Pineapple Street(39)
“I got my MBA so that I could broker corporate acquisitions, and instead I spend my days arguing with children about whether chicken nuggets and chicken fingers represent two different food groups,” Darley said. She felt the way she always did whenever she mentioned business school: proud she had gone, embarrassed she had done nothing since then. She wasn’t sure why she was volunteering this to her sister-in-law, of all people.
“I mean, they kind of do,” Sasha said. “Nuggets are for school lunches and chicken fingers are for eating at the sports bar when you realize you’re drunk and it’s only halftime.”
“Mmm, yes, the five food groups: drunk, sober, hungover, school lunch, and bar food.”
“I feel like you’re missing the Monday food group.”
“What is that?”
“The heathy one where you make everyone eat rice and broccoli and salad because you feel so gross from eating pizza and donuts all weekend.”
“Oh, right, the Monday food group. That’s the saddest food group, full of baby carrots and regret.” Darley looked out across the playground, laughing quietly. “This girl I know posts her daily caloric intake on Instagram alongside pictures of slimy chickpeas and plain chicken breasts.”
“That’s so embarrassing,” Sasha said, horrified.
“I know! I literally had to screenshot it and send it to all my friends and ask if she had meant to make her posts public! We contemplated an intervention!”
“But you didn’t intervene?”
“No, we decided it was kinder to just keep texting screenshots behind her back.”
“Oh, right, right. Totally agree.” Sasha nodded seriously. Her phone dinged and she looked down. “Oh, God, yikes.”
“What?”
“My mom texted that there is a bat in the basement and my dad is trying to go catch it. The dog is freaking out.”
“Can’t bats have rabies?”
“I’m texting her back. ‘MOM. DO NOT LET DAD IN THE BASEMENT. CALL SOMEONE.’?”
A moment later Sasha’s phone dinged again and she groaned. Her mother had texted a picture of someone wearing a hockey goalie’s face mask and gloves, holding a fishing net.
“Is that your dad?”
“It’s my brother, thank God.”
Suddenly a raindrop landed on Darley’s arm. Poppy and Hatcher ran over, dragging their slimy sticks behind them.
“Mom! It’s raining!”
“Okay, put your helmets on,” Darley sighed. Now they’d have to battle out the rest of the day confined to the apartment. The afternoon stretched before her as long as a cross-country car trip, or a jury-duty summons.
“Hey, come over to Pineapple!” Sasha offered.
“You guys want to go to the limestone?” Darley asked the kids, forgetting for a moment that they could say something socially horrendous like “No, Sasha’s house smells weird,” or “Only if they have better snacks than we do,” but instead they surprised her, jumping up and down and beaming at Sasha. Her kids did love looking through her old stuff.
They followed Sasha out of the playground and up Willow Street to Pineapple. They parked their scooters in the foyer, shucked their muddy sneakers, and carefully laid down their gooey sticks, while Darley hung their swim bag on a hook before entering the apartment.
“Guys, I have a bunch of art stuff out in my room if you want to draw.” Sasha ushered the kids up the stairs. “Is that okay with you? If they go?”
“Sure.” Darley smiled. She was not going to object to her kids playing independently. Sasha tipped her chin to the kitchen and Darley followed. She pulled out a bottle of white from the fridge and poured some for each of them. The rain slapped the glass doors to the yard.
“I should text Malcolm.” Darley pulled out her phone. “Let’s see, his golf game should be over by now.” Darley dashed off a quick note letting him know the kids got kicked out of the pool and they were at the Pineapple Street house. She then put her phone facedown on the table and apologized. “Sorry about that.”
“Malcolm’s playing golf?”
“Yeah, with some business school friends in Texas.”
“Do you guys talk a lot while he travels?”
“Like four hundred times a day,” Darley laughed. “Do you and Cord talk all day?”
“No, I think Cord goes into beast mode when he’s at the office and basically forgets he is a human. He comes back all starving from skipping lunch and then eats a whole bag of chips before dinner.”
“Does he actually like working with Dad?”
“He loves it. He and your dad are two peas in a pod.” Sasha smiled. “Is it hard having Malcolm travel so much for work? Do you miss him?”
Darley paused. Even though Malcolm had been let go from Deutsche Bank weeks and weeks ago, nobody in the family knew. Darley had decided it was best this way. But the weekend had been so long, so lonely, and keeping the secret had started to weigh on her. “Don’t tell Cord, but Malcolm was fired. He’s interviewing for a new job.”
“He was fired?” Sasha asked, putting her wineglass down on the counter with a clink.
“It wasn’t his fault—an analyst killed a deal and Malcolm took the fall.”