Page 140 of Lily In The Valley
“Thank you.”
“Let’s go cook something good. I feel your mama’s spirit near.” He laughed, holding me tight.
The drive back was the kind where the radio was a murmur in the background and the city rolled by like a slideshow of memories. Karter sat in my lap, his front paws on the console, staring out the window like he was on patrol.
Once in the kitchen, my father pulled out a heavy-bottomed pan while I chopped bell peppers and onions. When the oil in the pot was hot, I threw in the holy trinity. The onions went glossy, the celery went soft, and the bell peppers gave up their green. I added flour to the pan and watched it turn a light shade of brown before adding some seasonings, water, and crawfish tails. My father sang along to a song by an R&B group from the late 80s as he seasoned and floured catfish filets and prepped them for the fryer he’d pre-heated on the backyard patio.
When the song entered the second verse, he cleared his throat. “You want to invite Khalil?” he asked, never looking up from the breading station at the kitchen island.
“For dinner?”
“Yeah.” He hesitated like the following words had thorns and he was trying to hand them to me without sticking either one of us. “He’s a good man, even if he is a little cocky sometimes. And I guess if I had to have anybody else protecting you, it’d be him.”
Tears pricked my eyes, and not from the onions. “Daddy.”
“If he’s good to you, he’s good with me,” he said, opening the drawers for a spoon like he hadn’t just ended his cold war with Khalil.
I wiped my hands on a towel and called Khalil as my father went to the backyard to fry the fish. The call barely rang once.
“Tell me something good,” he said, smiling.
“I want you to come over and have dinner with me and my dad.”
“He cool with that?”
“It was his idea.” Khalil was quiet for a beat.
“I’m on my way.”
By the time he knocked on the front door, the whole house was fragrant with a buttery, rich crawfish etouffee and piping hot catfish fresh from the grease. Khalil followed me to the kitchen, placing a Chantilly cake on the island, making my dad’s eyes go wide. Karter made his rounds—sniffing Khalil’s shoes and waiting for a head scratch.
Dinner was easy. The first bites made the table hum. After polishing off slices of cake, my dad left us to meet up with Uncle Doug. Khalil and I washed dishes then moved to the living room to watch tv. We settled on streamingThe Jamie Foxx Show.He reached across my lap to pull me into his chest.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“You can ask me anything,” I said, looking up at his face.
“When you picture home,” he said, his words careful, “what’s in the frame?”
I thought for a moment. “This,” I said. “Food that tastes like someone loves me. Laughter in the same room as quiet. A dog with firm opinions. You.”
His jaw worked once. “Me, huh?”
“Yep. What about you?”
He didn’t blink. “You. Work that matters and doesn’t own me. Sunday dinners where we argue about absolutely nothing then wash dishes until our fingers wrinkle. A little chaos mixed with a whole lot of softness.”
“These sound like the same pictures.”
“Kelly,” he said, my name a vow. “I want you…” He stopped short and shook his head like he was promising himself not to jump the gun. “I want this always.”
“Me, too,” I said. “Always.”
He reached for the plate of cake that sat on the coffee table. As episode after episode of Jamie Foxx reruns played, he fed us bites of cake in between kisses. Eventually, I found my mother’s old quilt and he covered it over us. Tucking me into his side, he kissed my temples, then my lips. Karter circled the floor beneath us twice and settled like a punctuation mark. The show’s laugh track blared into the quiet comfort. It was a softness I’d fought all my life and finally learned how to lie in it.
Tomorrow I’d be flying back to Seattle, going back to a life of rounds and distance from the people I loved most. Tonight, I was in a house that held my dearest memories, a dog that was my spirit animal, and my man who said my name like it was a door he’d build a home behind.
Epilogue
