Chapter 10
Mrs. Brooks arrived two days before the holidays carrying a suitcase and a tin of cookies.
Malik met her at the door. Ava helped with the suitcase. Monique put the cookies on the counter before Malik could open the tin and eat half of them.
I stood in the hall watching everyone find their place.
A year earlier, I had thought a full house meant everyone inside it felt included. Malik had taught me to ask and to listen.
I still did.
That afternoon, we planned the holiday meal together. Mrs. Brooks wanted to make Tasha’s noodles with Malik. Ava asked for the dish Monique made every winter. I volunteered to handle the rest and was assigned the bread.
“You burn toast,” Malik reminded me.
“I’ve been practicing.”
“You need more practice.”
He smiled as he said it.
The next day, Ava’s father called to say he could visit for an afternoon. We adjusted our plans so she could spend time with him without missing the meal. Monique thanked me for helping with the drive.
I thought about how easily we once made plans around the children without involving them. Now we asked. Ava chose when she wanted to leave and return. Malik wanted to come along for the drive and bring a book.
At home, I called Renee to check what time she would arrive. She had become our reliable backup for pickups and an unreliable guest for dinner because she always came early to sample everything.
She promised to bring a pie.
On the holiday morning, Malik woke me before sunrise.
“Mrs. Brooks says the noodles take time.”
I followed him downstairs. Tasha’s recipe book lay open on the kitchen counter. Mrs. Brooks stood beside him, showing him how to roll the dough.
Monique came in a few minutes later and tied on an apron. Ava joined us, still sleepy, and took over stirring the sauce.
Nobody had to ask Malik whether he belonged in the kitchen. He had flour on both hands and plenty to say about how the noodles should be cut.
After breakfast, I went to the garage to bring in another chair. Malik came to help.
“This one?” he asked.
“That’s the one.”
It was the chair we had used at the dining table before Ava moved in. We carried it between us.
“Dad?”
I stopped.
“Last year, when I didn’t tell you about those dinners, I thought you might say I was making a fuss.”
“I’m sorry I gave you reason to think that.”
“You listened when I finally told you.”
“I’ll keep listening.”
He nodded and lifted his end of the chair again.
By the time Renee arrived, every seat was needed. She brought her pie and hugged Malik so tightly he protested. Mrs. Brooks made room beside her for Ava and asked about the dance performance she’d missed. Ava showed her a photograph.
Monique caught my eye across the room. She looked nervous.
She had told me she wanted to speak to Malik before dinner. I had suggested she ask him whether he wanted a private conversation.
She did, and he took her onto the porch.
I watched through the window as they stood beside the railing. I couldn’t hear them. After a while, Malik said something and Monique nodded. They came back inside together.
I didn’t ask him what she had said.
Later, while we set the table, he told me on his own.
“She apologized again. She said she knows I don’t owe her a hug or anything.”
“How was that for you?”
“Good.”
He placed a plate in front of the chair Ava had chosen.
“I told her I like when we play cards.”
“I know she does too.”
He smiled and went to call everyone to dinner.
We filled the table with food. Renee told a story about me falling off my bike when we were children. Ava laughed so hard she had to put down her fork. Malik asked Mrs. Brooks to tell us how Tasha had learned the noodle recipe.
I listened to them all.
At one point, I looked at Malik. He was talking with Ava, his plate full, his shoulders relaxed. The green hoodie he had worn that first night was now too small. He had insisted on keeping it anyway.
When the meal was over, Mrs. Brooks asked for a photograph.
We gathered around the dining table. Renee balanced the camera on a shelf and hurried back into place. Monique stood beside Ava. Mrs. Brooks put a hand on Malik’s shoulder. I stood on his other side.
The camera flashed.
“Another one,” Malik said. “Ava blinked.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
We took three more.
That evening, after everyone had gone home or upstairs, Malik joined me beneath his painting. The four figures still sat around the table, one plate in front of each.
“We had more people here today,” he said.
“We did.”
He looked up at me.
“I used to think you wouldn’t notice if I wasn’t at dinner.”
I put my arm around him.
“I notice, Malik. And if something ever makes you feel alone again, I want you to tell me.”
“I will.”
He leaned against my side. We stayed there until Monique called from the kitchen, asking if anyone wanted the last piece of pie.
Malik raised his head.
“I do.”
May you like
“So do I.”
He ran ahead of me, calling to Ava that we had to share it. I followed the sound of their voices into the kitchen, where Monique was cutting the pie into four pieces so everyone could have some.
