19
At approximately five the next morning, after Sofia had gotten up even earlier than normal to put on her favorite purple tulip-printed dress and ladybug rain boots for the excursion, we were on our way north. The three of us were lined up in the back of Xavier’s plush rented Mercedes after Sofia had insisted that Xavier and I sit on either side of her.
I had to give it to him. Last night’s outburst aside, he was charming the heck out of my kid, and that was not easy to do. Sofia was taking to him like a duck in water. I couldn’t help but wonder if some part of that was genetic.
The car was ironically making its way back to my home borough—the Bronx. We were going to the Fulton Fish Market, which, despite its fame as the second largest market in the world and a veritable New York institution, I had never visited. I didn’t really have much need for fish. Nor did I particularly want to go to one of the most dangerous parts of the city just to see other people buy them.
Xavier, however, had insisted it would be fun for Sofia and was clearly trying to bribe me with a large London Fog, made with a particularly strong Earl Grey. So there I sat, slightly squished and sipping my tea while Xavier and Sofia entertained themselves with the other item he had brought: origami paper.
“It’s nothing,” he said with slightly reddened cheeks when I asked how he got it. “Saw it when I was in Chinatown last night.”
I didn’t reply. Why had he gone to Chinatown last night, after we’d all enjoyed his dinner? Was he there for the nightlife? Was he meeting up with someone else while he was in New York?
Why did I even care?
I ignored all the questions and sipped my tea, which was as irritatingly perfect as he was this early morning. What a jerk.
“Where did you learn that?” Sofia asked as she watched Xavier swiftly fold a square of paper decorated with ducks.
“Ah, my mum taught me,” he answered, carefully avoiding her gaze as he worked. “Sort of like the pancake I made for you last night.”
“Mum? You mean your mama?”
He nodded as he licked one side of the paper and made a final fold, large hands impressively dexterous. “That’s right. In England, we call her Mum. Or maybe Mummy when we’re little like you.”
“I’m not so little.”
Xavier held back a clear smile at the pronunciation of little as wittle. I couldn’t help mine. It also hadn’t escaped me that Xavier’s showstopping grin was likely to make another appearance, again in response to Sofia. Was it possible she was charming him as much as he was her? Was that smile back to stay?
“No, you’re not.” He offered her another square decorated with sparkly socks. “Which is why I know you can do this. Now look, first you fold it in half diagonally. That’s it. Then open it up and do it again on the other side.”
I watched curiously as he gently but firmly guided Sofia through the short folding process. It took a few missteps, but Sofia didn’t complain. Both of their brows furrowed identically as they focused on the tiny squares in their hands, and when they were finished, I was presented with two twin expressions of triumph that were so similar, it took my breath away.
“Mama, look! I made a fishy!” Sofia squealed as she offered me a paper fish.
I swallowed, trying to find my voice. “You—you sure did, baby. I love it.”
“Just like Nemo!” Then she turned back to Xavier, who was smiling with her in a way that made my heart jump in my chest. “Actually, yours is Nemo because he’s the boy. Mine’s Dory.”
He looked over her to me, blue eyes dancing, but adorably confused.
“Cartoon characters,” I managed to say. “Keep up.”
For that, I received a delicious eye roll, but he wisely didn’t respond as Sofia pulled on his sleeve.
“Come on, let’s make another.”
They bent to their work, but I turned toward my window only to be faced with a still mostly black sky, the horizon only just starting to lighten through the buildings at the horizon. If I was getting such strong reactions to tiny scenes like this, maybe Kate and Matthew were both right. I needed a man, pronto. Because Xavier was definitely the wrong one for me.
* * *
Twenty minutes later,we followed Xavier into an enormous warehouse at the end of a pier on Hunt’s Point. It wasn’t an area of the city I would have typically gone, particularly with Sofia, given its status as a haven for addiction and crime. But the car took us directly to the enormous wharf at the end of the neighborhood that was lined with the city’s notorious culinary supply markets. Even I, who hadn’t so much as served coffee for work, knew about this place.
“It’s closing already?” I wondered as we entered a hangar still full of vendors. “At five thirty in the morning?”
Many of their stations seemed bare, with maybe a few items still on ice, if at all. Some were already starting to pack everything up.
“Yeah, most of their business is done by now,” Xavier told me. “If I were actually here to buy, I’d come at midnight, when it opens. But I’m here to meet vendors.”