“You have plenty of heart and soul, El. And you’re great with kids!”
I smile at her and sip my tea. “I’m great with your kids. But that’s because I know them so well. I know who they are and what they like and what their moods are. It’s based in years of being with them. But I’m not a natural, not like you, not like Teresa.” It’s true. I might be terrific with the little Farbers, but put me in a room with anyone else’s kids? I panic. I talk down to them or over their heads. Hand me a baby and I break into a sweat, sure that I’m going to drop it or let its neck snap back or, worse, that it is going to erupt some effluvia on me. Kids make me nervous as hell.
“I was terrible in the beginning,” Shelby says.
“I have a very hard time believing that.” She exudes the calm of the natural mom, the way Teresa does.
“Are you kidding? I was a hot mess for the first year of Robbie’s life. I thought I was doing everything wrong, I overthought every decision, I thought Brad was going to divorce me. It took time and practice and recognition that kids are resilient and as long as you love them and aren’t a complete idiot in the common sense department, everyone is going to be okay.”
“Well, that gives me hope.”
“Eloise, I know these things are inherently none of my business, but for the record, you’d be a great mom.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
“It’s a little more than that. Brad and I have a favor to ask.”
Uh-oh. “Okay . . .”
“Well, you know our folks are getting up there, and my dad has the heart stuff and Brad’s mom has diabetes. Brad and I were talking over Christmas, and we were wondering if you would be willing to serve as guardian for the kids should something happen to us both.”
I almost drop my tea mug. “Oh, Shelby . . . I . . .”
“Don’t answer right now. Just say you’ll think about it. It’s just a legal protection, just in case of some insanely impossible tragedy. But when we talked about what would be best for the kids in that circumstance, it would be for them to be able to stay in Chicago, in this house, to continue to go to their schools, to keep everything as normal as possible for them. And to be sure that the person who would be taking care of them shares our fundamental values when it comes to politics and religion and all of the important things. We love you, and we trust you; you’re family to us and the kids adore you. It’s just paperwork, nothing bad is going to happen, but it would mean the world to us if you would consider it. Give us a little peace of mind.”
“I don’t know what to say. I promise to think about it. It means so much that you would even think of me, so thank you for that. When do you need to know?”
“You know, before that big bus crash in the next week or so.” She grins wickedly.
“Oy! Stop that, don’t even joke.”
“Mom! Lookit!” Ian yells from across the kitchen. He is proudly showing off a deep golden ball of pasta dough, the flour volcano on the island completely gone.
“Good job, bud!”
“Are you sure there’s no Italian blood in this young man? He’s a natural!” Teresa says.
“I’m really doing it, Eloise!”
“Yes, you are, Chef. I’m super proud of you.” I look at his gleaming face, at the way he is excited for my praise, and think that maybe, just maybe, in my new mind-set of embracing the things that scare me, maybe I should say yes to Shelby and Brad. It goes against my personal rules of keeping separation of church and state, work-wise. Complicates the relationship well beyond my comfort level. That worries me more than a little. But I don’t know how I can turn them down without it being hurtful and, what’s more, I don’t know that I want to.
“This is so fun!” Ian says, and we all laugh at his exuberance.
I look at Shelby. She winks at me and squeezes my hand. “That’s our boy.” And I know exactly what she means.
? ? ?
Holy crap. What did you say?” Shawn says, as I tell him about Shelby’s request over our pasta. Watching Ian all afternoon gave me serious pasta cravings, so Shawn and I decided to ask Erick to sneak us a small pasta course between our appetizers and entrées. As usual, he obliged us brilliantly, sending out a riff on cacao y pepe with a light but creamy sauce, crispy guanciale, shredded Brussels sprouts, and a fluttering of lemon zest, all punched up by the copious black pepper, which is somehow tamed of its acridness. I’ll have to ask for his secret.
“I said I would think about it.”
“It’s a big honor.”
“And a big responsibility. And it breaks all my rules.”
“Well, of course, it isn’t to be taken lightly. But from what you’ve told me, rules or not, you love those kids like family. Isn’t it sort of late to try and pretend that they aren’t all in your heart beyond being great employers?”
“I do love them, can’t help it.”
“Nor should you.”
“What about you, can you imagine? If the worst happened?”
“Oh, baby. Talk about an hour-long dramedy waiting to happen! Can you picture it? It’s perfect! Freshly in love, interracial, interreligious, middle-class couple suddenly find themselves with custody of four fabulously precocious rich white kids and their trust funds? The show would write itself. My mom will want Phylicia Rashad to play her, just be prepared for that.”
I love how casual he is in his response, implying that we are in this together. As if it would be no big deal. “Ha! Yeah, and my mom will want Sally Field to play her, and Aunt Claire will insist on Carol Kane.”
“I can see that.”
“Idris Elba can play you,” I say. “Or Morris Chestnut.”
We keep laughing, casting our hypothetical blended-family comedy as we tuck into our entrées—veal for him, duck for me—feeding each other bites and reveling in the wonderful flavors. And then Shawn’s face goes dark.
“Linda,” he says, staring across the room.
“Linda who?” I ask.
“Linda, my ex-wife Linda. Just walked in.”
Holy crap. I turn around to look behind me across the room and see the last person I expect. Lynne, with Angelique Morris, getting seated at a table about twenty feet away from us. Talk about coincidence. When she got back from her vacation, I finally fessed up to her about dating someone seriously, and I found her response to be less than energetic. She seemed to imply that it was good for me to have found someone I liked, but I should remember that I’m way out of practice in the dating arena and not to get too caught up in any one person. She implied that I would easily be prey to some guy with ulterior motives, and reminded me that I got snookered by Bernard. So I shared as little as possible.