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I’d read that New York was in the top ten of US cities for biking. Certainly the dozen members of my immediate family helped contribute to that statistic.
I planned to stay in my sweaty clothes for dinner until Mary Catherine gave me a look.
“Oh, c’mon,” I said. “It won’t kill the kids to smell their dad once in a while.”
“I wouldn’t have a problem with it usually,” she replied, “but we’re having a guest for dinner.”
“If you start calling Seamus a guest, we’re never going to have a comfortable dinner again.”
“It’s not your grandfather. Jane has a friend coming over.”
“That’s nice. What’s her name?”
“It’s a boy.” She hesitated, then added, “A boyfriend.”
“You mean a friend who happens to be a boy, right?”
“You wish.”
I thought about it for a moment. “I’m not sure I’m ready for Jane to have a boyfriend.”
“Fathers never are. Yet the fact remains. We both need to clean up because the boy will be here shortly.”
“Is he from Holy Name?”
Mary Catherine nodded. “Allan Martin III.”
“Is his dad the hedge fund guy?”
“He is.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. This was a lot for me to take in. Jane was my third-oldest child, after Juliana and Brian. I’d come to terms with Juliana dating, and I thought I was prepared to deal with the other girls doing so too. Apparently I was wrong. I still had four even younger daughters. I hated to think what my future held.
Mary Catherine got cleaned up first, then I took a quick shower. When I wandered back into the kitchen, I was impressed to see how efficiently Ricky, my second-oldest son, had managed to pull together a spectacular spaghetti dinner and get everyone involved. I saw the table was already set, and my grandfather, Seamus, sat at the far end, sipping a glass of red wine, looking well dressed in his clerical collar.
“Comfortable, Seamus?” I asked as I strolled into the dining room.
“Aside from the sarcastic questioning, everything is great. How about you, my boy?”
“Peachy.”
Then the doorbell rang and I heard my normally reserved, incredibly smart daughter Jane squeal. An honest-to-God squeal. What is happening?
Young Allan Martin III turned out to be a nice-looking man who showed good manners as well. He shook my hand and looked me in the eye. He looked a little like his father. Tall, with blond hair and brown eyes.
Jane stood next to him like they were attached by some invisible, and extremely short, cord.
I noticed, though, that when Brian walked past Allan, he bumped the young man. It looked a little like an accident, but I wondered if there was more to it.
Then Mary Catherine and Ricky called out in unison, “Dinner is on the table!”
Chapter 7
Even if you’re used to dinner at our apartment, the sight of all thirteen of us could be overwhelming, though Allan seemed to take it in stride. And, of course, he sat right next to Jane.
I watched Brian, who quietly observed everything around him without showing much interest or emotion. He sat three spots from the end, hunched over his plate of pasta. It was a habit he’d gotten into during his months in prison, and correcting it wasn’t on my list of priorities at the moment.
My youngest, Chrissy, had taken to sitting right next to Brian at dinner, as well as at any other time. It was as if she was afraid her big brother might be taken away again. For his part, Brian seemed to appreciate the attention. Never said a word when she scooted her chair a little too close. He always took her hand when she slipped it into his. But tonight he seemed focused on Jane’s new boyfriend.
