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“To feel complete,” he says, as we take turns completing each other’s sentences.
We both nod in unison.
“Sir, your steak, medium rare,” the waiter says appearing out of nowhere. “And the kid’s meal for your daughter, with the coloring book and crayons you asked for,” he says, cocking a judgmental eye as he sets them down next to my hamburger and jello.
Thankfully, the waiter makes himself disappear and my eyes light up at the sight of my multi-colored squares of jello. I reach for the red one, like a bee to honey, but feel a big hand engulf mine before I can bring it to my mouth.
“We use our silverware in restaurants and we eat our main course first, before dessert.”
“Daddy,” I whine, but he’s not having it.
“Let go of the jello or Daddy will pull down your pants, and spank you.”
“Promise?” I test.
“You just earned yourself one spanking for challenging Daddy, and a second for doing it in public. Any more and you’re on your way to earning Daddy’s belt,” he says through gritted teeth. He pauses. “Now takes your hands off the jello and wipe them on your wet wipe. Daddy will prepare your hamburger for you, little one.”
I notice more and more eyes staring us down with disgust. As much as I want to yell at them to F-off or even flip them the bird, I just let it go. I listen to my Daddy and do what I’m told, knowing he has my best interests in mind.
Elijah cuts my hamburger up into bite-sized pieces and brings the first one to my mouth. Just as I’m taking the first bite a man stands up out of nowhere, throwing down his napkin. “That’s it. I’ve had enough of this pedophile bullshit,” he says pointing at us.
“Excuse me, sweetheart,” Elijah says calmly, pushing back his chair and calmly walking over to the man, who’s index finger, which was pointed squarely at us, quickly slides toward the ground as Elijah moves closer, dwarfing the man who is not as tall, but regardless, built like a professional running back for the National Football League.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Elijah says as he grabs the man by the shoulder, causing him to collapse to one side. Through gritted teeth, trying to be discreet, yet failing miserably, Elijah continues, “You sit down, shut the fuck up, mind your own business, and quit talking and looking at people you know nothing about.” He pauses. “Or, I carry you over to the exit right now and throw you out on your face and wipe that fucked up expression right off it when it gets introduced to the conc
rete outside…at high speed.” Another pause. “Now, what’s it gonna be…bitch?”
Calling another man a bitch in front of a full restaurant is about as much as you can embarrass a man with words and not violence. Strangely I’m proud of my man, giving the man two options and not immediately resorting to fisticuffs.
“I’ll..”
“That’s right,” Elijah says, guiding him back down into his chair, his grip on his shoulder still causing intense pain witnessed by the man’s face. “You’ll shut the fuck up and finish your quiche like a good little girl.” He pauses. “Next time order a steak or see a doctor about getting your testosterone checked…honey,” he says to the ‘man’ and calmly comes back to our table.
“Now, where were we? Right, the part about you becoming a famous short story author. Well, there’s your first chapter right there.”
“That might be better in the middle of the book, around…say…chapter seven after the characters have already gotten locked into the story, built some chemistry, and had mind-blowing sex a few times.”
“Why does this sound familiar?” Elijah winks and feeds me another bite of hamburger as I eye up that jiggly jello, and the box of crayons I can’t wait to get my hands on after I finish lunch.
8
Elijah
Holding my little one’s hand in mine we stroll through the open-air mall, my shoulder back, my chest out and my chin high. I’m more proud of my relationship with Emma than anything else in the world and nobody and no one is going to make me, or more importantly, her, feel otherwise.
We walk with ease, making direct eye contact with each other as we joke and play, just enjoying the day. There’s a gleam in her eye, an inner light, and I’m proud beyond belief to think that I was the one who put it there.
Swinging arms suddenly we stop as something in a window catches my princess’s eye.
“What do you think of that dress?” she asks, pointing to the pastel-colored floral summer dress behind the glass. I flash her a knowing grin. “I think with one look I could get it off you just as quickly as you could get it on.”
“I’m being serious!” she says, playfully slapping my arm.
“So am I,” I smirk.
We enter the shop and the clerk, like seemingly everyone else in this town, gives us an awkward look. I thought beach towns were supposed to be relaxed places. I guess they didn’t get the memo here.
The clerk finds the dress in the smallest size they have, which just might work on Emma’s tiny frame, and we head toward the fitting room. Just as we arrive she freezes, looking at the tag.
