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“Okay, I can show you where the washroom is.” She springs up and takes my hand, pulling me out of the room.
She drags me down the hall to the bathroom we passed. I let Monica wash up first, and by the time I reach the kitchen, she’s already seated at the painted wood table. There’s a place setting beside her and one across from her. Since Lilah is at the stove, getting dinner on everyone’s plates, I slide into the seat beside Monica.
I’m nothing if not eager to soak up all the time and proximity I can.
Monica gives me a conspiratorial grin once I’m seated, and my heart explodes. She’s happy I took the seat next to her. The feeling that the two of us are sharing something steals the air from my lungs. After only an hour, there’s no going back to a life without Monica. A firm line has been drawn in my life. Before Monica and After Monica.
I return her smile as Lilah places a plate in front of me. “Thanks."
Chicken, rice, and a baked potato fill the plate, and my eyebrows shoot up in surprise. After the near kitchen fire when I was here last night and her lack of culinary skills back in the day, I figured when she said dinner, it would be a frozen meal.
“I see you’ve learned to cook,” I joke to ease the tension.
If we’re going to do this and make it work, then we have to get comfortable with each other too. Lilah and I have to be adults. She was right about that.
“I had to learn.” She nods in Monica’s direction and sets a smaller plastic purple plate in front of our daughter. “I’ve learned a lot, but I still consider it a necessary evil.” She turns to retrieve her plate from the counter.
“Did you know…” I lean to the side, closer to Monica. Her eyes grow wide and eager, waiting for me to tell her a secret. “Your mommy didn’t know how to cook at all back when I knew her?”
“Really?” She looks to Lilah for confirmation.
She sits in her chair. “Yep. Completely true.”
“But Mommy makes all my food. It’s good. Except I don’t like the green stuff.”
Lilah looks at me. “Pretty much the vegetables.”
I wrinkle my nose and look at Monica. “I eat a lot of vegetables.”
“That why you’re so big?”
Lilah laughs, positioning her napkin on her lap.
“Definitely. Like The Hulk?” I boost myself up, but my daughter should think I’m a superhero.
“The who?”
Lilah laughs again. Who would have thought we’d be laughing so quickly?
“Oh, I see we have boy territory to zone in on.” I put my napkin over my lap.
“Boys are yucky.” Monica picks up her fork.
Lilah shrugs. I shake my head, not offended.
“Okay, everyone, dig in.”
The awkwardness rises again during dinner. We eat in silence and it’s clear my being here has changed the dynamic.
“Monica, eat some of your chicken please,” Lilah says.
“I don’t want to,” she whines. Her shoulders sag and she tilts her head to the side.
“Drown it in ketchup if you need to, but if you want a popsicle after dinner, you need to eat your chicken.”
To her credit, Monica doesn’t argue with her mom. She sticks out her bottom lip in a sulk and reaches for the ketchup. She struggles to get the lid open before I offer to help.
“Need a hand?” I hold out my hand.
