"Okay. I'm listening."
"I want to marry your mother."
Chesca blinks. Her eyes track across my face, reading micro-expressions.
"But I wanted to ask you first. If that's okay with you."
"You're asking my permission?" She sets the slushie down slowly, fingers lingering on the cup.
"Yes."
"Why?" Her thumb picks at the edge of the cup's label, peeling it back in a thin strip.
"Because you are the most important person in her life. And if I marry her, I am not just marrying her. I am joining your family. Becoming your—"
The word sticks.
Her voice drops, quiet and testing. "My dad?"
"If you will have me."
"I already said yes." She rolls her eyes, but her fingers tighten around the cup. "Like, five minutes ago."
"This is different. Official."
She picks up her slushie and takes a long, deliberate sip while maintaining eye contact, making me wait.
The vending machine hums in the background. Someone's kid screams with laughter from the track area. Afternoon light slants through industrial windows, catching dust motes suspended in the air.
Chesca sets the cup down. "I have conditions."
I sit back in the chair. Negotiation I understand. "I expected that."
"First." She holds up one finger. "You have to drop me off at school AND pick me up. Not just one."
"Done."
"Second." Another finger. "I get to come to the big building sometimes. Jax lets me win at video games and there's good snacks."
"I'll arrange it."
"Third." Three fingers up, but they curl back into a fist against the table. Her expression shifts, serious now in a way that makes her look older than eight. "You can't leave."
She doesn't say like everyone else. Doesn't have to. Eight years of just her and her mom says it for her.
I lean forward and wait until she meets my eyes. "Chesca. I am not going anywhere. Ever."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She studies me. Eight years old but she's seen enough to know promises can break, watched her mother check locks, saw her flinch at unexpected voices. Her hands flatten on the table between us, small palms pressing into the sticky plastic.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"You can marry Mom." She reaches for the slushie again. "But you have to ask HER too. I'm not doing that part for you."