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He heaved a frustrated sigh and grumbled to himself before continuing to fix his food. Much to my surprise he joined us at the table.
“Mommy, can I say grace?” Kari asked.
“Sure, baby.”
She reached for my hand then looked over at Play. Hesitantly, she reached for his. I gave him a look that said don’t play with my baby. He chuckled as he slipped her his large hand.
“All right, lil Rabbit. Take it away.”
Kari frowned. “My name is Makari Amelle Stanton. I’m not a Rabbit.”
Play placed a hand over his heart. “My bad, Makari Amelle Stanton.”
Kari huffed. “Bow your heads.”
We bowed our heads, and she began her prayer.
“God is great, God is good. Let us thank Him for our food. By His hands we all are fed. Give us Lord our daily bread. Amen.”
I giggled to myself as she finished. “Thank you, baby.”
She smiled at me.
“That was a nice prayer,” Play said.
She looked at him and her smile dropped. She didn’t say anything, just focused her attention on her food. I smirked to myself. Kari was such a loving child, so for her not to like anybody said a lot. I glanced over at the plate, or I should say plates, Play had prepared for himself. He had one for the chips, one for the meat and then a separate plate with four compartments housing lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and cheese.
“That is completely insane,” I said, pointing.
He looked down at his plate and then back up at me. “Mind your own plate.”
“You realize you’re putting everything in your mouth at once, right? You’re eating nachos. Why would you separate it like that?”
He gave a frustrated sigh. “I don’t like my food touching. If I assemble it all together, it gets soggy. I don’t like soggy food.”
I raised my hands. “Whatever. Eat it how you want.”
“I’m trying to.”
There was a hint of annoyance in his voice. I decided to leave him alone. For the remainder of lunch, we ate in silence. When Kari was done, she asked to go take a nap, so I sent her to our room while I moved to clear our plates from the table.
“I got it,” Play said, standing. “You should stay off that foot.”
He grabbed our dishes and took them to the dishwasher to load them. Once he packed the leftovers in separate containers and placed them in the fridge, he came back over and sat at the table with me.
“Thank you for lunch.”
“He has manners. Surprising.”
He chuckled. “You are impossible. I try to be nice, and you still have to act like a—”
“I dare you to call me out of my name. I fucking dare you.”
“I’m not Slim.”
“No. You aren’t. But you’re no better than he is.”
I turned away from him, fighting back my tears. I refused to cry in front of him.
