by M. E. Carter
“Sorry I’m late.” He puts his arm around the back of my chair, a small bouquet of three carnations in his hand.
Max scrambles off her seat and climbs onto his lap. He doesn’t miss a beat, just helps her up with the same ease he has with Peyton.
I snuggle into him and point at the flowers. “What are those for?”
“Isn’t that what you do after a show? Give the performers flowers?”
“Pwetty Fwowers.” Max reaches her chubby little finger out to touch one of them.
Greg looks down at her and smiles. “They are pretty. You think we should give them to Maura when she’s done singing?”
Max nods and continues to gently pet one of the pedals. I know Greg would act the same way with her, even if we weren’t dating, but it still makes my heart warm to know they feel comfortable with each other. Doesn’t every mom feel that way when their child is loved for who they are, no strings attached?
“Max,” James bellows. “Come sit over here with Daddy.” She looks up, but doesn’t make a move, except with that flower-petting finger. “Elena,” he turns his demands to me as she ignores him. “Make her come over here.”
I furrow my brows at him. “She’s fine, James. Leave her alone.”
“It is not appropriate for her to sit on some stranger’s lap,” he whisper-yells, glaring over my shoulder at the picture-perfect scene next to me.
“Are you for real?” Now I’m getting mad. And I’m mad that he’s making me mad right before Maura’s show. “He’s my friend, my boyfriend, Max’s friend’s dad, and Fiona’s gymnastics coach. You can’t get any less stranger-danger than that, James.”
He fumes, but won’t let it go. “But what do you really know about him, Elena? Huh? You’re just going to take his word for it that he’s a good guy?”
“I’ll give you that one,” I deadpan. “Clearly, I’m not a very good judge of character, being that I married you,” I whisper-yell back at him. People around us are starting to turn and look. I know I need to get this situation under control, but not only has James blindsided me in public, he’s embarrassed and insulted me on top of it. “What is this really even about?”
“I don’t think it’s appropriate to bring him around the kids so much. You haven’t even been dating that long. What if he’s a pedophile or something?”
And now we’ve crossed the line from insulting to ridiculous.
“The gym does criminal background checks on every new employee. And all current employees are re-checked every five years,” Greg throws in nonchalantly, still snuggling with Max. “You’re welcome to call the office manager and have her read you the results of my most recent check if it’ll make you feel better, James.” While there’s no challenge in his tone, I know Greg well enough to know he’s putting James in his place. He’s calling him on his bullshit. There’s nothing to hide, and he can prove it.
James narrows his eyes. “How old are you anyway?” I throw my hands up in frustration.
“An interrogation?” I’m fuming now. Thank goodness Fiona is addicted to the Junie B. Jones books. I don’t even think she’s noticed all the arguing going on over her head. Greg doesn’t seem phased at all.
“Thirty-eight.”
I whip my head around to give Greg a seductive smile. “Really?”
“Really.” He leans over and whispers in my ear, “Looks like I’m dating a cougar.”
I giggle and rub my hand on his cheek.
But of course James clears his throat, determined to keep things awkward and uncomfortable.
Taking a deep breath, I decide to screw it. Might as well get this over now. Besides, we can’t leave the other parents watching this soap opera without a resolution, now can we?
“What now, James?”
“He seems really old to have a two-year-old.”
“You’re four years older with a three-year-old,” I reply. His questions aren’t even making sense anymore. What is he up to?
“That’s different,” he argues back. “We have older children. How do you know he’s not hiding more kids, like a secret teenager or something?”
My head drops as I give up on even trying to make a crazy man see reason. I can’t even believe this line of accusations. They are outlandish, I don’t even know how to respond anymore. Good thing Greg does.
“Nope. No other kids.” He shifts Max to his other leg and she snuggles right in. I don’t even want to look at James’s reaction. I’m sure he’s glaring again. “Got married when I was thirty-three, just a few years older than you were. Peyton was born when I was thirty-five, and I was divorced by thirty-seven. You can call my ex if you don’t believe me, but be careful. She’s a little on the flirty side. You don’t want to fall victim to her charms.”
That’s when Keri finally stops primping in her portable mirror and jumps in, putting her hand on James’s arm to stop him from going any further. No, she doesn’t get involved when he’s making a scene. Not when he’s throwing wild accusations everywhere. But when the threat of another woman flirting with him is thrown into the conversation, she’s on top of things.
Way to go, Self-Absorbed Barbie.
The ear-piercing screech of the microphone being turned on signals the end of this round of Elementary School WWE, and possibly the end of our ability to hear normal decibel-levels from now on.
“Good morning, everyone.” Somehow Mrs. Gray missed the “PM” written on the clock, but she’s still smiling, so all is forgiven.
“We are excited to bring you our kindergartners’ very first musical performance.” Her voice is shaky and slow, if I hadn’t heard this spiel before, I’d be really struggling to understand her. “They have been working very hard on these selections.”
“How is that woman not dead yet?” Keri blurts out, making several of us laugh. I have wondered that many times before.
But, as has been true for years, Mrs. Gray continues to defy the crypt-keeper and introduces a new generation of songbirds. “As our performers make their way to the stage, I have a few announcements.”
Several kindergarten teachers come out from the wings and lead the kids onto the stage which is no easy feat. Most of the kids are staring at the audience with wide, overwhelmed eyes. Of course that leads to more than one collision. Several stop to wave, backing everyone up. And one little boy takes off running to the middle of the stage where he starts dancing.
Trying to get a hundred five-year-olds to walk in a single file line is like herding cats.
“We have been working on a special song with our fifth grade class,” Mrs. Gray waves her hand towards the older students that are trying to get to their spot on the stage amongst all the distracted felines, I mean, children. “As a special treat, they will be accompanying us on the recorder.”
A nervous laugh ripples through the audience and James reacts with an “Oh god.” I haven’t agreed with anything he’s said for the last couple of years, but I definitely agree with that sentiment. Recorders should be banned. Surely there is some form of scientific evidence that shows massive hearing loss when an audience is exposed to the sound.
“Hey, I used to play the recorder as a kid.”
I scoff at Greg’s admission. “You just plummeted a few pegs on the hotness meter.”
An amused smile graces his plump, soft lips as he grabs my hand and raises it to kiss my knuckles. I’d much rather have those lips on mine, but knuckles will have to do for now.
James grunts in disapproval, but I ignore it completely. He’ll be taking the kids with him for the weekend as soon as the show is over, and I have big plans for Greg once we’re alone.
Hopefully, very big plans. I guess I’ll find out tonight.
It takes the teachers several minutes, but they finally have the kids situated on the risers. Well, as situated as they can get. They’re all still either fidgety or frozen in fear. Maura is one of the odd men out. She’s wearing her brand new pink poofy dress, her blond ringlets fixed in an up-do, the look complete wit
h a tiara, which she insisted on wearing for her “debut on stage”. I opted not to argue with that logic. Although I suspect Pageant Barbie down the row may have taught her that phrase since she likes the idea of parading my girls around like little Hollywood starlets.
I have a bad feeling those two will be bonding over their love of make up the older Maura gets.
Searching the crowd, she finally catches sight of me and throws her hand up in the air, waving and yelling, “Hi Mama!” We all laugh as I wave back.
Finally, after what seems like ages, Mrs. Gray has shuffled her way over to the podium and claps her hands to get the children’s attention. Amazingly, they all stop fidgeting and keep their eyes trained on the old woman. A finger points at the fifth graders, a downbeat with her hand…
And I swear my ears start bleeding within seconds of the first note playing.
Max and Fiona place their hands over their ears while the rest of us pretend we’re smiling, not grimacing. For twenty-five minutes, we’re treated to songs like “Báte, Báte, Chocoláte”, complete with dance moves, and a rousing rendition of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat”, which includes an interesting array of nearly never-ending rounds. Finally, finally, Mrs. Gray begins shuffling back to the microphone, indicating the show is over. For the most part, it went off without a hitch. There were no major incidents, although it is possible one little girl peed her pants, and I think a little boy may have fallen off the top riser at some point. From this angle, it was hard to tell, but his head popped back up a few minutes later, so I’m assuming nothing is broken.
No one waits for Mrs. Gray and her snail pace to get to the microphone for dismissal. The crowd begins filing out of the room. It’s pretty rude, but come on now. At some point the school needs to spring for an electric scooter.
As we follow along with the crowd surge, James snatches Max up from the floor, ripping her away from Greg who is holding her hand, and carries her away, calling for Fiona to follow closely behind him.
“Sorry,” I mouth to Greg feeling oddly embarrassed by James’s behavior. He’s not my husband anymore. I’m not sure why I care, except I hate knowing what an idiot I was to ever see his charms.
Greg shrugs in response. “If it was Pey, I’d probably do the same thing,” he yells in my ear, so I can hear him over the crowd. The noise is pretty deafening. But that’s what happens when you cram four hundred people or more into one tiny corridor and make them wait in line to pick up their kid.
By the time we get to the music room, Maura is spinning in a circle showing off how her dress flairs.
“Maura,” I call, making her stop mid spin.
Her eyes light up and she runs toward me, James and Keri following her movement only to glare our direction when she reaches us. “Mama, Mama! Did you see me?”
“I did!” I hug her tightly to me and congratulate her on a job well done. “You didn’t look scared at all.”
She puts her hands on her little hips and cocks her head like I should know better. “Mama, I am a singer. Of course I wasn’t scay-ed.”
I hold my hands up in apology. “I stand corrected. Of course you weren’t. You did wonderful.”
“I did, huh?!” She begins to spin again until Greg squats down in front of her, holding the carnations out in front of him.
“These are for you,” he says with a smile.
Maura’s mouth drops open and she breaks out into a smile. “You-a supposed to give flow-as to the singer after a show.”
“I know,” he agrees. “It’s supposed to bring you good luck.”
She smiles shyly at him and I know the final daughter has been won over by his charms. I’m not at all surprised, just a little bewildered as to why it took this long. But I guess he doesn’t interact as much with her as he does with the others, only because of lack of opportunity.
Still, dating with kids in tow is a sticky situation. It’s important for everyone to at least respect each other when trying to sort through the uncertainty of a new relationship.
Too bad not everyone subscribes to that belief. And by not everyone, I mean James. He stalks over to us and probably takes joy in ruining this sweet moment.
“Come on, Maura.” He’s trying to sound gentle and fatherly, but it comes across like he’s a jack ass. “It’s my weekend so we need to head home.”
Several hugs and kisses later, even some for Greg which makes James look like his head is about to explode, they’re out the door and my single-time begins.
“Told ya.” Greg shoves his hands in his pockets. “He’s jealous.”
I shoot him a playful look. “I’d like to say you’re wrong, but after all that, you might be right.”
“Oh, I know I’m right.”
I wrap a lock of hair around my finger and give him a flirty smile. “Is it wrong that after everything he put me through, it’s really nice to see the tables have finally turned?”
He chuckles and grabs me by the hand. “Not at all. Come on. I have a dinner to make you.”
I strut my way out the door. I have the hottest man in the school by my side, heading to his place for him to make me dinner, my cheating ex already forgotten.
Karma can be a bitch sometimes. But I love it when she’s on my side.
“Why don’t you and your sister look alike?” I ask as I take a sip of my wine. It’s a fruity Moscato I’ve never tried before. I really like it.
A smile plays on his lips, but he keeps up the quick pace of slicing mushrooms. “We’re both adopted. But I’m assuming you already figured that out.”
“I figured at least one of you was, but genetics are weird. I could have been wrong.” Putting my wine glass down, I lean forward on the counter so I can see better as he cooks. “Did you see those twins that were born, one of them white, one of them black?”
He shakes his head. “No. They were really twins?”
“Yeah, it was really cool. Their parents are mixed race, half black/ half white. Somewhere in the development process, their little genes decided to pull one pigment or the other and they ended up with twins that have identical faces but look like they’re of completely different races. In their baby pictures, they almost look like little dolls sitting next to each other.”
Greg throws the mushrooms into a pan, creating a puff of steam and a loud sizzle as they sauté. “Sounds like someone is a little obsessed with that poor family.”
“Their picture went viral so it was hard to miss. Plus, I’ve always been kind of fascinated with genetics and that was a really neat case. It’s considered a rare phenomenon.”
“And yet, you became a flight attendant.” He grins at me while stirring the garlic into the pan.
“Touché. Although there is a big difference between being fascinated by genetics and having the desire to take a zillion science classes to get a degree in it.”
“Good point.” He wipes his hands on a towel and opens the oven to check on the steaks that are cooking in the broiler. The smell alone is making my mouth water and when my stomach rumbles, I realize I haven’t eaten since the M&M’s I had in the car right before school pick up. Being the gentleman he is, Greg pretends he didn’t hear the rumble in my gut, but the look he shoots me says he’s just being polite. “Don’t worry. It’s almost ready.”
I love watching him work in the kitchen. Even if it’s making macaroni and hot dogs, he always does it with such grace. Tonight, though, he’s going all out. Steak with sautéed mushrooms, and asparagus with some sort of Hollandaise sauce. I have no idea if the two go together, but I don’t care. It all smells good and I’m hoping it tastes even better.
Within minutes, we’re sitting at his table enjoying generous portions of his cooking. The first bite makes me moan, eliciting a sultry gaze from my date. Oh yeah. I think we both may have high hopes for this evening’s events.
“How old were you when you were adopted?” I feel like I need to slow down my bites. It’s so good, I’m practically shoveling it in my pie hole.
He c
hews and swallows and grabs his wine glass. “You’re back on that, huh?”
I shrug. “Curious is all. I like knowing things about you.”
He wipes his mouth with his napkin, clears his throat, and leans forward, elbows on the table, like he’s prepping to tell an interesting story. Now I’m really intrigued.
“My sister Joie was adopted out of CPS custody.”
I stop mid-chew. “Foster care?”
“Yep. My parents tried for years to have kids but nothing ever happened, so they decided to become foster parents. Figured there was a child out there that needed them and they had an empty room.”
“That’s really admirable of them.”
“I guess. It depends on if you look at it as a couple taking in a needy child, or a couple that can’t have a child so they settle for adoption.”
I gasp. “That’s a terrible way to look at it! Do you really think that about your parents?”
“Not at all. But my sister did for a while. She was a horrific teenager. Used to throw it in their faces all the time.”
“That’s awful!”
“I know.” He leans back and crosses his arms over his broad chest, resting his head back like his memories are taking him back in time. “Years of therapy confirmed that her insecurities are the same as lots of adopted kids… fears that you aren’t really wanted, only tolerated because the parents can’t get what they really want.”
I blink once. Twice. My heart hurting for his very sad sister. “Is that what you think?”
He snaps out of this memory and looks me in the eye. “Not at all. But the circumstances around my adoption were different.”
“How so?”
“One of the things my parents say they found out by going through the CPS process is that it can be really daunting. There’s court hearings and case workers and interviews and no guarantees. Ever. At one point, they had already petitioned the court for adoption and some random relative showed up, wanting to take Joie away.”
I gasp again.
“Exactly. She’d been with them a couple of years at that point. She was their child. And a distant relative who had no interest in her when she first came into care suddenly wants to shake her entire world up? Not cool.”