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I continue into the small space almost entirely decorated in yellow. “When I was in Newport last week, I stopped by an estate sale on Bailey's Beach—”
“Ahh, I would love to visit that area.” The old woman’s eyes sparkle as she hands me a crystal tumbler of smoky amber liquid. “The Vanderbilts owned property there, didn’t they?”
“Just about all the big names did in the Gilded Age.” I place the bag on her kitchen table so I can take the shot glass of creamy beige eggnog she’s offering me.
“You must’ve loved growing up there. They have the America's Cup every year. Did you ever sail in it?”
“I did not.” My childhood in that posh zip code is not a highlight of my life. “Drake Carrollton didn’t believe in mixing with the neighbors.”
My adopted father suspected everyone was trying to steal from him, and he clutched his riches like the old dragon he was until the day he died, cold and alone. I almost turned out just like him… until Joselyn.
“Well, that’s too bad.” The old woman nods at the shot glass I’m holding. “See what you think.”
I lift the small vial, tilting it side to side. My eyes move to her expectant ones, and I almost don’t recognize myself at this moment. Visiting a spinster organist? Giving her an expensive piece of art glass I could sell for three times what I paid for it? Now I’m sampling her eggnog?
Perhaps my wife is right.
Perhaps I am growing sweet.
Either way, I lift the small cup and let a drop of the thick concoction touch my tongue. The warm essence of creamy nutmeg and vanilla fills my mouth. It’s not entirely unpleasant, so I finish the sample, which makes the small woman beam with pride.
“You like it!” She clasps her hands together, and I shrug.
“It reminds me of warm ice cream.”
She leans forward and whispers, “I use more vanilla than nutmeg. Makes it a little sweeter. I go light on the cloves, and add a touch of ginger for heat. Would you like some more?”
“I’m good.” I hold up my tumbler. “I’m afraid I can’t stay long.”
“Then I should see what you brought me here.” She shuffles around, lifting the white bag and giving it a little shake. “Can I open it now, or do you want me to wait until Christmas?”
Her playfulness makes me smile. “Your call. We’ll be in town through Sunday if you’d like to wait.”
“Perhaps I will. At my age, I don’t get a lot of presents on the big day. All my attention is focused on the youngsters.” She squints an eye at me. “Speaking of which, when can we expect a little red-headed bundle of joy from you two?”
My brow tightens, and I clear my throat. Joselyn warned me all the old ladies would be pestering us to have kids as soon as we were married, but I assumed they would focus their pestering on her.
“I hadn’t really thought about it.” My tone is clipped, and I expect her to drop it.
She doesn’t. Her wrinkled lips twist, and I feel like I’ve been put on the witness stand. “You haven’t thought about it? Surely you’re fulfilling your husbandly duties.”
“Of course I am.”Quite well, I mentally add, not that it’s any of her business. The last thing I expected was to be ambushed about my sex life by a tiny old lady.
“Then you should always be ready. If you’re having sex, you could get pregnant at any time.”
“I’m well aware of that. Joselyn and I are enjoying our time together.” My tone has an “end of discussion” implication.
I should have known it wouldn’t work on this old lady.
“I know, you’re afraid you don’t have what it takes to be a dad.” She presses her lips together and nods like she’s been here before. “Funny thing about men, the young ones never think about it. The old ones think about it too much. Women don’t get that luxury.”
“I disagree. Joselyn has as much a say in this as I do.”
“So you’re saying she doesn’t want to have children?”
An uncomfortable silence falls in the room. The one time Joselyn and I talked about children, it was in a very general way. It was when I told her, based on my past, I had decided never to marry, that it was better for me to be alone.
Now she’s my wife.
