One To Watch(83)

After the class wrapped up, they took a walk through the bucolic Middlebury campus, colonial buildings nestled among dense lawns and evergreen trees.

“You seem really at home here,” she told him.

“It’s been the perfect place for me,” he said, taking her hand. “When I finished my PhD, I was on my own with two small kids, and I didn’t have time to take on a tenure-track position. The lecture job here was a perfect compromise. I get to do what I love, but still have time to be a dad.”

“That’s wonderful.” Bea squeezed his hand. “Do you think you’re here for the long haul?”

Asher stopped walking—Bea turned to look at him.

“No, actually.”

“Oh?”

“I wasn’t sure when to tell you this,” he said, “but I guess now’s as good a time as any. Now that my kids are older, I’ve been thinking it’s time to go for tenure. There aren’t any open positions here, so we’ll be moving in the fall.”

“Do you know where?”

“I have offers in hand from Michigan and Columbia.” He paused. “And USC.”

“As in …?”

“L.A.”

“Oh,” Bea breathed.

“Obviously, I have a lot of factors to consider. What’s good for my career, for the kids—and I know my parents would be really happy to have me in New York; they’re still in Westchester.”

“Of course,” Bea agreed. “That all makes sense.”

He took her hands. “But I’m thinking about it. Okay?”

Bea nodded. “Okay.”

During the afternoon break from filming, as she changed into form-fitting jeans and a burgundy Marc Jacobs cashmere sweater with a V-neck just low enough to reveal the barest hint of cleavage (“Very hot mom,” Alison observed), Bea tried to convince herself that tonight’s dinner was just another in a long series of dates on this show. But standing on Asher’s stoop with wrapped gifts in tow and cameras at her back, Bea felt the weight of this night bearing down on her—not only what could happen if it didn’t go well, but what it might mean if it did.

She’d barely touched the doorbell before she heard a scream of “I’LL GET IT I’LL GET IT” and a stampede of feet from inside the house—the door swung open and there was Linus wearing big glasses, a Spider-Man sweatshirt, dark leggings, and an absolutely lavish tutu.

“Are you Bea?” he asked, not standing aside to let her in.

“Yes.” She matched his solemn tone. “Are you Linus?”

He nodded.

“I really like your tutu,” Bea said, and he brightened immediately.

“It’s blue, for boys! Come in, we’re having CHICKEN,” he screamed, and ran inside, leaving the door wide open in his wake.

“Hi, hi, I’m so sorry.” Asher rushed to the door, wearing an apron and oven mitts. “I was just getting the chicken out of the oven. Can I take your coat?”

“With those things on your hands?” Bea laughed. “I’m good—just point me to the closet.”

Bea had pictured Asher’s abode as a neatly organized modernist palace—clean lines, little clutter—but of course, that wasn’t a realistic notion of any home with children. In reality, the house was bright and chockablock, stuffed with books and knickknacks and sporting equipment, not to mention rogue dress-up costumes and dance outfits. Leon Bridges played on a vintage turntable, and Linus twirled around the living room while Asher finished making dinner in the open galley kitchen.

“Can I get you some wine?” he offered.

“Please,” Bea responded, just as Linus called to her, “Bea, come dance with me!”

Asher threw an apologetic look to Bea. “Buddy, Bea just got here, what if we let her sit down for a minute?”

“I love dancing.” Bea made her way past a cameraman to join Linus, but a loud throat-clearing stopped her.

“Ahem.”

Bea turned to see a twelve-year-old standing on the stairs, and she was indeed Asher in miniature: same rigid posture, same black glasses, same vaguely contemptuous expression. If it hadn’t been for her glossy chin-length hair and fringe of dark, thick bangs, Bea could easily have mistaken Gwen for a younger version of her father.

“How soon is dinner?” Gwen asked curtly, looking only at Asher, and deliberately avoiding any eye contact with Bea.

“I’m just finishing up,” Asher said. “Do you want to come down here and join us?”

“No thanks, I have homework.” Gwen turned and retreated up the stairs. “Tell me when it’s ready.”

“Will do,” Asher called after her, but her bedroom door was already shut.

“So, that was Gwen.” Asher smiled as he made his way over to Bea, glass of wine in hand—she gladly took a drink.

“I think she liked me,” Bea joked nervously, hoping this night wasn’t ruined before it had even begun.

Asher kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry. She’ll come around.”

Bea leaned against him and tried to relax. If Asher wasn’t freaking out, she certainly didn’t need to. But a few minutes later, when the table was set and ready to go, Gwen still hadn’t come downstairs. Asher shouted for her for the third time, his annoyance starting to show.