Page 42 of Summer with the Single Dad

“They do, yes. Veggies are very good for you.”

“Even tomatoes?”

“Those are fruit,” Emme corrected.

“And gross,” Aya added.

“I don’t think they’re in a stir fry anyway,” Justine replied.

“Dad, do you put tomatoes in your stir fry?”

Bennett rolled his eyes to the rafters, calling on the patron saints of patience. “No. I do not. You know that.”

“Just checking. Just negotiating here.”

He snorted, and he’s pretty sure he heard Justine and Emerson snort.

Justine hummed for a moment. “All right then. Deal.” He spun around to see her holding out her hand to Aya. “I’ll stay for dinner, but you have to eat all your veggies.”

Aya took her hand, her face completely serious. “Deal.” Then a smile split her adorable little face, and she looked up at Bennett, all proud of herself. “I negotiated, Dad.”

“You did. Maybe you can be a lawyer when you grow up.”

“Does that mean I need to go to more school?”

“Yes. At least seven years.”

Her eyes went the size of saucers, then she pouted. “Hard pass.”

CHAPTER TEN

Growing up with two doctors for parents and over-achieving sisters, Justine’s family dinner table rarely happened. Usually at least one of her parents was working at the hospital, but often it was both. And when a family dinner did happen, it was full of one-upping, lectures and quizzes on various topics. From science to politics to history, her parents—but mostly her mother—turned dinner into a trivia game show. And the winner got dessert, while the losers had to do the dishes.

Justine never won.

Not once.

And it wasn’t because she didn’t know the answer.

It was because she didn’t say it fast enough.

She knew the answer to every question, knew it immediately, but so did her sisters. Tasha and Daniela were just faster.

Dinner around the table at Bennett’s house was so refreshingly normal. She was close to bursting with happiness by the time Aya got up to take her dishes to the dishwasher.

They chatted about normal things. Not world history, not the Latin term for the femoral artery—arteria femoralis—and definitely not which state was the last to ratify the nineteenth amendment—Mississippi. Instead, Bennett and his daughters talked about their day at school, what they learned, who they played with on the playground, and what they were looking forward to during their summer vacation. Apparently, Aya was being pushed around by some girl named Carnation—which was a godawful name in Justine’s opinion—and Bennett gave her the most supportive and easy-to-understand advice. Or rather, he didn’t really give her advice at all. He listened and he helped her work to a solution on her own with carefully worded questions and suggestions.

It was an absolute joy to watch and hear. It brought light into her heart and made her see him in an entirely new way. She knew he was a good dad. That was evident the moment she met him. But he was also so patient. And a good listener. He corrected the girls’ behavior gently, never raised his voice, and even when he had to keep reminding Aya to close her mouth when she chewed, he never made her feel any shame about it.

Then, as if she wasn’t some weird interloper spectator, they included her in on their conversations as well.

“What do you think I should do about Carnation, Justine?” Aya asked, popping edamame beans onto her plate to make a pile.

“I think your dad’s suggestions sound really good to me. Just avoid her. And when you can’t avoid her, use your words to tell her how her actions are unkind and even if she doesn’t want to be your friend, she still needs to keep her hands to herself and be kind. Then go to a teacher.”

Aya nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. I mean, she’s just such a brat, you know? I do think if I grow up to be a firefighter, I won’t put out her house if it catches on fire.”

“Are you going to set it on fire?” Emme asked, spearing a piece of broccoli with her fork. “I think you can go to jail for that.”

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