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“What do you mean?”
“It’s dry.”
“A little. But it tastes good.” He speared a potato and a carrot and seemed to swallow them whole, and chased it down with a glass of water.
“Well… thank you.”
We were silent while we listened to the boys fuss in the other room.Please don’t start screaming again,I prayed.
“My parents are excited,” he said after a minute. He stared at his bowl, then stood and went to the kitchen. He returned with a bottle of ketchup and a beer. I’d seen the beers in the fridge, but Drew didn’t drink that much. Maybe one beer a night, a few nights a week. “They’ve been pressuring me to settle down. So they’re excited to meet you and the boys.”
“Do they know our… situation?” I asked.
He squeezed a dollop of ketchup on the roast and took another bite. “Hm?”
“Do they know we’re nottogether.”
He chewed, swallowed, and took another swig of beer. “Yes.”
“Are you always this chatty?” I muttered.
He snorted and coughed on his beer, sputtering and holding a napkin to his face.
“Sorry, Drew I—”
“You really get to me, Sugar,” he said, coughing and clearing his throat. He wiped the beer from his face, and then dabbed at the tears in his eyes.Is he laughing at me?
“What does that mean?” I found myself laughing. This man didn’t appear to be able to have a conversation that we hadn’t rehearsed. I thought back to the man I’d met in AC who smooth-talked me into his hotel room. Where had he gone off to?
“You’re really something. That’s all I’m saying.”
I laughed again at the absurdity of our situation. The man barely spoke, but he’d brought me into his house. He hadn’t once tried to have a conversation with me other than what I needed for the boys. He’d given me a credit card to buy groceries and supplies, but hadn’t given me a budget. We were perfect strangers living together, and there seemed to be an impossible wall between us.
Why is he doing this for us? What does he get out of this?It can’t just be guilt.
I knew Drew had some love for the twins; sometimes I caught him looking at them with wonder, and when he held them or changed them, or sang to them, it made my heart ache to see someone else care for my children as much as I did. But I still couldn’t fathom why Drew would do all this for us, especially when he didn’t seem to be interested in developing any kind of relationship with me at all, friendship or otherwise.
“Well you’re really something too, Andrew Greenwood.”
“That’s what they keep telling me.”
I shook my head and laughed again, and tried putting ketchup on my roast.
“Oh look at their little faces. Bob, look. They’re looking at you.”
“Hey buddy.”
“Look at his little feet.”
“How do you tell them apart?”
Mr. and Mrs. Greenwood were completely charmed by my boys. Drew sat in one of his chairs in the corner of the living room sipping a beer, and I sat on the floor in the middle of the room with Drew’s parents. They oohed and awwed over the twins, trying to get them to smile.
The boys seemed happy. After about an hour, they got fussy, so I fed them and put them down to nap. Mrs. Greenwood opened the blinds in the living room while she got herself some more cheese and crackers.
“You need some sun, dear,” she said.
“I know. But I don’t really have a way to take the boys out unless it’s in the car.”
