Page 42 of Husband of the Year
“Lie with her. Be still. She’ll fall asleep. I promise.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I catch Maria’s gaze as she glances at me. With her breath rushing out, she lays her head sideways. She’s crashing.
“I think we’re good,” I say into the phone. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Another sentence I never thought would come out of my mouth.
“I told you, I’m here if you need anything. It takes a village.”
“Good night, Isabella. I owe you.”
“The next coffee is on you,” she says, and I can almost hear her grinning. “Bye, Marvin.”
Relief shrouds me as I rest my head on Maria’s pillows and she squirms up, cuddling into my chest.
“Is my little gorilla sleepy now?”
She answers by yawning, wrapping her tiny arm around my torso, and closing her eyes.
Before I overthink it, I start softly singing “Shallow,” and when I finish the opening verse, I wonder if Maria might take over singing Gaga’s part. Nope. Her breath has become deep, and small bursts of air hit my shirt as she exhales. By the time I get to the bridge where the song erupts, I pause. She doesn’t move. Praise Gaga, she’s asleep.
Nick gently wakes me after eleven, and I leave a sound asleep Maria in her bed.
“Thank you again,” Jill says, handing me a pillow and blanket for the couch. “I hope she wasn’t too much trouble.”
“Nope, we had a blast,” I say, giving my best smile.
“You’re a wonderful guncle, Marvin.” She walks behind the couch and kisses the top of my head. “And an even better friend.”
It’s well past my bedtime, and I should be exhausted, but the brief nap with Maria has left me wide awake. I retrieve my phone from my pocket to put it on the coffee table for the night and see a notification.
Olan: I’m guessing she’s asleep by now? Sometimes you have to ride it out. I’m sorry I missed you. I’ve been getting back to my folks place late. I will call you tomorrow. Miss and love you.
The text came through an hour ago and, not wanting to wake him, I give his message a heart tap. The house hums with the noises of night, and I take deep breaths, praying for sleep.
March in Maine means unpredictable weather. We could have a cold snap and a massive snowstorm, or it could be shorts weather. Of course, Mainers will wear shorts when it hits forty-five, so it’s all relative. The sun is bright and warm when I catch the nine-thirty ferry back to the island, so I find a bench on the deck.
I watch the tall buildings and working waterfront of the city fade and Maria’s small face flashes in my head. Last night wasn’t a total disaster. It was only two extra cookies. The sugar rush was temporary, and Isabella came to the rescue. Of course she knew what to do.
As much as I adore my students, I love sending them home at the end of the day. Illona was an exceptional kindergartner and having her as my soon-to-be stepdaughter makes my heart overflow with joy. I never really considered being a parent. I’m still coming to terms with my childhood—an alcoholic mother, abandoned by my father, all dusted with an extra helping of generational Jewish trauma. With Olan’s support, I am learning to be the best stepparent possible, and thankfully, Illona makes it relatively easy.
Once again, the pop perfection of “Poker Face” rings through my pants pocket and my heart jumps in my chest. Olan. Shaking my shoulders, I smile and push a rogue curl behind my ear. Pulling my phone out, I glance at the screen and my heart drops. I really should learn how to assign different ringtones to specific people. Sarah Block lights up the screen. My mother. Oy.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Just when I thought life couldn’t get more overwhelming, and exactly when I have limited patience to deal with her, my mother saunters into the frame.
In the span of the eight bars of Gaga’s pop perfection, my brain runs through my options. Don’t pick up. What if Olan calls? Keep the line open. You don’t want to miss his call just because you’re stuck listening to Sarah Block ramble on about her latest water aerobics routine and the bizarre collection of tiny lizards she’s discovered on her lanai. I mean, unless you’ve always dreamed of hearing about synchronized swimming with reptiles. Pick up, you haven’t spoken to your mother in weeks. She’s lonely. I’m lonely. She’s your mother. Maybe we can find some solace in each other. Yes, pick up. That’s the right decision.
“Mom, how are you?”
“I’m fine. I haven’t heard from you in almost a month, and I was starting to wonder if you died.”
Or maybe not.
“No, Mother. I’m not dead. Just busy with school. Life is… busy. Planning a wedding.”
My eyes slam shut and I wince the moment theWword comes out of my mouth.
