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"Is that right?"
"Yeah, and then if you ask to play, the boys say you must secretly be a boy, too." Rhea's voice wavered, her eyes downcast. "But they don't say that about me. They pick on . . . someone else. Someone else who likes jujitsu."
"Who do they say it about, darling?" Cole asked.
"I don't remember," said Rhea. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."
My heart ached for her. "That sounds very tough for whoever they pick on," I said. "I wish I could tell that person that I don't really think that there is such a thing as 'girl stuff' or 'boy stuff.' You know, lots of girls like playing with balls." I tried not to catch Cole’s eye as I said that last sentence.
"Plenty of boys hate sports," Cole said.
"What do you think, Rhea?" I asked.
"I think that anyone can do what they want, and I think people should share."
"I think the same as you," said Lexi, giving her sister a tender look.
"You know," I said, "not that long ago, a lot of people thought that what I do—being a professional chef—was boy stuff. But times have changed. Girls and boys can do whatever they want to these days. What matters most is that you're true to yourself and follow your interests, no matter what anyone else says."
Rhea looked at her dad. "One more drop of chili sauce, Dad. Just one."
Cole smiled, then, he measured out a single drop. "Proud of you, Rhea."
***
I hadn't planned on staying to tuck the girls into bed. But they asked me to do it and I couldn’t say no.
Lexi and Rhea crawled into Cole’s bed with me, and I read them a couple of chapters of James and the Giant Peach. I’d forgotten how dark the start of the book was. The girls gasped in sympathy as I described James’s parents getting eaten by a rhino.
"We're lucky to have Mom, I guess."
"And Dad."
After I finished, they hugged me tight. "Thanks for being our neighbor," Rhea said.
"Don’t go to New York," Lexi mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep.
I gave them another hug. "I'll come visit, don't worry."
I turned the light off and switched on the baby monitor like Cole had shown me, then stepped out of their room, and sighed deeply. Out of nowhere, I felt as though I was about to cry. I took a moment and just breathed.
I found Cole waiting for me in the living room, two glasses of red wine ready on the coffee table. I handed him the baby monitor and sat down.
He looked at the screen with a smile. “They’re not babies anymore,” he said thoughtfully. “But I don’t feel ready to stop using this old thing yet. Too damn protective, I guess.”
He gave me a glass of wine, his hazel eyes soft in the dim light.
"Thank you," he said sincerely, "for everything tonight—for being so kind to the girls, and for sharing your experiences with Rhea. It means a lot."
"Of course," I replied, taking a sip of the velvety wine. "They're wonderful kids, Cole. You've done an amazing job raising them."
He looked down. "I'm sorry there wasn't more . . . romance tonight," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I know this isn't exactly what you're looking for from me."
To my surprise, I found myself shaking my head. "Actually, Cole," I confessed, "I really enjoyed tonight. You're so good with them. It's weirdly . . . sexy."
"Really?" he asked, his eyes searching mine for the truth. "I guess I'm not doing so well at this fling thing."
"This isn't a fling, Cole."
