When he came back downstairs, in his new outfit, he was assaulted by Alex racing through the foyer, wearing one sock and sliding on the floor, kicking off with his bare foot.
“Don’t get a splinter,” Matthew said, but Alex was already around the corner into the large living room.
He could hear Nancy speaking and entered the kitchen, where she was giving directions to Michaela, one of the teen girls from the neighborhood who’d been their primary babysitter for two years now. They loved Michaela because she could manage Alex, or at least she always reported at the end of the night that he’d been fine. His wife and the babysitter were on opposite sides of the granite island, and Matthew made sure to keep his gaze averted from any part of Michaela that wasn’t her forehead. She’d recently transformed from a stick insect into a young woman with curves, and wore, like all the girls her age, yoga pants that still looked like nothing more than underwear to Matthew, and a striped shirt that didn’t quite meet up with the top of the pants.
“Emma can do what she wants, of course. Don’t worry about her. And if Alex can’t settle down after dinner, then it’s okay if he watches one of his shows but only from his Netflix account, don’t let him log onto ours.”
“He doesn’t know the code,” Matthew said.
“He probably does,” Nancy said, while Michaela nodded, smiling. Didn’t she used to have braces? Matthew couldn’t remember, but if she did, she’d had them removed.
“Okay. He probably does.”
“He’s fine,” Michaela said. “Last time he taught me a video game he likes to play. Okay if we do that again?”
“Sure,” Matthew said, “but you might want to let him win if you don’t want to see a temper tantrum.”
“It’s not a winning game, exactly,” Michaela said. “More of a world-building game.”
As they drove to the restaurant, Nancy was quiet for thirty seconds, and Matthew was thinking of telling her about the FBI, when Nancy spoke first. “I don’t think Michaela should keep babysitting if you’re going to flirt with her the way you do. It’s perverse.”
Matthew sighed, as silently as he could, then said, calmly, “Nance, trust me, I was not flirting with Michaela. It’s impossible because I have no interest in Michaela. She’s a child.”
“I’m just telling you—”
“I know what you’re telling me, and I hear you, even though you’re wrong. We can talk more about this, but not right now, okay? Let’s try to have a decent night out with our friends.”
Two hours later, as dessert arrived at their table, Matthew marveled that dinner with the Robinsons had actually been nice. Nancy, despite her earlier mood, seemed to relax as the evening went on. Glasshouses was a farm-to-table bistro that had recently expanded to include an outdoor patio with heat lamps, and that was where their table was, underneath the night sky. The cool air was filled with the smells from the wood-fired grill. Matthew’s duck breast had been delicious, and he allowed himself one bite of the tarte tatin with salted caramel ice cream, telling himself he definitely would go on a run the next morning.
He was seated across from Michelle Robinson, and next to Pete, which allowed the men to talk Patriots while the women talked about their children. But after dessert they’d all agreed to one more drink each, and now Matthew was talking with Michelle and sipping port, while she told him about her trip down to New York to see Hamilton. No one would describe Michelle as beautiful. She had short legs and heavy hips, and her features were a little too large for her round face, but Matthew had always harbored a small crush on her. It had begun at a backyard barbecue the previous summer, one thrown by the Cartwrights, mutual friends of Matthew and his wife and the Robinsons. A late afternoon storm had marooned Matthew and Michelle inside the Cartwrights’ pool house with a group of shivering children who had all fled from the pool. Matthew and Michelle had been looking at a shelf filled with children’s toys, mostly neglected or broken or forgotten, and Michelle said, “I’ve entered the portion of my life where everything fills me with sadness.”
“Have you?” said Matthew, shocked by the sudden confession.
She’d laughed. “Sorry, did I say that out loud? I’m being dramatic, or that’s what Pete would say. I just feel like the exciting and mysterious parts of my life are over, and now everything fills me with nostalgia. Truthfully, I’m just being a baby about growing old.”