Page 12 of Until Then

Setting Wonton on the tile floor, I appraise the food. “It looks… good.”

She throws her head back with a laugh that would be infectious if I didn’t know it was at my expense.

“I don’t know whether you’re trying to convince yourself or me. What matters, though, is how it tastes.” She appraises the table with a satisfied smile. “What do you want to drink?”

I cock my head, giving her a look that saysseriously?

She clears her throat. “Right, your house. You can get your own drink.”

I do just that, opting for a can of Coke. I don’t drink much alcohol. Neither do my kids. Not after the role it played in my wife’s death.

Izzy watches me expectantly, like she’s eager to see my reaction to her enchiladas.

Suddenly itchy from the scrutiny, I roll my shoulders and arch a brow at her. “Izzy?”

“Yes?” she drawls, rubbing her finger over the top of her water glass.

“Are you going to watch me eat this?”

“Absolutely.” Wearing a wide smile, she nods so vigorously I worry her head will snap off. “You might lie and say you hate it, or lie and say you love it, but the eyes always tell the truth.”

With a sigh, I pick up the fork and use the side of it to cut off a sizable bite.

“Make sure there’s a good amount of sauce on it.”

Every inch of the enchilada is drenched in sauce, so I’m not sure what she’s worried about.

She taps the fingers of her left hand against the table, her teeth pressed into her plump bottom lip, as she watches me bring the fork up to my mouth.

The moment the taste registers, anmmmbursts out of me without my permission.

Her smile is so bright, my instinct is to put up a hand to block the shine. A happy Izzy is pure sunshine, chasing away all the shadows.

I chew and swallow, then give her a nod. “It’s good.”

She wiggles in her chair, clearly satisfied with this development. “See? It doesn’t hurt to try new things.”

“Let’s not get carried away.” I go in for a second bite anddiscover it’s just as good, if not better, now that I know what to expect.

Chuckling, she picks up her fork. “I can’t believe you’ve never had enchiladas.”

“I’ve had tacos. Does that count?”

She stares me down, eyes round with horror.

“I take it that means no?”

“Absolutely not.”

Neither of us says anything while we continue to eat. Periodically, I steal a glance at her, half expecting her to disappear, but every time I look, she’s still there.

“You know,” she begins, the soft sound of her voice wrapping around me like a gentle embrace, “I was looking in your refrigerator and couldn’t help but notice a distinct lack of green things.”

“My fridge is fine,” I bite out, that warm sensation disappearing in a cloud of irritation.

More because of myself than her, I suppose. Because she’s not wrong. I was much better at fruits and vegetables and healthy snacks in the house when Layla and Lili were here. Now, I’ve become an all too frequent flier of the frozen food section of the grocery store. If it’s quick and easy, it’s probably in my refrigerator.

Izzy rests her elbow on the table, giving me a wry smirk. “Did all the men in the universe get together and collectively decide that their favorite word isfine?”

---