If You Only Knew(24)

The place is very, very neat and, aside from Beethoven, oddly devoid of personality, which isn’t what I’d expect from Leo, not that I know him well, obviously. But still. I’d expect sloppy and welcoming, not sterile and...well, sterile. It looks like a model home, aside from the sheet music.

“So you just teach piano, or do you play anywhere?” I ask.

“I just teach. Sometimes I compose a score for something.”

“Like a movie?”

He smiles. “No, nothing that complicated. Audio books, mostly.”

“Neat. Did you go to school for music?”

“Yep. Juilliard.”

“Really? Wow, Leo. Very impressive. Why don’t you perform anywhere? You must be great.”

“In the world of concert pianists, I’m probably a B minus.”

“In the world of humans, I bet you’re great.”

“What do you know? You listen to country music.” Another smile.

“How narrow-minded of you. Taylor Swift is a musical genius.”

“Stevie Wonder is a musical genius, Jane. Taylor Swift is a woman still bemoaning what happened to her in high school.”

“It’s Jenny. My name is Jenny. So you do listen to Taylor Swift.”

“I don’t. But I don’t live in a cave, either.”

“No, this is a very nice place. Very tidy.” I reach out to touch a key on the piano. “Can you play me something?”

“Sure,” he says. He leans over the keys and taps out a few notes. “And that was ‘Lightly Row.’ Any more requests?”

“How about ‘Paparazzi’ by Lady Gaga?”

“Get out,” he says, leaning against the piano. There’s that smile again. He slides his hands into his pockets. “Thanks for fixing my toaster.”

“I didn’t touch your toaster.”

“Well, you can touch my toaster anytime you want, Jenny Tate.”

So. He does know my name. And he’s flirting. And he’s tall and lanky and his face is really fun to look at, all angular planes and wide smile and lovely crinkles around his eyes.

His smile drops.

“Don’t get any ideas, missy,” he says.

“Like what?” I ask.

“Like, ‘Hey, my husband married someone else and has a new baby and I’m still single but there’s an incredibly hot guy who lives downstairs, so why not?’ I’m for recreation only.”

“I’m not thinking those things, but bravo on your excellent self-esteem.”

He goes to the foyer, opens the door and waits for me to follow, which I do. “You’re thinking all those things. It’s written all over your face.”

“You know, Leo, in the day and a half we’ve known each other, I don’t remember pinning you to the ground and forcing myself on you—”

“Yeah, I hope I’d remember that, too.”

“—but I’m really not interested in you. Besides, you have all those moms and thirtysomethings who are dying to learn piano, as the kids are calling it these days. So go recreate with them, pal.”

A smile tugs at his mouth. “You want to have dinner this week?”

I open my mouth, close it, then open it again. “On a date?”

He throws his hands in the air. “What did I just say? No, not on a date.”

“For recreation?”

“For dinner.”

“Why?”

“Because I have to eat, or I’ll die,” he says. “Never mind. It’s a bad idea. The offer’s been revoked. Bye, Jenny. See you around.”

He smiles as he closes the door, gently, in my face.

It’s only when I get back to my apartment that I realize he left the flowers on my coffee table.

Rachel

My mood over the next few days is shiny and hard and relentless. Nothing can get me down—not Charlotte putting a meatball in her diaper, not Rose’s tantrum at the grocery store when I wouldn’t let her swim with the lobsters, not Grace stonily telling me she loves Aunt Jenny more. I’m so, so relieved about Adam, and filled with energy. The house has never been cleaner. The girls and I weeded the flower beds—well, they played with shovels while I weeded. I baked and froze eight loaves of banana bread.

It’s only at night that my stomach aches.

On Monday, I take the girls to nursery school for their four hours of doing exactly what we do at home—reading, singing, crafts, snacks—and then go over to Jenny’s to help her unpack and organize and clean. She asks how I am; I tell her I’m great, and we leave it at that. I invite Mom to have lunch on Tuesday, and the girls are sweet and affectionate with her. I listen to her stories about Dad—I even encourage them, nodding and smiling as if I’ve never heard them before. When she leaves and the girls are still asleep, I bake so much that when the girls wake up, I put them in the minivan and drop off cupcakes for Jenny, another batch for her nice building super—though why a two-family house needs a super is a mystery—and three dozen for the homeless shelter.

On Wednesday, we have Mommy and Me swimming, and when we’re in the pool, Clarice Vanderberger tells me I sure am in a good mood. I smile and say yes, what’s not to be happy about, gorgeous weather we’re having. Then I slosh over to Grace, who’s a little too good of a swimmer and seems to be in love with Melissa, the swimming instructor, and resentful of the fact that Melissa is helping Rose.