24. Sequin
24
SEQUIN
C hime sprinkles cheese on top of the macaroni with a flourish.
“Bonjour, bonjour!” she says, and kisses her fingertips.
I smile. “Is that what chefs say?”
“Yes, it’s French.” She takes the spoon from me and stirs the pasta haphazardly, until some of the macaroni oozes outside the rim of the bowl. Moments like these always make me appreciate my omega mom. She let me bake constantly when I was Chime’s age. I remember how messy I was, and she never got upset. She used to put her finger in the flour or sugar or whatever I spilled, and then press it to the tip of my nose.
I scoop up the macaroni with my fingers and bring it to Chime’s mouth. “You have to test it to make sure it isn’t poisoned.”
Chime grins. We’ve been “testing” food for poison since she was old enough to hold a spoon. She opens her mouth and eats the macaroni right off my finger. “Mmmm. Not poisoned, Daddy.”
“Oh, good. We wouldn’t want to poison our guest.”
She jumps down off her stool. “I’m going to wear my best dress.”
“Chime, that’s just for weddings and funerals.”
“And parties. It’s a dinner party, right?”
I sigh. That dress is getting a little small for her anyway. She might as well get a few more uses out of it before she can’t wear it anymore.
“Fine. But only if you spin around for our guest to show him how it swooshes.”
She gives me this knowing smile that makes me feel like we’re the only two people in the world. It’s always been just her and me. My moms and brothers were a close second, not to mention Aunt Emerald, who I love as dearly as my moms, but at the end of the day, Chime is my everything.
It’s strange to think that someone else could join this little family we have.
She leaps toward the living room and dashes off, disappearing down the hallway. I do a quick check of the kitchen and dining room, picking up crayons and cups as I go. I stop when I get to the box of crystal goblets I bought while I was in town making deliveries today. I should take them out and wash them. Otherwise, we won’t be able to drink out of them when Slade gets here. I thought it would be nice to have something formal for the dining room table. But I’m not quite ready to open the box yet.
Instead, I get out the same old glasses we’ve been drinking from for years and set the table with those.
The doorbell rings. Chime scampers across the living room, still zipping up her dress in the back. Her long hair flies behind her, along with the ribbons of her dress.
“Hello,” I hear her say.
“Hi.” Slade’s deep voice makes my heart race.
“You can come in. My dad is in the kitchen. He’s cleaning up because you’re a guest. We have to clean the house when guests come over.”
The two of them walk into the dining area. Chime is holding Slade’s hand, guiding him toward the kitchen. He has a plate with a mysterious pink object on it.
What is that thing? It’s leaning to one side, and whatever is coating the outside looks more like a stain than frosting.
“I’m sorry,” he says, holding out the dish to me. “In my defense, I didn’t know that you’re not supposed to frost a cake right out of the oven.”
I cover my mouth with my hand. “Oh. That’s a cake?”
His lips quirk up in amusement. “Something like that.” He looks into my eyes, and for a moment, I forget about Chime, and the murder, and all my worries about adding another person to our family. The pull Slade has on me is like a drug. I want to inhale deep and get lost in him.
But we can’t. I look away, nervously tucking my hair behind my ear. “It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too, Quin.”
I can feel his eyes on me. There’s no trace of anger, even though I kept our daughter a secret from him. There’s only yearning.
Could we simply come together after all these years? Could happiness be that easy?
“Look!” Chime says. She stretches her arms out with all the flair of a five-year-old child in a fabulous skirt and spins. The hem of the dress lifts and spirals around her. Her ribbons and hair follow suit. She laughs with joy and the light in her eyes makes me wish I could take a picture that would do this moment justice. But I’ve already tried. There are some moments of childhood that can’t be captured with a camera.
Slade watches her with wonder. Now that I know he never hurt anyone, I’m surprised I didn’t figure it out before. He had a reputation in high school because he was so big and had tattoos, but I never saw him do anything unkind. Jake’s words echo in my mind.
Until I found my mate, the only time I ever felt safe was with my brother.
Chime stops spinning and looks up at Slade. “Isn’t this dress amazing?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, it is.”
“Why don’t you show Slade your anatomy books while I get dinner on the table?” I say.
He might as well know our daughter has an obsession with the human body now.
Our daughter. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that.
“Oh! I can show the page about eyeballs. It’s fascinating. Did you know that your eyeball is really this big?” She balls up her hand into a fist.
“No, I didn’t,” he says.
She grabs for his hand. The moment their fingers touch, his eyes soften in a way that makes my heart melt. It’s as if they’re fated too.
He glances back at me with this vulnerability in his eyes. He needs me to let him love her. I can see that.
“Go on,” I mouth to him.
I watch her guide him to our couch. He sits a respectable distance from her, given that they’re strangers. But she scoots closer to him and leans against his body, like she would with one of my brothers. Maybe she can feel the pull of their connection too. He looks back at me again, checking in. He’s so careful with her, like he’s holding a priceless object that might break if he tips it the wrong way.
Seeing them together like that fills a part of my chest I didn’t realize was empty. My body has wanted Slade plenty of times since he left. Not only sexually, but physically. There have been times when I wanted to touch him so desperately, I didn’t think I could bear it. But I didn’t realize how much I needed to see him treat our daughter as precious—to revel in her sweet cuddles.
I smile at him, then turn away to hide the tears gathering in my eyes.
“Look at this eyeball,” Chime says dramatically.
I laugh silently and walk into the kitchen. The box of crystal goblets is still waiting on the counter. They’re easily the fanciest thing I’ve ever owned. My fingers itch to get out a knife and break the seal.
Chime will undoubtedly want to read the entire section on eyesight. I guess I have time.
I unpack the first glass and hold it up to the light. The intricate divots in the glass create a pattern that sparkles and glimmers like a diamond. A bright joy floods my body as I stare at it. I’ve always admired my mother’s chandeliers and Aunt Emerald’s crystals, but this goblet is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I wash all eight of the goblets, not just the three we’re using. After I’m done, I unpack the glass cabinet I bought at the same time as the goblets, and set it up underneath the cupboard by the sink. It’s just large enough to display all the goblets. I put them in there, except the three, and continue setting the table.
In the background, I hear Chime reciting facts about human eyes to Slade. Once or twice I glance over to the couch where they’re sitting. She’s now sprawled across his lap, and he’s quietly smiling down at her. I wish I didn’t have to interrupt them.
“Dad, is dinner ready yet?” Chime asks.
Slade startles, as if he was woken from a trance.
“Yes, you can come and eat,” I say.
She grabs Slade’s hand and drags him back to the table. He stares at her the whole way, just like he did while she was spinning. I think he might be more in love with her than he is with me.
I’m okay with that. I think that’s how it should be.
“I love macaroni and cheese,” Slade tells Chime as they sit down.
“Me too! It’s my favorite.” She chatters on about the different kinds of macaroni and cheese, including her controversial opinion that the “box” macaroni and cheese is better than my homemade mac.
Sometimes we have to agree to disagree.
“I love your daddy’s cooking,” Slade says. “When we were in high school, he used to bake me bread. I would hide it in my room so I could eat the whole loaf myself.”
I never knew. Whenever I brought bread over, he acted like it wasn’t a big deal.
I guess there are a lot of things about Slade I didn’t know.
Chime smiles. “You knew Daddy in high school?”
“Yeah. We were neighbors.”
She starts talking about our neighbors, which takes a while because she includes the many animals in Aunt Emerald’s rescue. I reach for Slade’s hand underneath the table and squeeze it.
His eyes jerk up to mine in surprise. I guess I’m being a little forward in front of our daughter.
“Lester is a goat. He is not a nice goat. It’s because he has trauma,” Chime says.
Slade tries to hold back a laugh, but fails. I end up laughing with him. Chime glares at us both.
“Trauma is bad,” she says.
Slade tries to make a straight face. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Being a goat is a hard life,” she explains.
He nods, still trying, and not succeeding, to stop smiling. God, I love this. It’s so fun to share Chime’s quirks with her other dad.
It’s a good thing Slade isn’t dangerous, because I don’t think I can send him away.