Chapter 12
TWELVE
“Daddy, everybody here?” Niya says as I pull into the one empty spot I see in the parking lot.
“Looks like it,” I agree, because for a Monday night, it’s packed.
My little four-year-old has a mature palate. Thanks to Shuga, she tries and eats what many little girls won’t even try. A normal kid’s meal hardly ever makes her happy. Seafood is her favorite and she loves a seafood boil in a bag.
“I hope they got my legs,” she says as she tries to unbuckle the belt on her booster.
“I’m sure they do, baby girl,” I assure her. Once I kill my engine, I reach into the back seat and unbuckle her. “Hold on. Let me get the door,” I tell her and get out.
The Seafood Spot is Niya’s favorite restaurant and she loves snow crab legs.
They serve seafood prepared in every known way but their specialty is the seafood boil bags.
Finding the right words to explain to my heartbeat about Mireya is going to be hard.
Doing it while she enjoys her legs will help.
After getting Niya out of her seat and placing her feet on the ground, I grab her mini book bag and we walk into the busy restaurant.
As crowded as it is, we don’t have to wait to be seated.
A booth on the raised platform on the side of the restaurant is available.
Niya slides in first and I get in next to her.
When she gets up on her knees to reach the table, I flag a server over and request a booster seat.
“I can stand up, Daddy,” Niya protests as soon as I place the booster on the seat.
“Not and eat, baby. The seat is better,” I tell her and she pouts slightly but eases back on the seat. When I push it closer to the table and open the folded coloring sheet cradling three crayons, her pout disappears.
“See, that’s better,” I say and she nods while starting to color. Our server returns to take our drink order, so I turn to Niya. “What do you want to drink? Some lemonade?” I ask although I already know her answer.
“No. I want water,” she says, getting her favorite drink. Niya drinks water all the time, milk sometimes, and juice almost never.
“Two waters, one with lemon but no ice,” I tell the server.
“Would you like to go ahead and put in your food order?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I answer because we get the same thing every time. “Boil pot number two, mild, light garlic, and deshelled and the fried catfish basket with dirty rice instead of fries. Oh, and two melted butters.”
“Deshelled? The snow crabs and the shrimp?” he asks incredulously. “I think we have to charge extra-extra for that.”
“You do and I’m straight with the charge.
I need it all deshelled,” I tell him because I’m well aware of the fifteen-dollar upcharge for deshelling.
It’s convenient as hell for Niya and even for me.
“I’m also going to need hot sauce for the fish,” I say, then hand him the two small menus from the table. “Thanks.”
“I’ll bring your waters right out,” he says before walking off.
“They got my legs?” Niya asks when he leaves.
“Yes, they have them. You must be hungry.”
“I am,” she exclaims. Although she typically has something for breakfast on the way to school and lunch at school, Niya is usually starving after school.
“Well, how was school today?”
“Good. I got a star.”
“Just one? You got two on Friday.”
“Yeah. I didn’t sit down when Miss Sharon asked me,” she admits honestly. Her eyes never leave the masterpiece she’s coloring.
“But why didn’t you sit down when your teacher told you?”
“She not my teacher.”
“She’s your teacher’s assistant and an adult. When an adult asks you to do something, what are you supposed to do?”
“Listen,” she sighs.
“Right. So what happened today then?” I ask.
“I was closing my bag,” she says before looking up at me with her innocent light brown eyes. Niya gets me every time.
“Alright. Well, next time just ask for help then sit down, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
Our server returns with our waters and informs me of what I already know. “They can deshell it all but my manager said it’s an extra fifteen. I just need to confirm before they do it,” he says.
“Yeah. That’s fine,” I tell him.
“Okay,” he says while nodding. “Do you want everything to come out together?”
“Yes and please don’t forget the butter.”
“I got you,” he says, then looks over at Niya’s coloring sheet. “Do you want some more colors?” he asks and she nods. “Okay, I’m gon’ hook you up,” he tells her. He walks off to the hostess stand and returns with a handful of crayons.
“Thank you,” she gushes.
“’Preciate that,” I add.
With her new crayons, a new level of creativity is activated and she looks at the crayons pensively before choosing the next color to add.
I think she has Shuga’s love of art because that shit definitely didn’t come from me.
Shuga tried to get us to draw and paint but none of us had the talent nor the interest. Niya enjoys coloring and painting with her Nana and I encourage both.
The wall behind her bed was painted with dry erase paint and she’s free to create on it.
After pushing her sheet over to me, she looks up at me and asks, “It’s pretty?”
“It’s beautiful,” I gush. “I love it. Is this one for me?” I ask because I have several of her creations in my office and others are in her room.
“No. Imma give it to Miss Sharon tomorrow,” she reveals and I smile.
“She’s gonna like that. Let’s put it up before the food comes,” I say and she gathers the crayons while I open her bag.
We get the crayon and sheet packed up right on time because a few minutes later, our server is back with our food. Before we start to eat, we clean our hands with the sanitizing wipes in her bag.
The seafood boil includes three clusters of snow crabs, a half-pound of large shrimp, three small potatoes, and two mini corn on the cobs. Naturally, Niya can’t and won’t eat all of it. We share it as well as the catfish but the butter is all her; she dips everything in the bag from it.
To make it easier for her to eat, I empty the bag into the provided large, red tray then use my fork to stack the deshelled crab legs on one side. She instantly stops me.
“I got it,” she says. Once she has most of the crab meat in a little pile. She glances over at me then bows her head. I say a quick grace and she says, “A-men.”
I allow her to eat a little before bringing up Mireya.
As I eat, I gather my words and choose the most simplistic explanation for my baby girl.
Her little mind won’t even comprehend or care about the complicated details.
At the end of the day, I just need her to know Mireya will be coming into our lives.
When she takes a break to wipe some of the butter from her mouth and hands, I seize the opportunity.
After tearing several paper towels from the roll on the table, I help her then encourage her to drink some of her water.
“You’re getting full?” I ask and she nods.
“I’m full,” she confirms, then exhales.
“I think I am too,” I admit. “But I want to talk to you before we go home, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
“I want to talk about Miss Mireya,” I begin and she smiles. “She’s my new friend and I really like her.”
“I like her too. She nice,” she says with a smile.
“Well, since we both like her, she’s going to be coming around more and spending time with us. We will probably go to her house and she’ll be visiting ours too.”
“She can draw on my wall with me,” she says excitedly and I relax. For Niya, drawing on her wall is a privilege. Those little words warm my heart because Niya’s cool with Mireya. Figuring out this marriage and its nuances seem easier now because my baby girl is cool.
“She can definitely do that,” I tell her, then kiss her cheek. “You think you gon’ eat some of this tomorrow after school?”
“Yes. Get my legs please. And the corn,” she adds quickly.
I look up for our server and he’s coming toward our section. I wave him over.
“Can we get this to go? And the check?” I ask.
“All of this?” he confirms before grabbing the tray and my plate.
When he walks off to box up our leftovers, I moisten several paper towels with the water from my cup and thoroughly clean Niya’s hands and mouth then moisten more for myself. Our server returns with our bagged leftovers and the bill. After reviewing it, I tap my card to pay then Niya and I leave.
We make it to the house twenty minutes later and start our nightly routine.
Because our mornings start so early, I try to have her in bed by eight, eight-thirty at the latest. After putting up the leftovers, she chooses her snacks for tomorrow and I pack her lunch: turkey and cheese pinwheels, a strawberry yogurt tube, apple slices with peanut butter, and two small water bottles.
“Can I take two chips, Daddy? Teisha don’t have snacks,” Niya says.
“Yeah. Grab some for your friend then head upstairs. I’m coming right up.” She hands me the chips and runs out of the kitchen. “Slow down a little,” I call after her.
The minute her lunch bag and book bag are all packed, I wipe the counters down, grab a mini bottle of water, then head up the stairs.
She’s in her room, drawing on her wall. I don’t bother her because I need to run her bath and take out her uniform for the morning.
At Diamond Elite, each grade has a specific uniform color. Pre-K and kindergarten are burgundy.
“Let’s see what you got over here,” I say when I stand behind her.
“It’s cubes. I got one, two, three, four, five, six,” she says and points to each with her marker.
“Six green cubes. I like them.”
“Imma do seven tomorrow.”
“Okay, well it’s time to take your bath and brush your teeth,” I tell her and she follows me into the bathroom.