Page 62 of Truce Of The Matter

Changing the subject, I say, “I’ll stop by this evening and cook for you. What do you have a taste for?”

“It’s fellowship Sunday and they are serving dinner after church. So, I’m fine today, sweetie.”

“Then tomorrow, it’s you and me and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Alright. We can have lunch. I’m going to church in the morning.”

“On a Monday? For what?”

“A deacons meeting. We can eat at the restaurant around three.”

“The team will love that. It’s a date. Lunch at three. I love you, Daddy.”

“Love you too, sweetie.”

I end the call and stare at my screen for a moment, debating if I should take a chance and call Daija. I open my favorites and hit the i in her contact. Her full information appears with her college ID picture as her contact photo. I study it for a few more moments, stalling. Then, I just go for it and press call. It rings three times and her voicemail picks up. I end the call, disappointed. Seconds later, a text from her appears on my screen.

Daija: Still in bed. Late night.

Me: Late night studying?

Daija: Something like that. I’ll text u later.

Me: Okay. Get some rest then. I love you.

My eyes stay glued to my screen as I wait, hope, and pray that she responds, stating

her love for me. I wait and wait but her response doesn’t come. Disheartened, I shake my head then turn the phone over. It vibrates as soon as I do and I excitedly flip it to read my text. Unfortunately, it’s not Daija. Instead, it’s my Munchies delivery driver notifying me that my groceries are at the door so I rush to it and grab my bags.

As soon as I wash my hands, I tackle the chicken breasts, seasoning them for a quick marinade. I mix my pancake batter next, set it aside, then prepare the eggs for scrambling before I wash and cut my berries. The light sound of footsteps shuffling on the floor causes me to look up from the strawberries and see Aryel walking into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” she says softly.

“Good morning. Did I wake you?” I ask, worried that I’ve been too loud down here in this kitchen. She nods honestly and I can only smile. “Sorry. I was hungry and wanted to surprise y’all with breakfast.”

Her sleep-filled, pretty face perks up and she asks, “Can you make pancakes?”

“How about strawberry pancakes?”

“That’s my favorite,” she gushes. “I can help you.” Her big expressive eyes plead with me as she speaks.

“I definitely need some help. Let’s wash your hands and get started.”

Excitedly, she says, “Let me get my stool.”

She rushes over to the pantry and pulls out a little wooden stool with a pink velvet top. I turn and step toward her to assist but her eyes let me know she wants to do it. She’s very independent and clearly likes to help. She carries the stool over to the counter and places it right beside me. She washes her hands then looks at me for directions.

I place my sharp knife into the sink and grab two butter knives from the utensil drawer. The berries are soft and can be easily sliced with these. After moving the cutting board over to her, I hand her the knife.

“I cut the stems. I just need you to slice these like this,” I tell her then slice three berries, demonstrating how to use the knife.

“I got it,” she assures me. “You want me to cut all of them?”

“If you can that’ll be good because your dad eats a lot,” I say and she giggles.

“Yeah, he’s greedy,” she says with a grin.

I hand her the knife and watch as she cuts three strawberries. Pleased by her little skills, I leave her to the berries and start grilling the chicken breasts then let them rest. Then, we start the pancakes. After dumping half of the sliced berries into the batter, I muddle a few into warming syrup and butter to make strawberry syrup and leave a few to top the pancakes. Aryel stirs the eggs as I cook the pancakes on the griddle.

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