Page 74 of Husband of the Year
Marvin: Can we meet on the playground today? I’d love to chat for a min if you have time.
Isabella: Of course. See you soon.
Under the late March sun, Illona sprints over to her mother and they share a long embrace. We typically do the Friday handoff in the classroom, but with the warmer weather, and me needing to talk, the playground allows us a little privacy while Illona plays with other kids whose parents are in no rush to leave school.
“Marvin and I need a few minutes, sweetie,” Isabella says. “Leave your bag and go play.”
“Have fun kibbitzing!” she shouts and darts off toward the other children on the play structure.
“She really is learning so much from you.” Isabella pushes a loose strand of hair behind her right ear. It’s such a simple gesture, but when she does it, there’s such grace and beauty to her movement. I find myself lost in the moment. Her fingernails are painted a bright red, but there’s some soft pink near the tips and I wonder how long it takes for someone to make that happen.
We’re standing near the parking lot, away from the school building where the other parents have congregated. It’s the only way to have a modicum of privacy and where Isabella and I had our first one-on-onechat over two years ago. I thought she was swooping in to obliterate me, but turned out she wasn’t the evil ex after all. A small puff of air escapes my nose, the faintest seedling of a laugh, remembering how petrified of her I was.
“So… you wanted to talk? Is everything okay?”
Oh right, I asked her to chat. Focus, Marvin. Focus!
“Yeah, she’s a sponge. Illona. Not literally, of course, she’s much bigger, and talks, and much less absorbent.”
“Marvin.” Isabella hooks her arm in mine and pulls me closer. Her soft late spring sweater feels like a cloud against my skin. It’s probably cashmere. “Relax. You can talk to me. Remember, we’re all on the same team.”
“You know I don’t play sports ball,” I say.
“Neither do I. Pilates and water. That’s my routine.”
“Sure, that’s what’s responsible for allthis.” I motion toward her.
We share a laugh, and I get a whiff of her sweet perfume and my body relaxes into hers.
“It’s Olan.” I dip my head, unsure how to ask her what I’ve been wondering about since Olan and I talked just over a week ago. What my brain has been turning over and over since coffee with Vincent and Ruth at the beginning of the week.
“And Greggie,” Isabella says.
“Yes, how did you know?”
“I spoke to him a few days after you and, well, he has baby on the brain, so I figured, maybe it was that.”
“Was he like this with Illona?” I run my hand up and down Isabella’s arm, unable to resist the softness of her sweater.
“Oh yeah. Babies are magical, I can admit that, but for some people, it’s next level. They’re just smitten with that stage.”
“So this is temporary? For Olan?”
“I don’t think so. I think he just loves children. Family. The newnessof having a daughter has worn off, but he’s no less infatuated with Illona than the day she was born. I realized quickly those two would share a special bond and a lot of that has to do with Olan. He’s just that kind of father. I used to wonder if it would be different had Illona been a boy, but now I see how it is with his nephew, and nope—gender has nothing to do with it. He just loves taking care of them.”
“I mean, that’s one of the things I love about him.” The minute it comes out of my mouth I worry I’ve crossed a line.
“Me too,” she says. “There’s nothing more attractive than a man doting on his children.”
“Oh thank goodness,” I say. “I was worried you’d think it was strange.”
“No. Not at all. There’s a reason I loveModern Familyand his name is Phil Dunphy.”
“Right? They try to play him off as an awkward nerd, but, I mean, that’s my kryptonite.”
“That tracks.” Isabella brushes a piece of lint off my hoodie that I wasn’t aware was there.
“Did he tell you Liam is giving up custody?” I ask.
