“I know, Mom,” I say, covering the pancakes with foil.
“Sometimes more if traffic is bad.”
“Traffic’s not bad.” I pop the plate into the fridge, adding before she can ask, “I checked. The coast is clear, and we’ll have you there in plenty of time. And it’s good the nanny’s not early. I still need to get Ava dressed.”
“Ava’s dressed,” Mom says, delivering Bella’s bowl of pony grahams with no milk because milk is also “bad” and “mean” when mixed with cereal.
Solo milk in a glass—fine.
Milk mixed with cereal—abomination.
I am also confused. And tired. Very tired.
I never should have gone out Saturday night, but damn…I’m glad I did, no matter how things ended. It was nice to get out from under the unrelenting stress for a few hours. And I know I’m never going to forget Clover, no matter where my romantic life goes—or doesn’t—from here.
“She’s in her unicorn sweater, watchingBlueywhile she brushes her hair like a big girl.” Mom shoots me a narrow look. “Which is more than I can say for her father. Have you run a brush through that tangle, son?”
“Sure did,” I mutter, reaching up to run a hand over my lightly gelled waves.
Yes. Definitely brushed. I couldn’t remember if I’d gotten around to it or not, what with all the banana excitement and artificially inflated airport stress. The TSA is fully operational, and Monday morning is a chill day to fly. Mom will breeze through security with the business travelers and be at her gate an hour ahead of schedule, the way she likes it. No doubt in my mind.
Still, she has a certain way she likes things done, and Bella came by her stubbornness honestly.
Mom continues to eye my head as she pours another cup of coffee. “If you say so, but you could use a haircut. Once you make sure this nanny isn’t a serial killer, you should make an appointment with your barber after practice tomorrow.”
“Shush.” I lower my voice as I add, “Don’t say things like that. You’ll make the girls nervous.”
“Well, maybe they should be nervous,” she mutters, her voice still too loud. Though, to be fair, Bella’s too busy chomping pony grahams at top volume to hear a word from our side of the kitchen. “Are you sure this girl has been properly vetted? Do they check the temps as well as they check the full-time employees?”
“Yes.” I pour myself another cup, too. “Tasha assured me she’s been vetted, is certified in CPR, and has loads of experience.”
Mom grunts. “And what’s her name again? Meredith?”
“Yes. Meredith Cummings,” I say, a part of me certain the universe is tossing reminders of Clover in my path on purpose. First, it was the girl playing bass at the farmer’s market yesterday. Then, the stale popcorn my mother pulled out of the cabinet for a snack after dinner last night. Now, the new nanny’s last name.
But it’s a common last name, a fact my mother proves as she says, “I never met a Cummings I’d trust to flush the toilet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mom shrugs as if what she meant should be obvious. “It means they’re a forgetful people. Forgetful in a way that can have consequences. Gross consequences.”
I hum around my sip of coffee. “I think we’ll be fine.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” she says, before adding in a softer voice, “I can stay a little longer if you want, just until you make sure this girl is going to work out.”
“No, Mom,” I say firmly. “You have clients who need you, and you’ve already taken enough time away from work. You’re getting on that plane, and I’ll make sure you don’t miss it. I promise.”
“I don’t want Grammy to go on the plane,” Bella says, a teary note in her voice once more. “Planes are bad and mean, too. Just like bananas.”
And there it is.
The bananas were maybe never about the bananas. The bananas might be about Grammy, who’s been a loving, nurturing presence since Frederica died, is about to walk out the door with a rolling suitcase.
Just like her mama walked out the door with a suitcase and never came back…
And Bella—who’s three, brilliant, and has clearly, on some level, connected two unrelated events into a terrifying case of cause and effect—has channeled the weight of that into her banana pancakes.
“I don’t like planes,” Bella adds, tears beginning to flow. “Or people going away. I want everybody to stay here with us.”
