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“She’s watching YouTube Kids,” I say. “Adeline, go get your sister. Tell her it’s time for breakfast.”
Theodora places the box of doughnuts on the kitchen island before rummaging through the cabinets to retrieve plates and juice glasses. I grab a container of freshly cut fruit from the fridge. If she’s going to load them up on pure sugar, I’d at least like them to have some type of real food to go with it. Even if they ignore it, at least it’s there. It’s an option. And it makes me feel like I’m doing something right as a parent.
Marabel meanders in—always a girl operating on her own schedule—gives Theodora a hug, then takes her spot at the head of the table, where she’s insisted on sitting ever since she outgrew her high chair a couple of years ago.
“So, Roman,” Theodora says a few minutes later, when we’re all seated. Peering at me from behind a pair of cherry-red Chanel glasses, she adds, “How was your evening last night?”
I stare at my untouched blueberry scone.
“It was . . . interesting,” I say.
She lifts a single eyebrow. “Interesting good? Or interesting bad?”
“Interesting neither.” I take a bite to save myself from having to answer another question.
“Why do you guys keep saying interesting?” Marabel asks, swiping her finger through some pink frosting. “Interesting, interesting, interesting . . .”
“Hm.” Aunt Theodora studies me with her trademark discernment. “You’re still getting warmed up. You’ve been out of the game for far too long. I’m sure you felt a little out of your element.”
I take another bite, again deferring any opportunity to speak.
“I hope you didn’t scare her away,” she continues. “First impressions are everything. And we all know how you can be.”
I nod, chewing. Then I rise from my chair and pour myself a coffee, taking my time with the cream and sugar.
“Want one?” I ask, holding up an empty mug.
Theodora shakes her head.
“Did she talk your ear off?” She continues her line of questioning. “Sometimes I can’t get a word in edgewise around her. In a good way, of course. I always tell her she has the gift of gab, she just has to learn when to rein it in sometimes.”
I shake my head, taking yet another bite.
The Margaux I met last night hardly “gabbed” at all.
“Hm.” Theodora frowns. “She must have been nervous.”
I don’t tell her it was like pulling teeth all night just to get her to give me more than a one-word response. But in her defense, our conversation wasn’t exactly enthralling, and I wasn’t doing us any favors.
People can sense when you don’t want to be around them, and I have no doubt she was picking up on some of that.
“Where did you leave things?” my aunt asks next. “Are you going to try for round two? Maybe she was nervous? Though that doesn’t sound like the Margaux I know at all. She’s one of my top marketing gals. It’s between her and this young man I brought on last year, fresh out of college. A real go-getter. While I absolutely adore Margaux, Franklin is really giving her a run for her money. He’s quickly growing into his role, and he’s brokered some record-breaking deals. Really thinks outside the box, that Franklin.”
“How do you think outside a box?” Adeline asks with a giggle.
Marabel giggles back, never missing a chance to parrot her older sister.
“Yeah, what’s that mean?” Marabel asks.
“It’s when you take a problem and you get creative with it,” I say. “You solve it in a way that most people wouldn’t think to solve it.”
“Like when Marabel got gum in her hair and I cut it out with my safety scissors?” Adeline asks, wiping chocolate frosting off her mouth with the back of her hand.
Theodora hands her a napkin before I have a chance.
“Sort of,” I say.
“Hurry up, girls,” Theodora says as she eyes what’s left of their doughnuts. “Our nail appointments are in thirty minutes, and we can’t be late or we’ll get bumped.”
“What’s bumped?” Marabel asks.
“You’re just full of questions today, aren’t you?” I clean her chubby cheeks with a napkin before grabbing a Wet One from a kitchen drawer to wipe off both of their sticky hands. Monday through Friday, I’m leading board meetings and taking international conference calls. Saturday mornings, I remove frosting from faces and fingers. It’s called balance. “It’s when they give your appointment to someone else.”
“Go on now, girls. Put your shoes on. I’ll meet you at the door,” Theodora tells them. As soon as they’re out of earshot, she gives me a squinted glance. “I really hope you and Margaux give it another go. I know you don’t see what I see, and I know you don’t want to move on, but at some point you’re going to have to. If not for yourself, then for them.”
