White Space Season 2

not.”
    “Well, you have a place here — both of you. As for us, I’m trying not to think about definitions for what any of this is, Cass. I’m taking things a day at a time and following my heart, maybe for the first time ever. All I know is that when I’m with you, and when I’m with Emma, things feel right. That’s enough for me.” Jon swallowed, and squeezed her hands tighter. “You all feel more like family to me than Blake or Warren, that’s for sure.”
    “Paparazzi would feel more like family than them,” Cassidy said, smiling to sweeten her words.
    “I’m not saying it has to be forever,” Jon said.
    Cassidy looked at Jon, oddly enough to make him unsure if that was the worst thing he could’ve said. He wasn’t sure if she’d interpreted forever to mean them or the living situation. And if he tried to explain living situation, then it might seem like he’d really meant them .
    She sighed, then pulled away from his hands and started to pace. “I don’t think it’s right for us to set specific expectations for Emma if we don’t know what the future holds. If you invite her to stay with you, and then decide on a whim that you’re bored and want to go running back to Hollywood, it’s going to crush her.”
    Jon wondered if Cass meant Emma, or herself. Or maybe he was being arrogant, thinking everything was about him.
    “I’m not running anywhere, especially to Hollywood. Emma is my daughter. That makes her my number one priority, OK, Cassidy?”
    “OK,” she said, still not meeting his eyes, and turning back to look at her car instead. “I need to get going. I’ll be closing tonight, and I don’t want to wake you all, so I’ll see you in the morning, OK?”
    “OK,” Jon said, then kissed her on the mouth.
    Half the time when they kissed, Jon could feel all of Cassidy, the other half she seemed barely there. As they parted, Jon felt sad that it was the one and not the other.

    **

    Emma was all smiles as she sat beside Houser at the kitchen table, across from Jon’s empty seat. He stood at the kitchen bar, pulling white cartons from a large brown bag.
    “That smells SO good,” Emma said, clapping. “What are we having?”
    “Cantonese,” Jon said.
    “Is that like Chinese?” she asked. “It smells like Chinese, and looks like it.” She pointed to the cartons Jon was lining along the bar.
    “Yes,” he said, scooping a small pile of honey garlic spareribs onto a plate for Emma. “Cantonese is a lot like Chinese. Actually, Cantonese is Chinese, just more specific.”
    “What’s the difference?” Emma asked, scrunching her nose with interest as Houser petted her head. He looked near drooling — easy to do with the smells pluming out from the cartons.
    “Chinese food, like the kind you get at Panda Express or places like that … ” Jon paused, looked over at Emma and asked, “Have you ever eaten at Panda Express?”
    “Twice,” she nodded. “In Seattle.”
    “Well, that’s not real Chinese. A lot of those dishes you couldn’t even really get in China, unless you went to a restaurant intended for tourists. Cantonese is the real deal, a way to order Chinese food without getting Chinese-American. It’s mild, with fresher ingredients. Places like Panda use cornstarch to make their sauces, Cantonese uses natural flavors so the finished dish is still delicious, but without being too greasy. Try it, you’ll love it.”
    Jon carried Emma’s plate — piled high with a buffet’s worth of choices — from the bar to the table and set it in front of her.
    Emma eyed her mountain of food, then started with the salt and pepper prawns, stabbing one of the deep-fried shells, then tearing into the orange tinted shrimp. She held it in her mouth and smiled.
    “So?” Jon said, eyebrows raised.
    She chewed, then swallowed and said, “It’s crunchy, and a little spicy. Definitely better than Panda.”
    “I should hope so,” Jon smiled, then went to serve Houser.
    “Would you hurry, Hollywood? I’m starving. And no shrimp for me, thanks.” He turned to Emma. “You know shrimps are just roaches of the sea, don’t you?”
    Emma laughed. “Cassidy says that.”
    “I knew I liked her,” Houser said, then started back in on Jon. “So, are you ever planning to cook a meal in this big fancy kitchen, or is everything you eat gonna come from a bag?”
    “Ask me after I’ve tried every place on the island.”
    “You mean every place that delivers.”
    Jon smiled,