12. Alexis
Alexis
Gabriel’s daughter runs across the hardwood floor of the foyer. I can hear her rubber boots squeaking, tracking water. Margaret’s voice travels from the door. “Peyton, honey, take off your boots before walking on the wood! You’re going to ruin your dad’s nice floor.”
Gabriel, for his part, doesn’t seem to give a shit about the floor. He chuckles as he watches Peyton dash toward him, shedding droplets from her little raincoat. There’s a warmth on his face that seems reserved for her, and I have to admit, it’s a sight that makes my heart swell.
Gabriel scoops Peyton into his arms, getting his suit soaked in the process. This doesn’t seem to bother him either. He smiles and bounces his daughter. “Hey, kiddo. Where were you guys?”
“Margaret took me to the park!” Peyton exclaims. “And then it started raining, and I jumped in all of the puddles!”
“You sure did, didn’t you?” he says fondly.
I watch the exchange, a little smile creeping onto my face. Gabriel is always so attentive with Peyton, his warmth and affection evident in every word and gesture. He absolutely adores that little girl, and it’s plain to see.
She’s always going to have that, I think to myself. A father who loves her. Who would do anything for her.
Suddenly, a wave of longing washes over me, mingling with the warmth of the moment. I feel an ache deep in my chest.
And immediately, I’m embarrassed. I’m watching a father interact with his daughter and thinking only of myself, of the things that I’ve been deprived of. What the hell is wrong with me? The joy that Peyton brings Gabriel has nothing to do with me and my problems.
Maybe if I hadn’t just been talking to Gabriel about how useless I am to my family, maybe if I hadn’t opened up about my frustrations, I wouldn’t be feeling this way. Raw. Vulnerable.
The truth is, it’s hard not to compare my own experience to the pure joy radiating from Gabriel and Peyton. I’ve always craved that kind of connection, that kind of love.
For Gabriel, Peyton is worth more than her marriage prospects. She’s worth more than anything in the world. I think of the countless times my own worth has been measured by my family against a checklist of expectations. Peyton has no expectations to fulfill, no conditions to meet.
That’s the way it should be. The thought seems to come out of nowhere, and I look away before tears can spring to my eyes, dropping my gaze to the floor. My throat feels tight.
To my horror, Gabriel seems to notice. The smile slips from his face, and he tilts his head slightly, concern flickering in his steely gray eyes. “Alexis, are you okay?”
I cough to force my throat to open. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
I can tell I haven’t managed to convince him. There’s a look on his face, like he wants to press further, but he holds back. Instead, he studies me quietly, allowing the silence to stretch between us.
After a long moment, he says, “Well, I’m about to start dinner. Do you two want to help?” He gives Peyton a bounce, then looks at me expectantly.
“Yes!” Peyton crows with a six-year-old’s enthusiasm.
I manage a smile, feeling touched that he included me. “Yeah. Sure.”
Gabriel swings around to face Margaret, who has been standing in the living room doorway, her arms folded and a serene smile on her face. “Maggie, you can take off,” he says. “We’ve got it from here.”
“If you say so,” she says. She shoots me a look I can’t decipher. It’s warm, not unfriendly, but still somehow knowing. “You folks take care. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She waggles her fingers at Peyton, who giggles and kicks her feet.
As Margaret leaves, Gabriel helps Peyton out of her boots and raincoat and then carries her toward the kitchen, and I follow in their wake. He sets Peyton down on a stool at the counter, and she leans across the marble, eager to help.
“Okay, chef,” he says, ruffling Peyton’s hair affectionately. “You ready to make the best chili the world has ever seen?”
“Yes!” Peyton chirps. “Can I cut the vegetables?”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Gabriel says, shaking his head.
“We’re not ready to deal with the knives yet.
I’ve got a more important job for you, okay?
When I chop up the onions, you’re going to put them in here.
” He reaches into a cupboard and hands Peyton a plastic bowl, which she takes from him with an air of importance.
Gabriel sets about prepping the ingredients. He pulls out a cutting board and a knife, then starts dicing an onion, his movements deft and sure.
All of a sudden, a new anxiety descends upon me as I realize something devastating. Gabriel is a much better cook than I am.
Oh, fuck me… of course he is. I resist the urge to groan out loud. Yet another way in which I’m destined to fail him as a wife, I guess. I feel a residual rush of embarrassment about my kitchen disaster the other morning.
Still, though. His competence in the kitchen is… unexpected, to say the least. That, and undeniably attractive.
Peyton is thoroughly engrossed in her task, carefully placing the diced onion into her bowl with a proud little smile. When Gabriel is finished with the onion, he moves on to a bundle of bell peppers.
“Anything I can do to help?” I finally ask, my voice sounding a little wobbly even to my own ears.
Gabriel glances up, then gestures with a knife to the fridge. “There’s ground beef in there. If you want to get that started on a medium heat in a frying pan, that would be great.”
I head toward the fridge, pushing aside my doubts as I rummage for the package of ground beef. You’re not going to fuck this up, I tell myself fiercely. It’s cooking ground beef on the stove. A child could do this.
Maybe a child should be doing this. Peyton seems much more comfortable in this kitchen than I am.
“Do you want me to season it now?” I ask, glancing back at Gabriel.
He nods, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. “Yeah, a little salt and pepper should do the trick. I’ll add some spices later once it’s browned.”
A rueful smile flashes across my face. “You sure you trust me with this? You’ve seen what a disaster I am in the kitchen.” I’m only half joking.
He looks surprised, but then he manages to surprise me in turn by grinning, his expression turning amused. “You know, that’s a good point. I’ve seen what happens when you try to use a frying pan.”
“Yeah. You might want to set up some kind of exclusion zone around the stove,” I say, my gaze dropping to the tiled floor. “Otherwise there might be casualties.”
“I don’t think there will be casualties,” he says calmly.
“Your chili,” I point out. “That’ll be the first casualty. Then everyone who eats it.”
“I believe in you,” he says. He’s joking around, of course, just meeting my self-deprecating banter with the same energy, but still, the encouragement strikes me as real.
As I select a frying pan off the rack that hangs on the wall, I feel a bit lighter, like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.
I place the pan on the stove, square my shoulders, and take a deep breath, like I’m about to dive off a cliff. “Okay. Here goes nothing.” I interlace my fingers and stretch them out for good measure.
At that little display, Gabriel laughs—an actual, out-loud laugh. I can count the number of times I’ve heard him laugh on one hand. It’s a rich sound, full of warmth, and it sends a thrill through me.
He seems as surprised by that laugh as I am.
I turn the heat on and portion the ground beef into the pan, sprinkling it with salt and pepper, as per Gabriel’s instructions. Slowly but surely, the meat begins to brown as I stir it with a wooden spoon. This is probably the smoothest kitchen experience I’ve ever had.
Gabriel works efficiently, finishing the vegetables and moving on to making the chili base in a large stock pot. He pours in peeled tomatoes and brings his sauce to a simmer. I can’t help but steal glances at him, captivated by the way he moves—confident and composed, even in the kitchen.
As the beef sizzles and the aroma fills the kitchen, I can sense the atmosphere shifting. I feel calmer, like I’m somehow redeeming myself from the breakfast fiasco.
Gabriel leans over my shoulder to inspect the beef, then gives me an approving nod. “Looks good.”
“Thanks,” I say, resisting the urge to sigh with relief. “Now what?”
“You can add a little paprika and some cayenne pepper,” he says. “Not too much, though. Peyton’s not the biggest fan of spicy food.”
Behind him, Peyton makes a face, sticking out her tongue and screwing up her nose. Smiling to myself, I turn my attention back to the pan, seasoning the beef as instructed.
“What’s next, Chef?” Gabriel glances back at Peyton.
“Veggies!” she says, holding up her bowl.
“Alright. You want to come tip those veggies into the sauce?”
Peyton patters across the kitchen and beams up at Gabriel, her excitement palpable. She raises the bowl high. “I’m ready!”
“Okay. On the count of three,” Gabriel says. “One… two… three!”
He hoists her up into the air, and she lets out a peal of laughter. She pours out the diced vegetables into the pot. A splash of steam rises, carrying the sweet and savory aroma of tomatoes.
“Awesome job, Chef.” Gabriel holds Peyton up effortlessly, as if she barely weighs anything. “You can go ahead and give it a stir. Just remember that it’s hot, okay, Bug?”
Peyton nods solemnly, her face scrunched up in concentration as she stirs the chili. Gabriel watches her, pride shining in his eyes. I stare at the two of them for just a bit too long, remembering my own task when the oil pops and sizzles in my frying pan.
“Now we let it simmer for a bit,” Gabriel says, leaning against the counter with a casual ease. “While we wait, what do you want to make as a side? We could do some rice. Alexis, you think you can handle rice?”
I feign offense, putting a hand to my chest. “Hey now, I’m not that hopeless!”
Gabriel raises an eyebrow, a playful grin on his lips. “Just checking. I don’t want to throw you too far into the deep end.”