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“You’re not going to ask who Benji is?” she huffed, and I blinked in response.
“Was I supposed to ask who Benji is?”
She let out a breath as she slid from the booth, her coral-painted nails digging into the linoleum table.
“He’s our new cook.”
“What happened to Hector?” The scent of food was making my mouth water and I really just wanted her to go away so I could enjoy my breakfast in peace.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a real, peaceful meal with my daughter. A month ago? Two? Maybe more?
We always just ate in the living room, her attention glued to whatever cartoon she was currently obsessing over. But it was always a fight to get her to eat anything that wasn’t ice cream. Or candy. Or anything with chocolate. The only actual food she ever wanted to eat was pizza, and that was getting old.
But the last time we sat down at a table and ate a meal without it being a knock-out-drag-out fight was forever ago.
“His dad is ill.” I shook myself, her words pulling me from my thoughts.
“Sorry to hear that,” I said honestly. Hector was a good man, and his family were good people. It really was sad to hear his dad wasn’t doing well.
But also…why was I supposed to care about some new kid cooking?
“I hope I’ll have someone to take care of me when I’m old and sick,” she sighed, tracing her finger in a circle on the table. I nearly rolled my eyes. I should’ve known that was what this was about.
“You know you’ll have Reagan and me,” I said. She just stared at me like I was lying.
Maybe I was.
I didn’t know anymore. I didn’t care, either.
Without another word, she turned on her heel and headed toward the kitchen. My eyes caught on Reagan as she laughed at something one of the guys at the table said.
When had she grown into a woman?
I just saw her six months ago, and she’d still looked like a girl. But now, with her hair the way it was, and her legs lean and muscular, her ass perky and—I forced myself to stop noticing her body and how womanly she was now.
It was wrong, and fucked up, and so perverted. I couldn’t ogle my sister-in-law.
“Look, Daddy,” Emma said, thankfully pulling my attention away from her aunt before I could notice anything else about her. “Uni’s eating Uni!” She tilted her unicorn, smearing syrup and whipped cream all over the stuffed toy. But she laughed. And it was a real belly laugh that made me smile.
“How about Uni saves some food for Emma?” I said, lifting my brows. She didn’t notice me or my words, and I knew she only took a bite of her pancake because she wanted to and not because I told her to.
I turned my attention to the steaming pile of food in front of me. Bacon, sausage, eggs, toast, potatoes, fruit salad. The works.
My mouth watered.
Why was I so bad at keeping track of our meals? Of our health? Was I that checked out of life that I stopped noticing shit like this?
I hadn’t expected to be as hungry as I was as I began eating. I hadn’t felt hungry, but I clearly was. That was probably why most of my muscles were gone now.
No food. No exercise. No sleep.
That tended to make your body hate you.
Living on caffeine, liquor, and the hope that your daughter would miraculously stop being so fucking difficult wasn’t a way to live. But it’s how I lived. It’s the only way I knew how to anymore.
Emma ate most of her food, surprisingly not asking for ice cream even once. As soon as she was finished, she scooted off the booth and took off down the center aisle, between the booths.
She sprinted from one end to the other as I finished scarfing my food down. Reagan rounded the corner, food piled high on her tray as she stepped in Emma’s path.
