But I want more from her.
I take the bowls from Lang and carry them to the dining room table, which is already set with silverware, napkins and water glasses. There’s also a plate of flat bread in the center.
This looks like a real family dinner. I didn’t do this for her, and I should have thought of it.
I feel like an ass.
“I’ll clean up,” I announce as the kids climb into their chairs and Tanisha follows at a slower pace. I pull hers out and she sends me a surprised but grateful look.
“Are you sure? I made a mess in there,” she adds apologetically.
Guilt slams into me. “You don’t need to go to so much trouble. We usually just make spaghetti or heat up some frozen dinners.”
“Dad.” Lang is giving me a look that says “Don’t ruin this for us!”
“I love cooking. Ask Joey. The only reason he survived college was because of this exact meal. It’s one of my specialties.”
“What’s it called?” I take the open seat beside her and place the napkin strategically on my lap.
Note to self: We need bigger napkins.
“Chicken Biryani. Try it.”
I dip my fork into the colorful dish, and Lang laughs. “He’s so hungry he forgot grace.”
I did? Shit, I did. “Why don’t you say it this time?”
The boys clasp their hands and dip their heads the way I taught them. Then Lang prays for dessert, our family’s health and ten feet of snow for Christmas so he can make a two-story igloo.
I add my own, I’d appreciate it if you don’t give him everything on that list. Thanks.
I risk a glance at Tanisha and notice the affectionate smile she’s directing his way. We didn’t cover this either, but I’m glad she doesn’t look uncomfortable. Most of my family are holiday church-goers, but I try to get us there at least two Sundays a month. I appreciate the positive examples of community and service it gives to the boys.
Everything I do is about keeping them safe. Giving them armor to make it through every potential difficulty with integrity and faith. Being a father is my full-time job, and one I’ve never regretted.
They are why she’s here. Why I’m willing to do whatever it takes, even waiting for her to be ready, if it means I get to keep them with me.
“Amen,” the boys say, and then they promptly fall on the food like rabid wolves.
When I take that first bite, I’m almost embarrassed by the moan that escapes me, but fortunately Barry is expressing his emotions with more volume, and Lang is a close second. I still notice Tanisha’s swift glance in my direction. Her blush. The way she shifts restlessly in her seat.
If she’s even half as aware of me as I am of her, she can’t be too comfortable right now. Is she wet beneath that pretty skirt?
“Delicious,” I say. “I might lick this bowl clean.”
She looks surprised. “You will? I mean, uh, thank you.”
She licks her lips and I nearly groan again. Oh, baby, you’re killing me.
“We could have it for lunch,” Lang says.
I stare at him. “You want to eat this for lunch tomorrow? At your grandmother’s house?”
He has to know how my mother would read that—as his seal of approval on his stepmother. She knows how picky he can be about his food.
Tanisha doesn’t realize what a fan she has in my older son.
Or maybe she does, since she’s beaming at him like he hung the moon. “I think that might be the best compliment I’ve ever gotten. And I made more than enough for you to have for tomorrow. In fact, that’s a problem I have when I make this. I always double my recipe in case my brothers drop in.”