Page 22 of The Best Man: Unfinished Business
Robyn couldn’t resist. She threw together what was available: a little leftover seafood stew that had some heat in its aftertaste, some roasted plantain and peanuts, homemade cassava bread, and roasted root vegetables.
Oh, how that man devoured what she’d provided him.
He moaned with delight, left a generous “donation,” and, most important, promised to be back.
That was six months ago. And he kept his promise.
He returned to Robyn’s restaurant at least twice a week.
After a month, it became clear that he was no longer returning just for a plate. And then he made it undeniable.
“Could I take you out on a date sometime?” He’d asked so tentatively, on his way out the door, as if he’d just slip out and away if she said no.
It was a sweet and charming gesture from a masculine man with a kind spirit.
In her mind she was ready to leap into his arms at the invitation.
But the practical part of her paused—running a business, raising her daughter—when would she have time for a date?
Preemptively, Kwesi made it easier—or harder—for her.
“You seem like a busy lady, so we can work around your schedule.” A number of early morning coffees morphed into attending a yoga class, some visits to the beach, and even a trip to Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Park with Mia.
Robyn found it exhilarating to be courted.
She didn’t think it would happen in this way.
And certainly not by a man who was too beautiful to be spending so much time with one woman.
He too kept a busy schedule as a real-estate developer and entrepreneur with ties to his ex and the teenage boys they shared.
They hadn’t so much as kissed until four weeks ago.
It wasn’t from lack of desire or attraction.
She didn’t want to go there without having the time and space “to go there.” She enjoyed her time with him; it was a delight, and in two nights, they would cook together at his Cantonments apartment.
That’s why this needed to be special. She wanted to share more than just her cooking with him.
They’d waited to make love. Thursday, the wait will be over, she thought.
The scent of fragrant garlic and shallots brought Robyn’s attention back into the kitchen as Haniah stirred the translucent aromatics in olive oil.
Robyn snapped out of her past and future thoughts of Kwesi to add thyme, parsley, minced lemongrass, and green lemon slices to the pot.
The citrus essence supercharged Robyn’s senses.
Her mouth watered and she smiled. She poured a quarter cup of the milky palm wine into the pan and it sizzled.
Robyn took the rinsed mussels and poured them into the developing elixir with a clatter.
The taste would come from more discreet decisions—how long to simmer, how much of the turn of the wrist in stirring—Robyn was aware of each of her choices.
She knew when these mollusks opened their delicate flesh, they would take on the aromatic essence of what she created, transforming them into a culinary treasure.
Ten minutes later, by the time the lunch service was almost over, they were.
Robyn removed the pot cover, and the opened mussels were bursting with flavor that you could almost taste in the billowing steam.
They looked perfectly cooked and delicious, making them as alluring to the eye as they would be irresistible to the palate.
Robyn dipped her wooden spoon into the pan, scraping the bottom and pulling up a bit of the pale milky broth to cool and then to taste.
She rolled her tongue around the broth in her mouth.
Haniah slid her face next to Robyn’s to take in the sight and smell.
“That looks and smells incredible,” she said. “How is it?”
“Can you plate the cassava?” Haniah knew her well enough to interpret her response. If she was moving forward, it was already perfect. Robyn gestured with both hands to make a circle. “Large shallow soup bowl.”
“That means it must be delicious, ” Haniah said, returning with steaming chunks of cassava.
Robyn spooned out a handful of mussels with a deep ladle of the rich palm wine broth, being careful to drench the cubes of the starchy root.
It was a work of art to the eyes and an olfactory symphony to the nose.
Robyn handed over a metal spoon to Haniah, who used it to pop a fleshy mussel out of its shell, and then scoop it, a bite-sized piece of cassava, and a generous helping of the broth toward her mouth.
Robyn studied Haniah’s face as she tasted, releasing her breath only when she saw her eyes nearly roll to the back of her head in delight.
“Robyn, this man is going to marry you,” Haniah said, licking the last of the juice from the spoon. “And if he doesn’t, I will.” Robyn laughed. “That palm wine broth is heavenly.”
“He said he was making bread.” Robyn began to assemble her own sample of mussel, cassava, and broth. “That bread is going to sop up the broth and take it on.”
“I don’t know what else you have planned for the cocoa butter and the tamarind but if they taste anything like this, Mia may need to stay at my place for the weekend!” Haniah smiled with delight. “What time is the date on Thursday?”
“I was thinking that maybe she should go with you from here, after school? Then I’ll have time to get ready and—”
“Uh-uh.” Haniah cut Robyn off. “Let her see you beautiful.” Haniah gave Robyn a look of concern. “She should see her mother as a goddess, when you are in the fullness of who you are. Don’t hide that from her. Let her see you. Bring her on your way to your date.”
Mia was not quite blossoming, but showing Robyn enough of a challenge at eleven that perhaps it would be good for her to see a different side of her mother other than just the disciplinarian, just the hard worker, just the cook, school chauffeur, and cleanup crew for their home.
What she showed Mia would set the stage for what Mia would expect for herself as she grew.
Yes, Robyn thought, yes, this might be just what my little girl needs to see.