“This is delicious!” Dawson exclaimed, mouth full of shrimp creole.

 

I smiled, chewing my own food. I was proud of my cooking talent and I never took a compliment too modestly. It was, after all, a good skill to have. “I’m glad you like it,” I said, shoving some more shrimp into my mouth.

 

We had just made love and he stayed for dinner. He said he was willing to help out and I was pleasantly surprised to find out his daughter didn’t get her cooking interest out of nowhere but her skilled father.

 

It was late, later than I usually ate and I told him so.

 

“Yeah, sorry for that,” he sheepishly replied, visibly apologetic. He pushed his empty plate to the side and sat up. We had forgotten to bring water at the table and he took this task upon himself now.

 

“If we were at your place, maybe we won’t need to be so late. I mean…” I started, but he interrupted.

 

“No. I understand this must be hard, but I cannot…Not at this time, I…”

 

His strong position surprised me greatly. “What do you mean?” I mouthed, barely above a whisper.

 

He didn’t reply immediately. Fiddling with his glass, he kept looking down and I could see he was uncomfortable talking about this. But so was I, always having to guess and compromise on things a normal couple wouldn’t require compromise on.

 

“What’s the matter?” I repeated. “Do you have someone else?”

 

“No,” was his short answer.

 

I knew as much. “Then? If you are as serious as you say you are, Ginger will have to find out eventually.” My appetite was gone, so I rose and placed my plate onto the counter.

 

“It’s not that either. It’s…more complicate. Hard to understand, hard to explain…”

 

“She called me Mommy this weekend,” I cut in, unsure if I should’ve said anything.

 

He was silent for a moment and I turned to look at him. His lips were parted, eyes noticeably shocked. He seemed unable to speak. I continued.

 

“If this was the issue, than I am pretty sure it’s not an issue. She needs a mother and she got used to me. She called me Mommy and she didn’t want to take it back. We’re already close and she might be already suspecting something…”

 

“It’s not that. I’m glad, really, I am, that she called you that. You’re the best for her. But I just can’t right now. There are things I need to take care before…”

 

“Before what?” I asked, feeling my knees weak and the commencement of a migraine getting stronger by the minute.

 

“Before I can think of myself,” he whispered, as he sat up. “Look, I know this is an upsetting talk and I think it’s better I left. It’s late anyway and I need to check up on Ginger.”

 

“Upsetting? Is that all?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “I…I don’t know what to say to that.”

 

I was intent on clarifying the situation, but I felt I didn’t have the means to do it. I resigned myself to waiting, to thinking and considering. My body seemed to agree with me, as it weakened suddenly and I felt the need to sit down. I didn’t, however. I didn’t want to show him how pathetic I felt. I fell silent, as he watched me for a few long minutes, unsure of what to do, then finally deciding on grabbing his jacket and leaving quietly.

 

I don’t know how I got to a chair, as tears were streaming down my face, blinding me with heartache.

 

When I came to my senses, I felt drained and I wanted to sleep. I slugged along to put the dishes away and the leftovers in the fridge, then, as I was about to turn the lights off, I heard a motorcycle closing in. Dawson was already home and there weren’t many riders living in this neighborhood so who could it be?

 

I looked out the large front windows and saw a man dressed in leather riding gear walking up Dawson’s lawn. He didn’t knock, just entered like it was his own place. Strange, I thought, and a vague uneasiness made its presence at the back of my mind.

 

I waited patiently, straining to look for anything out of the ordinary. I didn’t know how much time must’ve passed, but it couldn’t have been long since the sprinklers on my lawn hadn’t activated yet when Dawson’s front door opened and he stepped out, followed by the stranger.

 

Dawson looked angry, but holding back. He pointed a finger at the other man’s chest and seemed to threaten him. The other one smiled and removed himself from Dawson, walking towards his motorcycle without a word. He didn’t seem afraid, but amused. And that made me feel uncomfortable. This whole thing didn’t look like casual conversation and I feared to acknowledge more.

 

Before turning back to my business, I saw the stranger ride away, shortly followed by a dark sedan that had been parked on the other side of the street for a while. “I’ve seen that car before!” I exclaimed, trying to remember where and when.

 

If I recalled correctly, this car had picked Dawson up for work a couple of times, usually arriving much earlier and waiting suspiciously in the same spot. It was suspicious now, in hindsight, as, at the time, I didn’t think much of it.

 

Dawson followed the two vehicles with a stern expression on his face. I guessed he knew the kind of bad news they appeared to bring and I didn’t like the look in his eyes. He seemed concerned and constrained. The uneasiness crawled on my skin and I felt suddenly cold. Something wasn’t right and the only thing I could think of was if Ginger would be fine.