it.”
“Oh, please, this isn’t the time to make a pass at me.”
“I want to make it right with you. I gotta go cook.”
He turns before I can say anything and strides back into my house like he owns the place. I run after him, back through the mud room and into the kitchen.
“You ready?” he asks Carrie.
“Ready for what?”
“I’ll handle dinner, you go sit on the couch or whatever. Draw a bath and light candles, whatever girls do to calm down.”
I give him a sharp look, but stride past him and into the living room. There, I sink into my couch and let out a blissful sigh. I have a great couch, one of my favorite possessions. It’s comfy as hell.
This time I’m not treated to the sight of my own house on CNN. The media has moved on, probably. No one cares about anything for more than a day or two, anyway. I specifically avoid ESPN. No need to see myself on Sports Center or whatever.
At some point, I fall asleep and wake up to Carrie shaking me by the shoulder.
“Dinner, Mom.”
With a yawn, I rise and walk into the dining room. Wright made good on his promise, and there’s a casserole dish full of steaming beef patties in onion gravy in the middle of the table, along with a big bowl of vegetables and rice. Carrie hungrily serves herself. She glances at Wright and puts a big pile of veggies on her plate.
He stands and serves me when I reach for the big serving spoon. I glare at him but say nothing as he loads up my plate, then sits to fill his own.
God, he must have cooked twenty burger patties. Yet, somehow, they disappear. I keep my mouth shut and watch Carrie animatedly talk about football things with him.
To tell the truth, I don’t much care for football. At all. I don’t even really know how it’s played beyond the basics. I don’t know how Carrie became so fascinated with it. I don’t know why I didn’t try to discourage her, but it just feels wrong for me, being who I am and doing what I do.
The only thing that bothers me is that she’ll have to stop. She’s not going to play in high school, period. I worry she’ll get made fun of, but no one seems to care. They give her more shit for me being a cop than anything else.
Wright is telling her some story about a game. She listens to him like he’s a time traveler or an alien, hanging on every word, absolutely rapt. He still shovels food in his mouth, but he answers all of her animated questions and patiently listens to her talk.
I blink a few times. He’s really good with her. Why am I thinking about that?
“So, you have a game tomorrow,” I say, cutting in.
Carrie turns to me. “Yeah! We’re playing the Hawks.”
There’s two teams in Sylvester. I shudder when I hear she’s playing the other one tomorrow, and not one of the out of town teams. The other team is different. There are no girls. The coach is…
Well, for one thing, he’s my brother-in-law. I suppress a shudder. “I’m sure you’ll win, honey.”
Wright nods sagely.
I can’t believe how much he eats. I barely finish my first helping, and he has more, and piles it up on Carrie’s plate too. I think she eats more than I do.
When we finish, he nods to her and Carrie helps him clear the table. He comes back in as the sink fills.
“Look,” I tell him, quietly “I do appreciate this, but it can’t be an everyday thing.”
“Why not?”
“Because… it can’t. We’re not doing this. I’m not dating you.”
“It’s not a date, it’s dinner. Date is Friday night. Have you gotten a sitter yet?”
I sigh. Hard. Purposely. In an exaggerated and angry fashion. “No, because I’m not going out with you.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“Mister Wright,” I start.
“Whoa, let’s not move that fast.”
Exasperated, I throw my hands up.
“Why don’t you call me Alex and I’ll call you Phoebe.”
“Fine, Alex. Go home, Alex.” I feel like I’m scolding a horny teenager.
“Fine, until tomorrow. Carrie can handle the dishes, you go lie
“Oh, please, this isn’t the time to make a pass at me.”
“I want to make it right with you. I gotta go cook.”
He turns before I can say anything and strides back into my house like he owns the place. I run after him, back through the mud room and into the kitchen.
“You ready?” he asks Carrie.
“Ready for what?”
“I’ll handle dinner, you go sit on the couch or whatever. Draw a bath and light candles, whatever girls do to calm down.”
I give him a sharp look, but stride past him and into the living room. There, I sink into my couch and let out a blissful sigh. I have a great couch, one of my favorite possessions. It’s comfy as hell.
This time I’m not treated to the sight of my own house on CNN. The media has moved on, probably. No one cares about anything for more than a day or two, anyway. I specifically avoid ESPN. No need to see myself on Sports Center or whatever.
At some point, I fall asleep and wake up to Carrie shaking me by the shoulder.
“Dinner, Mom.”
With a yawn, I rise and walk into the dining room. Wright made good on his promise, and there’s a casserole dish full of steaming beef patties in onion gravy in the middle of the table, along with a big bowl of vegetables and rice. Carrie hungrily serves herself. She glances at Wright and puts a big pile of veggies on her plate.
He stands and serves me when I reach for the big serving spoon. I glare at him but say nothing as he loads up my plate, then sits to fill his own.
God, he must have cooked twenty burger patties. Yet, somehow, they disappear. I keep my mouth shut and watch Carrie animatedly talk about football things with him.
To tell the truth, I don’t much care for football. At all. I don’t even really know how it’s played beyond the basics. I don’t know how Carrie became so fascinated with it. I don’t know why I didn’t try to discourage her, but it just feels wrong for me, being who I am and doing what I do.
The only thing that bothers me is that she’ll have to stop. She’s not going to play in high school, period. I worry she’ll get made fun of, but no one seems to care. They give her more shit for me being a cop than anything else.
Wright is telling her some story about a game. She listens to him like he’s a time traveler or an alien, hanging on every word, absolutely rapt. He still shovels food in his mouth, but he answers all of her animated questions and patiently listens to her talk.
I blink a few times. He’s really good with her. Why am I thinking about that?
“So, you have a game tomorrow,” I say, cutting in.
Carrie turns to me. “Yeah! We’re playing the Hawks.”
There’s two teams in Sylvester. I shudder when I hear she’s playing the other one tomorrow, and not one of the out of town teams. The other team is different. There are no girls. The coach is…
Well, for one thing, he’s my brother-in-law. I suppress a shudder. “I’m sure you’ll win, honey.”
Wright nods sagely.
I can’t believe how much he eats. I barely finish my first helping, and he has more, and piles it up on Carrie’s plate too. I think she eats more than I do.
When we finish, he nods to her and Carrie helps him clear the table. He comes back in as the sink fills.
“Look,” I tell him, quietly “I do appreciate this, but it can’t be an everyday thing.”
“Why not?”
“Because… it can’t. We’re not doing this. I’m not dating you.”
“It’s not a date, it’s dinner. Date is Friday night. Have you gotten a sitter yet?”
I sigh. Hard. Purposely. In an exaggerated and angry fashion. “No, because I’m not going out with you.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“Mister Wright,” I start.
“Whoa, let’s not move that fast.”
Exasperated, I throw my hands up.
“Why don’t you call me Alex and I’ll call you Phoebe.”
“Fine, Alex. Go home, Alex.” I feel like I’m scolding a horny teenager.
“Fine, until tomorrow. Carrie can handle the dishes, you go lie
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