The Queen of Hearts(55)
“Can you try that again, maybe without the toothpaste?”
He spat into the sink and grinned again. “I said, do you know what’s even more exciting than your dippy social event?”
“Um, no. I didn’t think there was anything you like more than formal wear.”
“Very funny. I was referring to the weekend after the Arts Ball. You know what it is?”
I racked my brain, which had not yet been activated by morning coffee. Nothing came to mind, except the virtual certainty that at least one of our offspring would have an early Saturday morning sports event. That didn’t seem worth mentioning as a special thing, though.
“I give up. What is it?”
He gave me a superior look. “Well, I don’t mean to brag, but at least one of us remembers what happened ten years ago on November seventh. Ring any bells?”
Our ten-year anniversary! “Right, of course. I knew that,” I said lamely.
Drew winked at me, then turned around and rustled through his top bathroom drawer. He handed me a large envelope.
“Here you go,” he said. “I heart you.”
Ever since my cardiology fellowship, Drew has adorned every gift to me with a quotation about the heart. You’d think he’d have run out of them by now, but no. Is there any anatomical entity subject to more literary devotion than the human heart? This one was short but instantly recognizable, from Bob Marley: “One Love, One Heart.”
I opened it. There were two smaller envelopes inside. I unsealed the first one, which contained two tickets to the Panthers-Falcons game and a gift certificate to the Ritz-Carlton downtown. I smiled and started to thank Drew, but he interrupted me.
“That brings back happy memories, yeah?” He crossed the few feet between us and wrapped me up in his arms, whispering in my ear, “That’s for the eighth. My mom will keep the kids, and we’ll sneak downtown for the weekend. You like?”
“Of course. I love—”
He let me go and held up a hand. “Open the other one,” he said.
I did. Inside were two first-class tickets to Paris and a handwritten confirmation for a reservation at the Four Seasons Hotel George V. I looked at Drew.
“I’m finally taking you on one of my business trips,” he said. “Only this time, it’ll be a lot more classy than usual. And I’ll take a few days off. It will be like a second honeymoon.”
“Oh my gosh!” I yelled. “Je suis très excitée!”
I hadn’t spoken a lick of French since college, unlike Drew, who traveled to France at least five or six weeks a year. He started laughing.
“Zadie,” he said, “I think you just told me that you’re feeling lustful.”
“Oh,” I said, chagrined. Then I brightened and pulled off his towel. “Well, hell yeah!” I said. “I definitely am.”
—
After Drew left, I thudded back to earth. Time to wake up the hellions. I bundled my hair up into a messy bun, selected an outfit for work, and did a quick visual assessment of my appearance before beginning the morning ritual of preparing breakfast. Ugh, there was an enormous disfiguring wrinkle in the squint spot next to my left eye. Why hadn’t I gone into dermatology? Well, never mind; character wrinkle. I was just a very smiley person.
Downstairs, I set out bowls, grabbed the milk, and examined the pantry for options with a decided lack of enthusiasm. I normally enjoyed being in the kitchen; it was a pleasant, light-filled room with a rectangular nook enclosing a huge old farm table where we ate and a massive marble-topped island. The children, who were sitting dispiritedly at the table, voiced their utter disdain for all proposed breakfast items. I pulled rank and served scrambled eggs, along with Cheerios and milk.
“I hope you can do better than this for lunch,” groused Finn, staring at his egg like it was a pile of vomit.
“Yeah,” seconded Eli, although he was eating his eggs.
Calm parenting. You were supposed to acknowledge their feelings, thus communicating that you accept their personhood. At the same time, you should allow zero tolerance for rudeness, while exhibiting an authoritative but calm demeanor so as not to escalate the battle. No raised voices, no passive-aggressive muttering. Calm.
“I hear you that this is not your favorite breakfast,” I said quietly but firmly. “However, this is what I am serving, and there will be no other food given.”
Finn was investigating his lunch box. His mouth dropped open in abject horror. “Mom! What is this? You know I don’t dig on pretzels!”
Eli backed him up again. “Me neither.”
Now Rowan was butting in. “Mom, we told you that we were sick of turkey sandwiches! You never care what we want.”
In a low, pleasant voice: “May I remind everyone that you asked for turkey and pretzels yesterday?”
“No, we didn’t! We hate turkey and pretzels!”
Delaney, whose head was ping-ponging back and forth between her sister and brothers, suddenly threw her plate on the floor and burst into shrieking tears. “I don’t like it! I telled you already I don’t like it!”
Ed, the golden retriever, trotted in smartly, alerted by the siren call of a plastic toddler bowl hitting the ground, and gobbled the egg and Cheerios before I could stop him. I grabbed a paper towel to wipe up the milk dripping off the table and all over the floor. Calm. A raised voice would only escalate. Calm.