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Not me. It’s my greatest joy. And I have to say, I think I’ll make a great mom. Not just someday, but someday soon.
“What’s going on, Gilly?” I ask.
She leans on the counter and heaves a sigh. She’s clearly been rushing around for a while getting things ready for dinner. “Axel and I have been arguing about Stella’s school ever since that night we all had dinner and–”
“Oh no…”
“He’s feeling some weird FOMO that all his boys are sending their kids to private school. And I get it, I do. I don’t want Stella to feel left out, but she’s–”
“She’s settled at Seton,” I say, a bit of a mindread.
Gillian nods adamantly. “Exactly! She’s been there for three years now. All her friends are there. And maybe the other parents aren’tbillionaires, but who cares? I’d rather her have a comprehensive understanding of the world and…”
Gillian continues to talk about the merits of Stella’s schooling and the sniping arguments Axel and her have been having. I’m not worried, though. The two of them walked into their marriage knowing that they were both hardheaded as anyone. Somehow, it’s what makes them work most of the time.
As she talks, I glance out the window and catch sight of Drew adjusting the collar of his flannel nervously. It was my idea to announce it in a silly way. He just went along with it because he’s a good sport. Always has been. He’s talking with my dad who has Tana balanced on his hip. She’s freshly one year old. Can’t believe how big she’s gotten.
Drew leans in and tickles Tana’s cheek.
Takes everything in me not to swoon. That’s going to be us with our own faster than we know it.
“What do you think?”
I turn back to Gillian. Her back is to me as she opens the oven to check on the baking quiches. “Um…repeat the question?”
“Am I being crazy?”
That doesn’t clarify anything, really. “Never, Gillian.”
She straightens up and smiles at me. “Thank you.”
Well, that was easy.
“Oh, my god, Dana. You’re sweating,” she says.
It is sweltering in this kitchen and, if I hadn’t worn a shirt that has distinct messaging, I would have taken off my sweater the second I walked in.
“Come here, take this off.”
“Wait, Gillian–”
Gillian comes over to me, undoes my cardigan buttons, and starts to wrench the sleeves down my arms.
“Stop! What are you–”
“Your face is red and–”
I try to wriggle away, but Gillian doesn’t let up. The two of us might as well have been in the womb together, the way we paw at each other. “Gillian, stop it!” I bat her away and finally spin out of her grasp, scurrying over to the opposite wall to protect me.
“What is your problem? Do you want to die of heatstroke?”
I start to button my cardigan again, not caring if the buttons are mismatched with their holes. “Is there anything else you need to talk to me about or can I go outside and get some fresh air?”
Gillian appraises me carefully, eyes narrowed. “You’re hiding something?”
“No, I’m–”
“Under that sweater. Let me see.”
