Page 32 of Is She Really Going Out with Him?
“She had a date last night,” Ethan adds. “She woke me up moving furniture. The whole house was shaking.”
“The whole house was shaking?” says Will, raising an eyebrow at me, his eyes twinkling with delight.
My face burns with embarrassment, and I hide in the fridge, looking for milk that I know isn’t there. “Here, oat milk, vegan friendly,” I say, handing it to Jess for her cereal. There’s a pause as she considers the oat milk. I worry she’s going to launch into a rant about how I never buy enough milk for the week, but the vegan card works, and she happily pours it over her Shreddies. Then I suddenly remember the Sylvanian Families I found in the bin and feel like bursting into tears. I take a moment to pause, to stop what I’m doing and look at my daughter.
“Are you okay?” I ask softly, putting my arm around Jess and kissing her hair, but she just turns to gives me a strange look.
“Yes. Are you?” she asks, shaking her head, pausing her spoon in midair before lifting it to her mouth. Clearly, this isn’t the time to discuss it.
“Coffee?” I ask Will, filling the Nespresso machine with water.
“I’m good,” he says, half-raising a palm. It doesn’t feel like an “I’m good, I don’t want coffee,” it feels like an “I’m good, you’ve got your hands full and don’t look capable of doing an extra task.” As he raises his hand, I glimpse a monogrammedWHon theinsideof his shirtsleeve.Is everything he owns monogrammed?It feels so tacky and at odds with his otherwise impeccable fashion sense.
“Do you write for the magazine too?” Ethan asks Will.
“Yes. I started out penning the food column, but recently I’ve been diversifying, taking on a more varied role to strengthen my portfolio.” I can’t help smiling because Will is talking to my seven-year-old as though he’s at a job interview.
“Do you get to eat loads? How come you’re not fat?” Ethan asks, and Will laughs.
“Ethan!” I cry, giving him a warning look.
“It’s a constant challenge,” Will says with a smile.
“Are you an expert on every food then?” Ethan asks. “Like, could you do a blind taste test with potatoes? I could do crisps, I’m brilliant at crisps.”
I hand Ethan a plate of toast, spread messily with peanut butter. “That’s not really what restaurant reviewers do,” I explain.
“I’d back myself in a blind potato test,” Will says, pushing out his chest to stand even taller.
“Will backs himself in most things,” I can’t help adding as I load the dishwasher with breakfast bowls, then set it running.
“Which is the best, Burger King or McDonald’s?” Ethan asks, and Will laughs again. It’s a warm, rich laugh that makes me think of hearty Irishmen drinking Guinness around a stone fireplace.
“Those are not the kind of restaurants Will writes about,” I explain. Ethan looks disappointed.
“I’d go to Burger King for the Whopper, then head over to McDonald’s for the fries and a Filet-O-Fish,” Will says, clapping his hands together once. Ethan looks delighted with this answer.
“Ethan, breakfast.” I nudge him as I rush around the kitchen throwing water bottles, homework, and snacks into book bags. Jess can sort herself out now, in terms of what she needs for school, but Ethan would go to school barefoot if I didn’t remind him to put his shoes on. I brush my hair back into a ponytail, painfully aware that Will is witnessing me in “frazzled mum mode.”
“This isn’t a normal morning,” I explain, rolling my eyes around the room before landing them on Will. “It’s not usually this crazy.”
“Yes, it is,” says Ethan.
“Mum can’t handle late nights,” Jess tells Will, as though she’s an adult confiding about her errant child. I have a fleeting image of Zeek, Coco, and Jasmine waking up this morning in their sprightly twenty-something-year-old bodies, having no one to sort out but themselves. I feel a brief pang of jealousy. Then I remember the state of their bathroom and the jealousy evaporates.
“I’m sorry about this,” I apologize again to Will, but he only looks amused. He’s bought a ticket for “Anna’s shit show life” and is enjoying his role as ghoulish voyeur.
“What’s your favorite color?” Ethan asks Will.
“Blue.”
“Favorite animal?” Ethan asks.
“Ethan,” I say, shaking my head, “stop interrogating him.”
“Bears.”
“Good one!” Ethan says, nodding.
