Nine Lives(16)

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.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Matthew said. “Being young was scary, but it was also interesting.”

She laughed again, and because they were standing so close, Matthew could smell the wine on her breath. “I think that’s what I miss,” she said. “Life being interesting.”

“Our kids are interesting.”

“Your kids are a little younger than mine. Yes, they’re interesting, but pretty soon they won’t be interested in you. Again, I’m being a baby.” She leaned in closer and squeezed Matthew’s hand. “Please don’t tell Nancy about this conversation. She wouldn’t understand.”

“I won’t,” he said. One of the kids, a scrawny girl wearing a swim vest, was tugging on Michelle’s skirt.

“I’m cold,” she said, and Michelle lifted her up and held her tight.

“Who are you again?” she asked the small child who had burrowed under her chin, shivering. Matthew rubbed the girl’s back. The girl said her name, but her face was pressed against Michelle’s sweater and neither of them heard it.

Matthew had thought about that moment a hundred times since then and the memory still had the power to make his chest hurt. It was ironic that he was now engaged in a conversation by candlelight with Michelle, and his wife would not be remotely jealous. Why was that? Was it because Michelle was a little overweight, a little older than them both? Maybe his wife had never noticed how beautiful Michelle’s pale brown eyes were.