“You’d know that if you’d listened to any of the dozen messages I left you last night.” She pointed at the bags. “What’s all this?”
“Like I said, I want to make it up to you,” he said. “I’m going to cook you dinner.”
She stared at him. “But what the hell happened?” She crossed her arms again like some scolding housewife.
“Can I come in and put this stuff down? Then I’ll tell you.”
She rolled her eyes, but she was curious what sort of dinner he would come up with. Would it be better than delivery pizza? Maybe. But she was too tired to argue. “Fine,” she said.
“Kitchen this way?” he said, walking past her with his grocery sacks. “Can you grab the cooler?”
This guy. Still trying to be the boss. She sighed and picked up the blue and white cooler and followed him into the kitchen.
“You won’t believe it,” he said, opening the cooler and pulling out two PBRs, and offered her one of them.
She shook her head and leaned back against the counter. PBR. Of course.
“Do they actually give you a handbook when you become a hipster?” she said. “Like you must drink this shitty beer because it’s so ironic?”
“I’m not a hipster,” he said, offended.
“Really. How would you describe yourself?”
“A free--thinker,” he said, almost triumphantly. “A progressive with good taste.”
That you had before anyone else.
She needed to cut down on the nasty thoughts. He’d extended an olive branch, and she was still being a jerk.
“Sorry,” she said. “You seem to bring out the worst in me.”
“Why?” he said. “Is it because you were a hipster before I was?”
“How meta of you,” she said.
“Well, I brought some wine too,” he said. “You have a wine bottle opener?”
“Nope,” Nessa said.
“No wine for you, huh?” he said. “Let me guess. Only Cristal for the star.”
The back door opened and in walked Isabeau and Daltrey, fresh from exploring in the forest out back.
“She doesn’t drink,” Isabeau said. “Hey, Otto.” She turned to Nessa. “We had a -couple of classes together at K--State.”
Daltrey ran out of the kitchen when he saw Otto. Isabeau ran after him and brought him back in.
“Daltrey, this is my friend Otto. He works with Mommy at the radio station.”
Daltrey covered his eyes with his hand.
“Hi, Daltrey,” Otto said.
Without uncovering his eyes, Daltrey waved at Otto with his other hand, and Otto laughed.
“You want to watch Arthur until dinner’s ready?” Nessa asked Daltrey.
He nodded, still blindfolded. She carried him into the living room and turned on the television.
“You don’t have to be afraid of Otto,” she said. “He’s a nice man.”
Nessa tried to say it without sarcasm and mostly succeeded. She returned to the kitchen.
“So, Isabeau,” Otto said. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m Nessa’s nanny and aide--de--camp. She told me she worked with an Otto. Didn’t know it was you.”
Otto cut his eyes at Nessa. “Oh, yeah? What did she say?”
“That you’re a brilliant producer.”
Of course Nessa hadn’t said that, but Isabeau was the queen of encouragement. Maybe Nessa should try to be more like her.
Naaah.
“So no bottle opener,” Otto said. “Well, no problem. I’ve been wanting to try this thing I saw on the Internet.”
He took off his left Doc Martens boot and removed the foil from the wine bottle. Then Otto slipped the wine bottle into his boot, bottom first—-eeewww—-and said, “Which wall should I smack this against?”
“How about you go outside and do it on that oak over there?”
Isabeau made a follow--me motion and headed out the back door. Nessa watched out the window as Isabeau led him to the tree and he smacked the heel against the trunk of the oak several times. She could see Isabeau talking while Otto worked. Finally, he held the bottle up triumphantly and worked the protruding cork out of the bottle neck.
Nessa’s mouth watered. She missed wine.
They came running back in like a -couple of kids who’d just caught tadpoles.
“Success!” Isabeau said, her arms in the air. “That’s pretty cool.”
“Where are your pots and pans?” Otto asked Nessa.
She opened the cabinet and showed him where everything was.
She fought to push away her disdain for this guy that she didn’t really know. When had she become so judgmental? Was it inevitable after marriage and kids? Her mother had been judgmental of everyone, commenting on -people’s choice of clothes, car, language, hairstyle. Maybe she’d turned out just like her mother after all.
OTTO MADE PAELLA, and it was actually quite good. He and Isabeau drank the wine he’d brought while Nessa stuck to iced tea.
He proposed a toast. “Here’s to a better working relationship.”
The three of them clinked their glasses together, and Daltrey thrust his sippy cup forward. They clinked his too.
After dinner the four of them walked the property as Nessa explained the hops farm idea. Otto grew excited.
“You should totally keep going with it,” he said.
“Now that my husband is . . . gone, I just don’t have the time or energy.”
“Are you getting a divorce?”
Nessa and Isabeau exchanged glances.