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They hadn’t personally unpacked a damn thing, but the team Nathan had hired had botched my bookshelves big-time. I shelve by genre and theme, not alphabetically, otherwise you end up with a Neil Gaiman novel followed by a medical book by Dr. Graham, which is housed next to Lord of the Flies by William Golding. Which is a mess, in my opinion. It’s just not the way I do it, and I admit, I’m a little set in my ways.
Today I had to remind myself Nathan had meant well. His love language is making our lives easier with his money. Mine is feeding and nurturing them.
“If you want me to cook dinner, it’s my kitchen between the hours of five and seven every night,” I tell Crew. I love cooking in general, but it’s taking on a new meaning now. I love cooking for my family.
“Michael cooks, Nathan drinks, Dani sets the table. What the hell am I supposed to do then? I know, I’m the entertainment.” Crew picks up oranges from the bowl on the island and attempts to juggle.
I finish my salad dressing and dip a spoon in it to taste the flavor profile. “You are definitely entertaining.”
Crew drops an orange, and it rolls across the island to rest against our ceramic salad bowl.
“Help me set the table before you break something,” Dani says.
“I don’t know how.”
That makes me laugh. “That’s code for “I’m lazy and I don’t want to.” I have younger siblings, remember?” I tell him.
“No, I’m serious. I don’t know how. I mean, obviously, you slap a plate down, but the silverware and the glasses and all that, I have no clue. I spent most of my childhood at the ice rink or in a bus or car traveling somewhere. I’m super familiar with the continental breakfast at Hampton Inns all over the Midwest. Plus, my mother was amazing at packing lunches and snacks and full picnic dinner spreads that could be eaten in the bleachers during tournaments. But we didn’t have family dinners at home all that often.”
“I can’t imagine what that was like,” I say. I had played sports, but just for school. Never competitive or traveling teams. Crew had never gone to college either, going pro straight out of high school. I wonder how many miles of road he’s covered in his life. A dizzying amount.
“Here, I’ll show you,” Dani says, taking an orange out of his hand and plopping it back into the bowl.
“You know how to set a table?” he asks her.
“Yes. My mother was strict about Sunday dinner being traditional.”
Crew makes a face. “Your mother seems strict in general.” But then, because he’s Crew, and always optimistic, he nods confidently. “I think Mary is warming up to me, though. She texted me on my birthday.” He takes the plates she hands him and follows her to the round table we have in the corner of the kitchen by the drinks station.
Dani had wanted a banquette but Nathan had told her he refused to sit on a bench to eat his meals because it would feel like a prison cafeteria. Crewobviouslyrefused to sit on a bench. And even I had to admit, that sounded uncomfortable as hell. Besides, who would sit where? So we now have four very plush, easy on the ass, fabric chairs around a round table.
“Doc is really the only one who had a typical childhood,” Crew announces.
I raise my eyebrows. “Well, I did have a typical childhood, that is true. For which I’m extremely grateful.”
I refuse to let this conversation take me back to the fear of that first phone call from my sister, saying our father had a heart attack. That moment was honestly the first moment I had really addressed my father’s mortality, and damn, it fucking sucked. The earth had shifted beneath my feet because my parents have been my rock since birth. But I don’t want to ruin tonight by going there in my head again.
“I had a typical childhood!” Dani protests. She points to the table. “From out to in, Crew, that’s what you have to remember. Salad fork on the outside of your dinner fork.”
Nathan sips his drink, legs sprawled out as he lounges in his chair. He has an amazing ability to do nothing with such authority that you assume he is contributing when he’s actually doing nothing.
“You’re in the way,” Crew tells him, kicking his foot as he tries to shift in closer to the table, holding floral napkins that Dani clearly picked out at some point.
“I’m inspecting your work. Switch the wine glass and the bread dish. If you can’t remember, just do this.” Nathan lifts up his hands to show Crew. He forms a circle with his thumb and index finger, other fingers straight up. “The left hand makes a ‘b’ for bread. The right makes a ‘d’ for drink.”
“Look at that,” Crew says. “Cool.” He rearranges the dish and the glass and moves on to the next place setting. He puts his fingers up again. “I feel like a yogi. Oomm.”
Nathan laughs and pulls Dani down onto his thigh. He brushes her hair back and kisses her neck. Dani squirms, trying to get back up to help Crew, but Nathan holds her firmly on his lap.
“How did you learn stuff like that anyway, Nate?” Crew asks. “Given the way you were raised.”
“I’m not the fucking Jungle Boy,” Nathan says. “I had parents until I was twelve.”
That makes me laugh as I drop my tasting spoon in the sink. I carry the salad bowl to the table. “I’m picturing little Nathan wandering around the jungle in a cashmere sweater.”
“I do look good in cashmere,” Nathan says, his hand now under Dani’s sweater so he can gently massage the small of her back. “My parents taught me a lot. My dad was into flying, and hockey, of course, and golf, which I didn’t actually enjoy at all. My mother liked to take me shopping, to museums, to five-star restaurants. I had a nanny and a tutor, my grandparents. Then boarding school at eleven. I had a very normal childhood.”
Dani snickers. “Oh, sweetie.”
