Chapter Eight Dinner
I disliked Madelyn’s mate from the first second I realized that she was raising a child alone.
I blame it on my own childhood. In an age when krakens were mating for life and raising dozens of children over decades, with vast clans of families protecting and aiding each other.
.. There was my father, a foggy memory, chasing mermaid tail and singing back to the sirens. Literally.
To find out that this Eli has not only threatened to take Zack away (although Madelyn doesn’t know I saw that heinous text) but that he left because he “hated” her sweet, sensuous body?
I could sink a yacht, I’m so angry. I feel all the rage of the ancient Earth Shaker inside of me, and I take it out by swimming aggressive laps around the lake under the guise of “supervising” swimmers and boaters.
It has the effect of tiring me out—a bit, but it doesn’t make me any calmer. If anything, I feel like a wave that’s been dammed up, waiting to “crash out.”
Samantha tells me I’m using that term wrong. Doesn’t matter. I am ready to prove that I am nothing like Madelyn’s former mate, not in terms of looks or anything else—which is why I show up just a little early for our dinner, with fresh flowers and a freshly cleaned catch.
“Hi! Come on in,” Madelyn invites breathlessly, flushed and looking as though she’s been sprinting.
“But wipe your feet. Mommy mopped.” Zack hurls himself at my waist, and I scoop him up in a coil of tentacle and dangle him over my head. “Where are your feet?”
“Never had any. But my tentacles are squeaky clean.” I settle him on my shoulders. “The house looks beautiful, Madelyn. Here.” I hold out the flowers. “Something to make it even brighter, not that it needs it. It looks organized. No one would know you haven’t lived here for years.”
“The garage is not in the same condition,” she chuckles, sweeping her arm back to motion me inside. “You really don’t have to cook. I have steaks, and we could cheat and microwave potatoes—”
I silence her with a stern look. “I want to cook you a meal. Perhaps you will return the favor another night.”
“But I should be doing you favors already,” she protests, showing me to the kitchen.
“Being allowed into your home and to spend time with you and Zack is a huge favor. Zack and I are going to make a beautiful meal, aren’t we, Zack?”
“Can I look at the pictures in the cookbook?” Zack asks.
“All of them?”
Zack nods eagerly. “I like to see all of things.”
“Well, as long as you let me turn back to my recipe for boiled new potatoes with dill, then we have a deal.”
“Dill, deal, dill, deal,” Zack sing-songs, and his feet kick against my chest. He’s wearing little blue socks with yellow trucks on them.
“You have given me a most adorable assistant.”
“I can help. He doesn’t know where most things are, or even what a lot of the equipment is called—not that I have fancy cooking equipment. Not that I’d expect you to make something fancy!” Madelyn babbles.
“In the ocean, we live by our wits. We survive by using our senses, hunting, and finding. We know how to find treasures. Zack looks like he’s got sharp eyes.
All I need are the basics.” I give a winning smile—even though my insides are tying themselves in knots.
I’ve been in houses before, been among humans off and on, but mostly off.
I’ve never used a stove, but I’ve seen Janet use one.
“I feel so rude leaving you to cook and keep Zack busy while I work.” Madelyn is a blonde tornado of pots, pans, and oven mitts.
“Do you need a corkscrew? A cutting board? A potato peeler?” Items appear as she names them, bending down to pull things from under cabinets, then reaching up to yank others from overhead cupboards.
Would it be wrong of me to start naming random kitchen equipment?
After all, I’ve never cooked before, so how do I know what I need?
With a great effort of will, I stop myself, admitting I’m only tempted to do so that I can keep watching her cute backside when she bends, and those curvy calves flex when she stretches, revealing the arch of her feet in her slip-on shoes.
Why are human feet so adorable on Zack, with his little truck socks, and so utterly bewitching on Madelyn, making her look so delicate?
“That should do it. Now, if Zack gets tired of helping, you can send him in to me. Or, outside to play, and I’ll move my laptop to the back steps.”
“I’m not tired!” Zack wraps his arms around my forehead. “I wanna stay with him.”
Oh, my heart. I glance down to make sure it isn’t actually leaking out of my chest since Zack just melted it. But when I look at Madelyn’s face, it freezes solid in my chest.
The soft lips that met mine in relief are now tense and set, and her whole face looks troubled.
“I want you to stay, too, Junior Kraken,” I say quickly, hoping that eases her mind.
It doesn’t seem to. “Oh. All right then. Well, you guys have fun. I’ll be at my desk in the living room.”
“I still like you best!” Zack calls.
“As it should be.” I peek around the doorway and see Madelyn’s smile as she opens her computer and sits at a desk that’s cluttered with toys, sippy cups, and water bottles.
It’s not some calm little oasis, but in the busy-looking heart of the home, because she has to be mother and provider at the same time.
She catches me looking and blows me a kiss. No. She blows Zack a kiss.
“I like you the best, too, Zack. Now, go make dinner with Mr. Mercer.”
“Mercer is fine,” I say quickly. “Although tonight, perhaps you should call me Chef. And you are Chef Junior.”
“I like Kraken Junior better.”
“This proves you have excellent taste,” I chuckle.
“Do I get to stay up the whole time?” Zack asks.
“Most of it, if you’d like.”
“Mommy can’t give me piggybacks for too long. She says I’m getting so big.”
“I have bigger shoulders. You stay up there and tell me if I’m doing things right.”
“I don’t know if they’re right,” Zack protests, his little voice sounding amused, as if he knows something I don’t.
“Well, that’s why we have a recipe book.”
I have an hour of time where my son is being happily entertained by a handsome man. A handsome man who is cooking for us, and who brought me flowers. I want to pretend this isn’t a one-time thing, that it can happen again and again. That this is how something good starts.
I should work.
But I can’t. I sit and listen, soaking in the sounds of my son’s happy voice and Mercer’s deeper one—which is going through all the emotions.
Delight and amusement. “Ohhh! This smells so good, Zack. Here, would you like to smell the lemon? No! Don’t squeeze—well, yes, it will shoot you in the eye if you do that. Have a towel.”
Confusion. “What is a fish spatula? How many kinds of spatulas are there? Zack, can you find any spatulas in the index? Oh. No, I didn’t realize you couldn’t read.”
Patience. “You know your letters? That’s wonderful. Yes, you can sing the alphabet song to me. Very good! Now you want to sing it like a turtle? Okay, go ahead.”
Pride. “Your mother is going to love this.”
Doubt. “I hope your mother loves this.”
I have to keep my hands over my mouth to stop from chiming in or giggling as I eavesdrop. In an hour, I get a few sentences done, and the rest of the time is spent in spy mode or daydream mode.
“Go set the table, little one.”
“We did that.”
“You did? Oh! You did. Well, you hop into your seat and wait while I finish up the last of the dishes.”
That brings me out of my chair. “You did the dishes? You just finished cooking! And it smells like heaven,” I add quickly.
“Well, it’s very simple, but that means I had less opportunity to mess things up. Fish, pan-fried in butter and lemon, with salt and pepper. New potatoes, boiled, with butter, garlic, and dill. And asparagus, roasted, with lemon, olive oil, salt, and pepper. It sounds horribly basic, doesn’t it?”
“You made it, and it looks wonderful. So does the kitchen. How...” I trail off when I see that the sink is clear, the plates are made, and Mercer is carrying in three at a time, two with the meal he described and one with a thick slice of the quiche he bought for Zack.
“It’s kraken magic,” Zack says in a hushed voice.
He buckles himself into the red booster seat strapped to one of my dining room table chairs.
He starts demonstrating “kraken magic,” his arms waving like loose spaghetti.
“First, you stand on two of the tentacles, and one helps me hold the book. Then two do the dishes. And then hands use the spatula. That starts with S.”
Mercer places the plates down and pulls out my chair. “It’s not magic. It’s just being useful.”
“I think it’s magical. You didn’t have to clean up. Eli and I had a rule that if I cooked, he did the dishes, and vice versa.”
Mercer’s face darkens. “That’s a nice rule—but sometimes it is nice to do more than one’s ‘fair share.’ Sometimes it is nice to do more than the minimum. It shows you’d give your all, not just half.”
“Can I eat the pie? I’m having two pies! Chicken and cheese, and grasshopper.” Zack has apparently missed the discussion on chivalry and has his fork poised to stab into the crust, his favorite part.
“Let’s say grace and thank Mr. Mercer first.”
Zack chirps out both while I watch Mercer, and Mercer watches him. His face softens into the sweetest smile when Zack thanks him, and that makes me go all ooey-gooey in the heart region.
After an amazing dinner, a delicious dessert, and a game of Go Fish, Zack starts to yawn. I usher him down the hall to put on jammies and brush his teeth, warning Mercer that he can leave the dishes for me this time.
In thirty seconds, I hear water running and dishes clanking.
Should I be mad that he didn’t listen? Or grateful that he’s helping?
This is good first-impression stuff, Madelyn. Eli used to be super attentive when you were dating.
He’d plan dates. Take you on nice vacations. Fancy hotels overnight. Spend money to buy presents.