Dolly All the Time(18)

“I only go on dates on Saturday nights.” I lean in and lower my voice again. “Married guys can’t go out on Saturday nights.”

“So the expectations are that low? He has to be single to clear the bar?”

“You’d be surprised. Single. No smoking. Doesn’t want kids.” Stewart narrows his eyes at me, and I explain. “I love my son, but I’m almost forty and that’s a hard no. And I don’t want a guy who wants to be around all the time. Gus and I are a team, we have our routines, and I don’t want to break any of that up because I have some guy to look after.”

“Maybe he’d look after you,” Stewart says.

I smile and shake my head. “That has not been my experience.”

The waiter brings our food with little plates for sharing. I take a bite of the chicken and let it melt in my mouth. It’s heavenly, this chicken, almost illicit in this dimly lit restaurant.

“Good?” he asks.

“Mmm.” I nod with a full mouth.

“Which is the favorite of your jobs?” he asks, pushing the fries toward me.

“Teaching, hands down.”

“Why?”

“Well, nighttime Uber riders can be belligerent. And I don’t totally get the weighted-vest thing. I mean, regular life seems heavy enough.”

He raises his glass to me. “That’s the truth. So is there something about little kids that you like or is it just the least bad job?”

“Oh yes. Well, everything. I love the way they jump around when they’re excited and lie right in the middle of the floor when they’re tired. They’re just so connected to themselves. And they’ll tell you anything. They totally appreciate you and they never lie. That’s actually the best thing.”

He looks at me for a beat. “Because you’ve been lied to.”

“I’ve definitely been misled.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, my fiancée told me she was in France when she was really in the Bronx.”

“With a Yankee, of all things.”

“Bad things can happen to anybody,” he says, and pours me some more wine.

By the time Stewart walks me to my car, we have a deal. He reaches into his satchel and hands me a check for thirty thousand dollars. It’s the most money I’ve ever seen or had. I run my finger over the zeros. “Half now, half later.” He extends his hand to me, and I shake it.

“Thank you,” I say, still staring at the check. “I need a new roof, so.”

He nods. “Ah. It did seem like an oddly specific amount.”

I smile at the check and then look back up at him. He reaches out and pats my shoulder. Once. It’s one hard pat, like he’s pressing a call button for service.

I look at my shoulder and back at him. “What was that?” I ask.

“Touching? I don’t know.” He looks away. “I was just trying to act like we’re a couple.”

I laugh and fold my check carefully in half. “We’ll have to work on that.”

He opens my car door for me, and I get in. Now that I’m sitting, my dress is too short. I feel his eyes go there, so I place my bag on my lap as if I plan to drive clutching my tote. I look up at him through the open door. “Just to be super clear. There’s nothing weird here. Like, I don’t have to give you a bath or anything, do I?”

He stifles a laugh, but I see it in his eyes. “No, nothing like that.”

“And obviously no kissing.” It’s as much a reminder to myself as to him.

“I do not kiss in public.” He says it like it’s his blood type.

“Me neither, Stewart,” I say, and close the door.





Chapter 6





The house is dark when I walk in, except for the rippling light of the television screen. Gus is on the living room sofa watching ESPN, unblinking.

“Hey, babe,” I say into the darkness. Nothing. I sit next to him and pull my grandmother’s crocheted blanket over both of us. We’re not touching, but a shared blanket always makes me feel closer. “You okay?” He nods at the TV.

“Aunt Naomi just texted, she wants me to babysit tomorrow night,” he says.

“That’s fun,” I say. “Is it fun?” Leigh and Macy are like the little sisters he never really wanted, but they adore him, and I think he likes being looked up to. They’ve called him Chief since they were little, and I think it’s exactly how he’d like to be feeling in his life right now.

“It’s fine. I mean, we always have fun, but I don’t want to spend the summer hanging out with little girls.”

“Yeah,” I say, because I get it. Whitfield is a place where he has family and history, and I think it’s the perfect nurturing space for him this summer. But I suspect he feels like he’s hiding out, peering around the corner, looking for a more normal social life.

After long enough that I’ve seen the same home run replayed twice, he says, “It’ll be good to start lifeguard camp.”

“Yes!” It’s too enthusiastic. I’ve broken the sanctity of the mood. I dial it back. “It’ll be good to be outside and in a routine.”

“I rode my bike around today and didn’t see any kids my age,” he says.