15. Myraj
ONE WEEK LATER
“Daddy, look! I got purpa and gween hands!” Malachi declared, holding his hands up to show Micaiah.
“You were supposed to get more paint on the paper than on your hands, dude.”
Malachi giggled and turned back to the painting he was working on. He had been busy with it for almost twenty minutes, with his tongue stuck sideways from his mouth. Micaiah had set up an interactive date with the three of us so that Malachi and I could be introduced and get to know one another.
We had gone to Art About Town, a cultural arts experience on the outskirts of downtown. It was a large art center in an old museum. It offered various types of art experiences such as painting, photography, pottery, and sculpting.
Malachi had been so excited to meet me. Micaiah told me that he had explained to his son that he would be having a little sister.
Malachi was excited about the idea and wanted to know if the baby was in his mommy’s tummy, and Micaiah explained that no, she wasn’t.
He explained that he and his mommy wouldn’t be having any more babies together, which made Malachi sad.
But when he said there was a nice lady who had his sister in her belly, and he would get to meet her, play with her, and eat dinner with her, his mother was no longer the focus of his busy little mind.
They had picked me up this morning, and Micaiah told me that he had planned an all-day date for the three of us.
When Micaiah introduced us, Malachi immediately took to me, which I was thankful for.
We spent the first half of our day at an arts festival, and then we had come to Art About Town around three.
We had fun creating art with our hands and feet.
We made clay flowerpots and picked out others we could buy, paint, and decorate.
When we finished that, we had used our feet to paint “funny murals,” but somehow, the paint transferred to Malachi’s hands.
“How’d you do that, Chi?” I asked, pointing at his hands.
“Get used to it,” Micaiah replied, smirking at me.
“I’m ready to go, Daddy.”
“You’re ready to leave already?” Micaiah asked.
Malachi looked somber. He nodded as he held his hands in the air, careful not to touch anything.
“I’m gonna take him over there to clean his hands and feet. Are you ready?” Micaiah asked me.
“Yeah, I’m ready, as well.” We had been here for two hours, and I knew Malachi was ready to run some of his energy off. For a little kid, he’d done pretty well being cooped up this long.
We headed to the area where our feet would be sprayed off, and I cleaned my feet as I watched the two of them together. They were so adorable, and I had seen a few women casting glances in their direction as they watched the father-son duo.
The dates that Micaiah created reminded me of activities in a romance book. That was why his books were so damn good. I still hadn’t gotten used to the idea that the man who stirred my soul and heart was also my favorite romance writer.
My heart hitched just a little as it usually did in his presence.
I hated that I wanted more than what I was willing to allow myself to have.
Yet, Micaiah had been clear about what he wanted, which wasn’t marriage.
I had been right to put barriers in place from the beginning.
I would only end up hurt if I allowed my heart to be open to him.
“Micaiah!” I screamed as he sprayed me with a water gun. I had gotten him wet when he walked by Malachi and me in the splash pad, but not nearly as soaked as he made me.
“What? You got me wet.” He had a smile on his face as he extended his muscular, tatted arms out at his sides with one hand still holding the water gun.
He looked so damn delicious when his dark skin was wet. Those twin dimples winked in the sun, and his swim trunks hung low underneath chiseled abs. The hair on his muscular legs was slicked down, and he had pretty feet for a man.
“Not that wet,” I whined.
“Her hair, Daddy! You wet her hair!” Malachi shouted as if his father was clueless to what he’d done.
After leaving Art About Town, we had gone to a mini water park for little kids and taken Malachi to the splash pad.
I couldn’t tell who was happier to be here, him or Micaiah, because Micaiah had become like a big kid.
He’d chased his son around attacking him with the large water gun, until Malachi turned around and fought fire with fire, or water with water.
Yet, when he attacked little Malachi and got the best of him, I jumped in to assist Malachi. I had gotten Micaiah super wet, and now he had returned the favor.
“All right, that’s enough. It’s time to dry off and eat now,” Micaiah announced.
I grabbed Malachi’s water gun at the last minute and sprayed Micaiah with it, drenching him in water. He turned on me and tried to spray me, but I had already taken cover behind an oversized metal mushroom.
Micaiah shook his head and laughed. “Big kid,” he called over his shoulder as he and his son walked away. The water droplets glistened deliciously off those tatted muscles in the hot afternoon sun, and I wanted to lick every drop off him.
After we sat down at one of the picnic tables and our dinner from Mami’s Bembé Cuban Restaurant was spread before us, I struck up a conversation with Malachi.
“So, Chi, what are your favorite foods?”
“Pizza. Humbugas. Ice cream!” He made the declaration with such emphasis, pumping his fist with every announcement.
“I love all those things, too, but Greek and Italian foods are my favorite.”
“I wike spaspetti and meatballs. I don’t know Greek.”
I giggled as I turned my gaze to Micaiah who appeared amused by the exchange.
“That’s fair. I guess I’ll have to introduce you two someday.”
He nodded and then prattled on about his favorite cartoons, and how he liked playing video games at his aunts Dawn’s and Brooke’s houses.
“What do you like doing with daddy?”
“Weading and—”
“Chi, remember how we practiced our R’s and W’s?” I watched as Micaiah reiterated how to make the “R” and “W” sounds. When he finished, Malachi finished his sentence, slowly pronouncing his words correctly.
“I wi—like playing wif my blocks and cars.”
My face crinkled in amusement at his pronunciation of the word “with,” but Micaiah didn’t correct him this time.
“That sounds like a lot of fun,” I replied.
“It is. My favorite number is dis many ’cause I’ll be four soon,” he announced confidently, holding up four fingers.
“Tell her what month your birthday is in, Malachi,” Micaiah instructed.
“Octobah!”
“Pretty good,” I replied.
“My fav-o-wit letter is M. Daddy’s name starts with M.”
“It does, and so does your name,” I declared.
“I know. Wanna know my fav-o-wit color?”
“Sure,” I replied before I bit my sandwich.
“Brown. ’Cause I’m a boodiful brown boy. Nana said it.”
I couldn’t help but giggle behind my hand at the declaration and his mispronunciation of the word “beautiful” before I stared at him again. “You absolutely are, Malachi.”
When he talked about his favorite book, he asked if I was going to read it to him. I promised that I would and that I would love reading it to him the next time that I saw him.
“Mawaj, what’s my sister’s name?” he asked.
“Your daddy and I have to choose the perfect name for her. We haven’t done that yet.”
“Her name is Aweena!” he declared.
“A what?” I asked.
Micaiah laughed. “Aleena. It’s a little girl he has in his class at school. They’re good friends,” he explained.
“Well, your dad and I will discuss it, and I promise we’ll consider it.”
“Will she stay with me?” he asked with a mouthful of sandwich.
“Hey. What did I tell you about talking with your mouth full?” Micaiah asked. Malachi put a finger to his lips and Micaiah replied, “That’s right.”
“Sometimes she will live with you,” I replied. Micaiah’s gaze swiftly flew to mine, and I recognized my mistake when Malachi jumped on that question.
“Why not always?”
“She’ll have to stay with her mommy,” Micaiah answered.
“I wanna come stay with her too.”
I felt humbled and blessed, but I quickly responded in tandem with Micaiah. I replied, “I’ll be staying at my house,” as Micaiah declared, “She’ll be staying at her house.”
“Why?” Malachi demanded.
“Ooh! Look, Chi! There’s an ice cream truck. Micaiah, we should get some ice cream.”
He snickered and smirked at me before he shot a thankful glance my way.
“Let’s get you guys some ice cream,” Micaiah declared and jumped up from the picnic bench. He helped me up, and I slowly waddled with the two of them toward the ice cream truck.
We spent the rest of the afternoon eating ice cream and playing on the swings and other playground equipment with Malachi, before they took me home.
Malachi was knocked out by the time we pulled up to my place. Micaiah got out and helped me out of the car, like he always did, and walked me to my door.
“Hey, next weekend, my parents will be celebrating their forty-fifth anniversary, and they’ve been wanting to meet you. Would you go with me?”
“Uhm, . . . I don’t have anything to wear. Besides, my hair hasn’t been acting right since I’ve been pregnant, which is why I’ve been keeping it in ponytails.”
“Leave everything to me. I just need you to say that, yes, you’ll be there. You won’t have to worry about anything else. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Yes, I’ll go.”
I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into, but I hoped that his parents liked me and didn’t judge me too harshly.