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“Well then, have a cookie and some tea. Maybe it will help you to get some sustenance.”
I sit at the little table, afraid that I’ll break the chair, but Harper shakes her head.
“Don’t worry, I read the reviews. I made sure that these chairs were sturdy enough for fully grown men to sit on."
Excellent. "You think of everything. But who said you could have cookies for breakfast?" I ask Ivy.
She points her finger at Harper. "Mama."
Harper shrugs. "Oatmeal raisin. It's practically like eating a bowl of oatmeal."
I pretend to be disapproving but take the largest one I can find, studded with raisins and cranberries and walnuts. I take a big bite. "Delicious. Where did these come from?"
"Polina said you have a friend here whose family owns a bakery or something? From Boston? She said something about them needing to talk with you, but I told her that you needed a little time to rest…”
The only friends I know that have bakeries in Boston are the Rossis.
“Mario?”
Harper shakes her head. "No, not a he, Aleks. She."
“She who?"
She shrugs. “I don't know.”
Maybe I do need to check that phone.
There’s a knock on the door. "You guys in there?" Mikhail.
"Come in."
He steps into the room, holding the baby over his shoulder and stops short when he sees me, bare chested, wearing pajamapants, holding a dinky cup of tea in one hand and an oatmeal cookie in the other.
"Sorry to interrupt," he says in a voice that tells me he's not at all sorry for interrupting. He smirks. “Brother, I am taking a picture of that and using it as blackmail."
I shrug. "Men have tea parties, a—" I stop myself from swearing, right in the middle of it. Harper gives me a look, and Mikhail’s smirk deepens. "You'll get used to not swearing all the time."
"Baby sleeping?" Harper says, getting to her feet. We haven't told anybody that she's expecting, but we will. I will relish delivering the news.
“He is,” Mikhail says. “Aria has been at work all night, which is why she's been texting you all morning, Aleksandr."
My full name. Hmm.
"She's resting now, so I took the baby for a bit. We take turns," he says to Harper as if to explain it. As if he wants her to understand that he isn't some kind of Neanderthal that expects that women's work is about childcare.
“Oh, he's precious,” she coos. “Just wook at that wittle face.”
"Thank you." He pats the baby’s little diaper-clad bottom. I guess it's easy to look like a good dad when your baby weighs less than a sack of potatoes and can fit over your shoulder.”
“Maybe it's time to tell him, Harper?"
“You really can’t let him have his minute, can you?” she asks, her tone amused.
“Nope.”
Mikhail looks at the two of us curiously, while Ivy pours more tea and promptly spills half of it onto the table. I go to the bathroom to get a towel to mop it all up, and when I come back, she has three cookies in her hand. Maybe this isn’t the best breakfast idea, but she’ll live.
“Are you going to tell me or what?”
