After freshening up, I go find my husband. When I land on the bottom step, I hear him in the kitchen. His back is to me while he tosses something in a skillet. I approach, wrap my arms around his waist, and kiss between his shoulder blades.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” I ask.
“Because you need your rest,” he says, “and I wanted to make lunch.”
“But I’m in charge of the meals this weekend,” I moan.
“Oh, Lord, no. When did we decide that? You stay away from this kitchen. And for the love of God, don’t you ever take another cooking class again.”
I stick my face in the middle of his back and laugh at the memory. I gently bite him through his shirt, and he yelps. Last Christmas, I decided I was going to cook a meal for my husband as one of his presents. I signed up for a class, and not just any class. The private lessons were with a seasoned chef who came to our house to teach me how to make a meal. We decided on filet mignon with scalloped brussels sprouts and black truffle mashed potatoes.
We cooked that meal together twice, and it turned out great both times. I thought I had mastered this meal, but when I cooked it, I dropped the meat on the floor before I could get it in the hot skillet. Pixie picked up both pieces and ran from the kitchen. I forgot to take the brussels sprouts out of the oven, and they burned to a crisp. The potatoes were lumpy and undercooked, and I misread the ingredients and added four times as much salt as the recipe required.
Drake finally had enough, kicked me out of the kitchen and cooked us a different meal. After that, he made me promise never to cook again. In fact, he banned me from being in the kitchen alone for a week.
“I promise,” I say.
“Good. Set the table.” I kiss his back one more time before letting him go.
“You okay?” I ask while I get the plates.
“I promise you that I am, but I don’t want to talk about this morning now. I want to have lunch with my wife, then I wantus to watch a movie and just be together. We can talk about it tomorrow, but not today.”
“How about I make you a drink? At least I’m good at that.”
“Yes. Surprise me,” is all he says.
I kiss his cheek before I open the fridge and grab a platter of fruit. I decide to make him a pineapple mojito, and once I’m done, I put a straw in the drink and put it to his lips.
“It’s so unfair,” I say. “I want one.” I put his glass down and make my own drink, only without the rum.
Minutes later, we’re seated and enjoying a delicious lunch of rigatoni a la vodka with ground sausage.
Chapter 14
Drake
I give my wife a smile. She smiles back but I don’t think she’s buying what I’m selling today. Luckily, she’s too busy clearing her mother’s dining room table to focus on me. She hasn’t left my side at all since yesterday. The only time I got a little space was when I went into the bathroom, but after fifteen minutes, she came in to check on me. We never lock doors. We are completely open to each other. She found me standing at the sink looking at my reflection in the mirror.
She didn’t say a word. She took my hand and dragged me out of the bathroom. We climbed into bed, and I let her make love to me.
“Daddy,” Carter says, running into the dining room, “come watch the TV.” He takes my hand to pull me into the living room.
“Hold on, Carter,” Mr. Nash says, “I need to talk to your dad for a second. Go watch your show with Mason and Kyle. I need you boys to watch Princess P for me.” He messes Carter’s hair and picks up Priya, who is trying to climb his legs.
Nia must hear her father because her head snaps up. Even her mother freezes while wiping down the counters. She looks at her husband, but he takes Carter and Priya into the living room and gestures for me to follow.
“Dad,” Nia says, concern in her voice.
“Oh, calm down, Nia. If I was gonna kill him, I would have done it years ago.”
A couple of years ago, I wouldn’t be so sure, but we’ve gone from hostile to cordial. Cordial is the best it’s ever been between us, and based on how we first met, cordial is a miracle. Despite that, we’ve never spent time alone. It’s always in a family setting. I know he goes out for drinks with Ray monthly, and I’ve never been invited. He tolerates me because of his daughter and grandkids, and I accept that.
“Here,” he says moments later. He throws my coat at me, and I barely have time to catch it before he gestures for me to follow him out the back door.
It’s a cold November day. It’s gray enough to match my mood and the wind is bitter and unforgiving. I button my cashmere coat and pull out my gloves. Once I’m bundled up, I lean against the rail on the deck and wait to hear what this is about.
Nia opens the blinds and looks at us. Mr. Nash goes inside, closes the blinds, and comes back out.