She enjoys giving me shit as much as she enjoys making Daisy smile, it would seem.
I hook my elbow over the back of my chair. “When you feed me a decent dinner, I’ll be sure to be more attentive.”
“Oh my God.” Lavender presses her hand to her chest. “Daisy, did you hear that? We have a dinosaur in our midst.”
“Where?” The little girl's head swings left and right. “I don’t see any dinosaurs. Or mist.”
Lavender coughs up a little wine, covering her mouth with a delicate hand, the diamonds in her wedding band twinkling.Why do I find that hot?
Daisy slips from her chair, moving to pat her back. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, thanks, Daiz.” With a fond look, Lavender gives Daisy’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
Shit. That expression she has for the kid. It melts something inside me.
Looking at Lavender usually makes things hard.
“I meant your uncle is a dino. He’s suggesting that because I’m a woman, I should be responsible for dinner.”
“But that’s Sam’s job,” Daisy replies, mildly confused. “And he’s a man.”
“And that wasn’t what I meant at all. It doesn’t have to be dinner you feed me. I’d go for a littlesnack.”
“Uncle Raif, why are you talking in that funny voice? Is your throat sore? And why did you say snack like a crocodile.” She makes a clapping motion with her hands and arms.
“Yeah, Uncle Raif,” Lavender repeats. “What’s with the voice?”
I could ask the same of her come-fuck-me eyes.
“I must have a frog in my throat.”Can I swap for your pussy?
“Is that why you think he’s a dinosaur? Because his voice sounds old?”
Lavender shakes her head. “How can I put this? Your uncle doesn’t realize that marriage doesn’t exactly suit a postfeminist ideology because it’s rooted in the ownership of women.”
“Postfeminist?”
She quirks a brow, probably surprised I didn’t go for the low-hanging fruit in that statement.Ownership. Money exchanged.
“I’m all for personal choice,” she says, a touch tart.
“Not for the outlawing of men?”
“I’m not militant. I know you all have your uses.”
“All of us? Like men in general?”
“Some of you might be more useful than others,” she concedes.
I give in to a dirty-sounding laugh as I trace my fingertip around the rim of my glass. A poor substitute for what I want to touch.
“So you’re saying you believe in empowerment and equality. That you’re flexible.”
“Is that a statement or a question?”
I put my glass to my lips. I know we’re not having two different conversations.
“Lavender’s mummy came to see us in the gallery.”
