with her, apart from the swearing, and I always appreciate people who are kind to me and my girl. On the other hand, I’m worried about Sophie getting too attached to him and what it will do to her when we have to moveon.
I’ll have to talk to him about it once she’s asleep. Make it clear that it’s better for all of us if he doesn’t encourage her or pay special attention to her. And I’ll have to tell him the same thing about me, while I’m atit.
Getting involved with Dante would be a very bad idea. My libido’s all for it, but the rest of me knows better. It would just confuse Sophie.
“Good.”
I blink and focus on Dante. “Pardon?”
“The spaghetti. It’sgood.”
He doesn’t sound like he’s just being polite. I flush with pleasure. “Thanks.”
After that, dinner is largely a quiet affair. Sophie talks to both of us, in her own fashion, and we answer her, but we don’t really talk to each other. I suspect Dante has caught mymood.
After dinner, we clean up the kitchen. Again, it’s powerfully disturbing to be that close to him, but I do my best to hide it. When we’re finished, I get started on Sophie’s bedtime routine.
Despite my fears that she wouldn’t go to sleep without me in the room, she settles down easily, already yawning. Her big day must have worn her out. BeeBee comes in and curls up on the floor by the crib, and I get that pang in my chest again.
