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Authors: Richard Montanari
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room table. ‘Read about you in the paper,’ she said as she poured him a cup of coffee. Just like old times. ‘Does one say “congratulations” at a moment like this?’
Paris thought she would have known that. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘It’s a good move.’
‘Congratulations.’
‘Thanks.’
She brought his coffee over to him, sat down. ‘Melissa said lunch was a lot of fun. She said you hardly ate a thing.’
‘I’ve never been a big lunch eater.’
‘I know. It hasn’t been
that
long.’
Paris sipped his coffee, put his cup back into the saucer, realizing that he had never seen this china pattern before. Like half the things in the apartment, it looked brand new. And expensive. ‘Not for you, maybe,’ he said, then instantly regretted it.
Shit
.
Beth reached forward, placed her hand on his. ‘Jack …’
Melissa came racing around the corner. She wore a white dress, white shoes and a white ribbon in her hair. But, because she was Jack Paris’s daughter, her purse was a shocking lime green. ‘Happy Easter, Daddy!’ She flew across the kitchen and into his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, Paris saw his wife look away.
‘Hi punkin,’ Paris said. ‘Let me look at you.’
Since she was five or six that had been her cue to walk around the room like a cat-walk model, spinning, hand on hip, flipping her hair. ‘Don’t
we
look pretty,’ Paris added.
‘Thanks, Daddy.’
Paris retrieved the basket from behind the island.
‘Easter bunny left this for you at my … house.’ Paris felt strange, in the company of his wife and daughter, talking about
his
house. It had been a long time since they had all lived under one roof as a family, but he was still wrestling with geographic demons; those real, and those whose boundaries were etched only on the map of his heart. He was still madly in love with his wife.
‘Wow!’ Melissa exclaimed, looking through the purple cellophane for her favorite Easter candy, knowing, of course, it would be in there. She spotted them. ‘Cadbury Creme Eggs!’
As anxious as she was to get at all that sugar, she slowly, methodically removed the cellophane and bows, folded them and stacked them on the kitchen counter. A cop’s kid at work.
Melissa walked over to the dinette table and plucked a hard-boiled egg from the centerpiece: a two-foot-high bunny made out of accordion paper and surrounded by green cellulose and what looked like two dozen brightly painted eggs. She removed a strand of hay and handed Paris the egg. ‘Easter bunny left this for
you
,’ she said. The egg was light blue with dark-blue speckles. It had a bright red ‘Daddy’ across one side, and a decal of a duck with a policeman’s cap on the other.
‘It’s beautiful, sweetie,’ Paris said, ‘Thanks.’ He kissed her on the top of her head in the instant before she grabbed her basket and raced into the living room, leaving a trail of a dozen or so Jelly Bellies in her wake.
‘She worked really hard on that egg,’ Beth said, crossing the kitchen with the coffeepot. She topped off Paris’s cup. ‘All I got was a plain white egg with a “Mom” sticker on it.’
Paris crouched down and began to pick up the jelly beans. ‘She’s getting so big. I nearly walked right by her at the Olive Garden.’
‘Junior high next year.’
The words filled Paris with disquiet. Junior high. His little angel. Paris stood up and dropped the jelly beans into his pocket. ‘Wasn’t it just a few weeks ago she went running up to the glass wall at Sea World yelling “Samoo, Samoo” and got splashed and screamed her brains out?’
Beth smiled. ‘Or, remember the time – I think she was about two, maybe two and a half – when you told her that airplanes were exactly the same size as they looked in the sky, and that they could fly really low and get tangled up in her hair. And then she heard the plane that one day and—’
‘She ran out of the house with a saucepan on her head.’
‘I
Paris thought she would have known that. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘It’s a good move.’
‘Congratulations.’
‘Thanks.’
She brought his coffee over to him, sat down. ‘Melissa said lunch was a lot of fun. She said you hardly ate a thing.’
‘I’ve never been a big lunch eater.’
‘I know. It hasn’t been
that
long.’
Paris sipped his coffee, put his cup back into the saucer, realizing that he had never seen this china pattern before. Like half the things in the apartment, it looked brand new. And expensive. ‘Not for you, maybe,’ he said, then instantly regretted it.
Shit
.
Beth reached forward, placed her hand on his. ‘Jack …’
Melissa came racing around the corner. She wore a white dress, white shoes and a white ribbon in her hair. But, because she was Jack Paris’s daughter, her purse was a shocking lime green. ‘Happy Easter, Daddy!’ She flew across the kitchen and into his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, Paris saw his wife look away.
‘Hi punkin,’ Paris said. ‘Let me look at you.’
Since she was five or six that had been her cue to walk around the room like a cat-walk model, spinning, hand on hip, flipping her hair. ‘Don’t
we
look pretty,’ Paris added.
‘Thanks, Daddy.’
Paris retrieved the basket from behind the island.
‘Easter bunny left this for you at my … house.’ Paris felt strange, in the company of his wife and daughter, talking about
his
house. It had been a long time since they had all lived under one roof as a family, but he was still wrestling with geographic demons; those real, and those whose boundaries were etched only on the map of his heart. He was still madly in love with his wife.
‘Wow!’ Melissa exclaimed, looking through the purple cellophane for her favorite Easter candy, knowing, of course, it would be in there. She spotted them. ‘Cadbury Creme Eggs!’
As anxious as she was to get at all that sugar, she slowly, methodically removed the cellophane and bows, folded them and stacked them on the kitchen counter. A cop’s kid at work.
Melissa walked over to the dinette table and plucked a hard-boiled egg from the centerpiece: a two-foot-high bunny made out of accordion paper and surrounded by green cellulose and what looked like two dozen brightly painted eggs. She removed a strand of hay and handed Paris the egg. ‘Easter bunny left this for
you
,’ she said. The egg was light blue with dark-blue speckles. It had a bright red ‘Daddy’ across one side, and a decal of a duck with a policeman’s cap on the other.
‘It’s beautiful, sweetie,’ Paris said, ‘Thanks.’ He kissed her on the top of her head in the instant before she grabbed her basket and raced into the living room, leaving a trail of a dozen or so Jelly Bellies in her wake.
‘She worked really hard on that egg,’ Beth said, crossing the kitchen with the coffeepot. She topped off Paris’s cup. ‘All I got was a plain white egg with a “Mom” sticker on it.’
Paris crouched down and began to pick up the jelly beans. ‘She’s getting so big. I nearly walked right by her at the Olive Garden.’
‘Junior high next year.’
The words filled Paris with disquiet. Junior high. His little angel. Paris stood up and dropped the jelly beans into his pocket. ‘Wasn’t it just a few weeks ago she went running up to the glass wall at Sea World yelling “Samoo, Samoo” and got splashed and screamed her brains out?’
Beth smiled. ‘Or, remember the time – I think she was about two, maybe two and a half – when you told her that airplanes were exactly the same size as they looked in the sky, and that they could fly really low and get tangled up in her hair. And then she heard the plane that one day and—’
‘She ran out of the house with a saucepan on her head.’
‘I
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