Page 37 of Husband of the Year
“Well, remember when you offered to take Maria for a weekend?”
“You mean before my fiancé flew to Chicago without a return ticket, leaving me abandoned and sad with nothing but strawberry ice cream and an endless queue of rom-coms to soothe me?”
Jill exposes her teeth, giving me her best impression of the grimacing emoji.
“Nick has been bugging me for a date night. Not a weekend. One night out. Dinner. You could come to our place. Maria goes to bed by seven and you can watch TV or mindlessly scroll on your phone. We won’t be late. I promise.”
Pleading eyes add to her urgent energy, and I’m unable to say no to my friend.
I let out an enormous sigh. My ice cream and movie date with Gonzo can wait.
“Sure. It will be a nice distraction.”
“Marvin Block, I could kiss you.” She’s up, squeezing me while I attempt to choke down Olan’s leftover beef stew. She pecks my cheek, and before pulling back, whispers, “You are simply the best.” She grabs her phone and begins texting. “Nick will kiss you, too. I promise.”
A smile skates across my face. “How about two from him. One for each cheek.”
“Yes! He’ll do it. He loves you.” Her face freezes for a moment. “Wait, which cheeks are we talking about?”
I raise my eyebrows suggestively and we erupt into giggles.
“Sweetie, did you have a good day?”
Isabella stands at my classroom door, while Illona packs up her journal.
“It was fine,” I say. “Marley scraped his knee at lunch recess, and that was a bit of an ordeal, but we managed to get him bandaged up.”
Isabella’s smirk spurs a huge grin across my face, and I can’t help but burst into a loud, hearty cackle.
“Marvin, you meshuggener.” Illona stands and slings her backpack over her shoulder. “She was talking to me.”
“I was,” Isabella says. “But I’m happy to hear Marley’s knee won’t require further medical attention.”
This friendship between us makes little sense on paper. She’s Olan’s ex-wife. Illona’s mom. A healthy diet of TV movies of the week has taught me I should be on guard. But sometimes real life isn’t quite as dramatic as the entertainment industry would like us to believe. And in this case, I’m grateful for the simplicity. It makes everything easier. Especially with Olan away. There’s nothing uncomfortable about knowing Isabella and I are the only two taking care of Illona until he returns.
“Sweetie,” Isabella says, running her palm on Illona’s back. “Why don’t you run to the bathroom before we go? We’re stopping at the store on the way home.”
“Pizza night?” Illona asks.
“Yes, I’m all out of dough.”
Illona nods and skips off.
“Are you doing okay?” Isabella asks me.
She doesn’t say more, but we both know what she means.Without Olan.
“Surprisingly, I am,” I say, willing it into existence. “Do I miss him? Of course. Do I wish we could talk more? Also, yes. But the kids”—I gesture toward the classroom—“and your kid”—I nod toward the hallway—“they’re keeping me occupied, and right now, staying busy is exactly what I need.”
“Good.” Isabella places her hand on my forearm. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a more beautiful woman in person. She always looks like a movie star hoping to dodge the paparazzi, but also dresses impeccably because she knows they’ll find her.
“Remember, I’m only a text or phone call away. You and I are…” She pauses, her brow crinkles, searching for the right word.
“I know,” I say. “And thank you.”
“Ready!” Illona bursts into the room, holding her hands up. “I remembered to wash, so you don’t have to ask.”
“Good, okay, well, remember,” Isabella says, nodding toward my cell on the table.
