I search the clear areas of the giant plastic tubes and see a shock of my son’s hair going past one of them. “He’s up there. It looks like he’s either chasing someone or being chased.”
Dev distributes the food on the table, leaving a small Happy Meal box for Sammy in front of the empty seat between us. “So what’s the rule around here?” he asks, when he’s done. “Does he get to eat after he plays, or does he have to come eat before?”
I’m charmed that he’s thought to ask for my house rules. “Normally, I get him to eat two bites of each item and then he can go play for ten minutes, but then he has to come back for another two bites, and so on.”
Dev nods. “Very reasonable. You’re a very fair mom.”
“Thank you.” I’m not sure I can eat the food he’s put in front of me. It isn’t because I’m not hungry; it’s that he’s suddenly making me feel . . . strange. I want to run around the block a few times to work off my nervous energy. This emotion reminds me of how I felt in high school or college, whenever I had a crush on someone. Whenever I was . . . falling in love. Oh boy.
“You want me to go get him?” Dev asks.
“No, that’s fine, I’ll do it.” I stand and walk over to the oversized gerbil run, calling out to my son at my arrival. “Sammy?”
He doesn’t answer, which isn’t surprising. He knows what I’m there for, and he’ll do anything to avoid having to eat when he’d rather play.
“Watch this,” Dev says from behind me. He walks over to a part of the tubes where kids can look down into a hole covered in a net. Walking under it while bent in half, he slowly stands once he’s directly below it. His head is soon covered in the net and then it’s up inside the tunnel.
I don’t know how many kids are in there exactly, but by the sounds of the delighted squeals, there are at least five.
“Sammy, paging Sammy,” Dev says in a booming voice. “You are needed at the French fry table immediately. Please report to the French fry table.”
The distinct sounds of my son giggling warm my heart. His little body comes shooting out of the tunnel and down a slide five seconds later, and he runs over to my side. “Where are my fryth, Mama? Dev thayth I gotta eat ’em.”
I follow my son and Dev back to the table, and sit down. I expect Sammy to eat two bites and tear off again, but instead he digs in, eating like I’ve starved him for two days. I marvel at how Dev is able to completely remove any McDonald’s headache from my brain, and at the same time, get my son to eat all of his lunch. Is there anything this man can’t do?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
After loading Sammy into the back of my car and strapping him into his car seat, I stand outside the running vehicle with Dev by the driver-side door. With the air-conditioning going full blast to remove both the heat and the stifling humidity from the interior, Sammy has already fallen asleep.
“Well, that was an adventure,” Dev says, smiling.
“Life with Sammy is always an adventure.”
“So what are you going to do now?” Dev asks, tapping the top of my door with the side of his forefinger.
“I’m going to go home and see what I can do to get my home office set up for this freelance work. I’ll probably go online and check some other sites too, to see if I can find some more stuff to do.”
“Dating sites?”
My face goes warm. “No, not dating sites. Freelance sites.”
“You should maybe go on that dating site,” he says, not looking at me. “You shouldn’t stay in your house every night and just watch television alone.”
My heart suddenly feels like it’s made of lead. Here I was thinking he was worth taking a risk for, and now he’s trying to get me to date other guys? How could I possibly have read that so wrong?
“What makes you think I do that?” I ask, offended at the vision he’s created in my own head of me, sitting on my couch, alone in my family room being a grade-A lame-o.
“It was you who told me you do that. Besides, I saw you on that dating website. You were just at the beginning part of the process. You haven’t even looked for a date yet, have you?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Have you?”
He’s looking at me finally, shrugging. “Not exactly.”
“Well, if I should look for dates, then you should too.”
This is a ridiculous conversation. I’d really like to go on a date with him, but I’m not going to say that now.
“I’ll do it if you’ll do it,” he says.
“Fine.” I can go out with another guy. Maybe I’ll find one cuter than he is, even. Taller, too.