“Is she? Well, I cannot miss that.”
She leads him to the door. As she passes me, she whispers, “Cookies for dessert, Auntie, because I wished for them.”
I swallow around a lump that won’t let me be. “You got it, girlie.”
She runs inside and plops down in front of the crayons and coloringbooks I put out to keep her busy while I work on dinner. Mati lingers in the foyer while I close the door.
“That was sweet,” I say, which sounds trite compared with his gesture.
“But I made you sad.”
“No you didn’t. You made me really happy.”
He raises a doubtful eyebrow. “That isn’t true, but I think you’ll be happy when we have cookies for dessert.”
I smile. “Thanks to you and your wishes. We’d be up shit creek if you hadn’t come by.”
He feigns shock, as if he hasn’t grown accustomed to my colorful language. “Is it okay if I stay for noodles?”
For an instant, I think of Audrey and how she’d react if she knew Mati was here. She’d be pissed—I know that for sure. And then I decide I don’t care, because she’d also be wrong.
I take a step toward him, curious as to whether he’ll let me into his space. He does. He smells good, summery and clean, like rosemary, and heat wafts off him in waves. The pace of his breathing changes, abbreviates, like maybe I do exactly to him what he does to me.
I look up and tumble headfirst into his firelight eyes. “You can stay as long as you want.”
***
We eat our noodles and because I insist, carrot sticks, and then we hang out at the table awhile, listening to Janie recite a choppy version ofGoldilocks and the Three Bears. Apparently, she sympathizes with Goldilocks. “She was just sleepy,” she says after the part where the bears chase the intruder from their cottage.
Mati counters with a story about Buzaak Chinie, a goat whose kids get eaten by a wolf, kind of like Red Riding Hood’s grandmother. Buzaak Chinie takes rescue advice from an alligator, a tiger, and a lion before finally defeating the wolf and freeing her kids from its belly. Janie giggles at the silly voices Mati adopts for each character, particularly the falsetto he gives Buzaak Chinie.
After, we head out into the yard with a bag of frosted animal cookies. The twilight sky is clear, and the air shimmers with the warmth of summer. Mati and I sit under a trellis laced with climbing jasmine, breathing its sweet scent, and he tells me about how the flower originated in his part of the world, and that its fragrance reminds him of home.
Meanwhile, Janie marks up the patio with chalk, devouring her weight in cookies. “Look, Auntie,” she says, pointing to her drawing. “Rainbow.”
“I love it. Do you remember our rainbow song?”
“Yes.” She eyes Mati shyly, and I take her hint.
“Do you want me to sing it with you?”
“Yes!”
And so we sing to the tune of “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes,” the song I taught her a few weeks ago:Red, yellow, green and blue, green and blue. Red, yellow, green and blue, green and blue. Purple, orange, brown and black. Red, yellow, green and blue, green and blue.
When we’re finished, Mati claps like he’s genuinely impressed. Janie curtseys.
She continues drawing, flowers and princess crowns and sunshines with googly eyes, humming our rainbow song while she works. Mati passes me the bag of animal cookies and I take a pink elephant, then go about picking sprinkles off to eat individually.
“That is… an odd way to eat a cookie,” he says.
“I know. I like to make them last.” And then, thanks to a random but perfectly timed recollection, I grin and say, “Khwazza.”
His eyes widen, and then he’s beaming. “Have you been studying?”
“Not really. I just happen to have an excellent teacher.”
“You are a flatterer.” He takes a frosted camel from the bag and bites its head off.
