D.I.L.F Dad I'd Like to Fight

“Mommy?” Gen asked.

“She’s busy right now.”

“Oh,” I felt a stab of guilt at the look of disappointment on her face.

There was a bit of a deadlock when it came down to pizza or waffles for lunch. Frozen lasagna wound up being the tie-break, the agreement unanimous by all camps.

Even the best laid plans could have unforeseen pitfalls. Some fork assistance needed for Gen to keep the majority of her serving from her shirt. I was a bit rusty, Lily mastering not only western cutlery but chopsticks, by the age of two, but it was still an admirable effort. Nary a blob of Bolognese getting on her pretty shirt.

The precious pair followed me into the kitchen like a very short line of ducklings, and we did the dishes, before going right back to playing. Lily and Gen were happily building new worlds and I beat my high score on Tetris.

The time of dining came around again, the little ones amusing themselves with crayons at the table while I cooked up Greek Souvlakis, both vegetarian and not, to cater to any possible taste. The worst-case scenario was a week’s worth of leftovers, which was rarely a bad thing.

“Mama!” Gen squealed suddenly, garnering my attention.

“How was she?” Emilie asked, snuggling her little girl.

“Oh, an absolute delight.”

“We built a city,” Lily contributed.

“Did you now?”

“They sure did,” I nodded.

“My goodness!”

“Want to see it?” Lily asked.

“After dinner,” I said.

“Okay,” she agreed.

I’d honestly expected more push back, but the change of scenery had evidently softened her disposition slightly.

Emilie joined the kids at the table as I brought over the tray. A wonderful sense of domesticity again permeating the scene. One I had done without for so very long.

The Souvlaki disappeared fast. The empty plate filled me with a sense of happiness, and I couldn’t help but feel a little smug that they were such a hit. I could also only imagine how hungry Emilie must have been.

I’d considered taking her something up during the day, but she was still on the video call for a good chunk of it, and I would have had to take the little ones with me, which could have ended badly. She ate voraciously but with classy aplomb, a combination that would have been unbelievable were I not there to witness it.

After the dinner was done, we shared dish duty, me washing and Emilie drying and racking, before putting our respective daughters to bed. I could her a lovely song coming down the hall. A melody with a distinctly Romantic flavor, most likely Brahms. The poetry was unmistakable in the rhythm. The lyrics pronounced in flawless French.

“What’s that?” Lily asked, saying what I was thinking.

“Not sure, would you like me to ask?”

“Yes, please.”

“Of course, my darling.”

I kissed her on the forehead and put on the CD player, leaving her to the night.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Indeed it was. The timing truly top-notch for both Emilie and I to get into the hallway in the same instant. Someone was definitely trying to tell me something.

“Any plans for the night?” I asked, as we descended the stairs.

“I was just going to watch movies and chill. You wouldn’t want to join me, would you?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

When one was constantly surrounded by liars, or at least those with a liberal interpretation of the facts, it could do astounding things to one’s bullshit detector. I could usually tell within three syllables if someone was lying. Even if it was only to themselves. I got no such sense from Emilie.

It was a matter of propriety as well as nerves. Each of us on opposite end of the couch, like a Catholic school dance. The pile of DVDs slowly dwindled, as we both unwound, getting closer to a comfortable middle-ground.

Chapter Eleven - Emilie

I could barely pronounce the food he made. The sound striking as slightly Greek. It tasted great though. Thick and meaty, savory in all the best sorts of ways, with a sort of sauce that I couldn’t quite identify.

“It’s called tzatkiki,” Lily volunteered when I asked.

“Sorry, honey?”

“The sauce. It’s called tzatziki. It’s based on yogurt.”

“Yogurt?”

“Probably not the kind you think,” Niles volunteered, “regular yogurt would be weird. Greek yogurt is kind of more like cheese, only making things even more confusing.”

“Yogurt cheese?” Gen asked in confusion.

“Yogurt that’s like cheese,” I said, hoping it didn’t sound too weird.

I was vaguely aware of Greek yogurt. Even tried it once, at the insistence of a college friend who was a total health nut. Not to the point of being vegan, but as near as. The sauce based on it was a lot better, I had to say.

Gen didn’t quite get the techniques required to hold the whole thing together, so Niles cut her up into smaller, more manageable portions she could use her fork for.

It was cliché to be sure, but that didn’t stop me being genuinely surprised how good Niles was with the kids. Not so much with Lily, he’d been raising her for the past five years and presumably had some solid experience.