Marriage Matters (14 page)

Twenty-four

T
aking a deep breath, Kristine let herself into June’s house. It was Thursday night and she was late. Even worse, she’d skipped two Thursdays in a row. June got the hint, though, and finally left an apology message for ambushing Kevin.

Straightening her shoulders, Kristine followed the sound of laughter to the kitchen. “Hi, everybody.” Dropping her purse on the table, she hugged them. “I’ve missed you guys.”

June was stiff in her arms. “How nice of you to join us.” She plucked Kristine’s purse off the table and stomped off. Hopefully, she was going to place the purse in the basket in the living room instead of throwing it out into the street, as she’d probably prefer to do.

Chloe giggled. “It’s a good thing you’re here. Grandma would have had a conniption if you skipped again. Here, pick an apron.”

There were several options on the table. Yellow stripes, navy and white flowers, green polka dots . . . Kristine settled on one with embroidered bluebirds and pulled it over her head.

“What are we doing tonight?” An array of cooking utensils were set on the counter, along with a bag of flour, a carton of eggs and a variety of herbs and spices. Maybe June had hired a pastry chef.

Chloe grinned. “Making homemade pasta, in honor of your trip to Italy.” Whispering, she added, “Grandma’s trying to prove that she’s happy for you. She thinks
you
think she’s mad that you’re going. Have you been avoiding her or something?”

Kristine fidgeted with a string on her apron. “It’s been busy at the store.”

Yes, she had been avoiding June. Kristine was mad at her mother for stalking Kevin at the juice bar, but she was also feeling guilty about the fact that maybe her mother was right.

Rather than risk June’s interference, she’d been avoiding her mother instead.

“It’ll be fun to make pasta,” Kristine said, her voice bright. “I—”

“Oh!” Chloe’s eyes focused on something behind Kristine. “I have to warn you,” she murmured. “The chef tonight is a little . . .”

“Hahl-lo,” a raspy voice cried.

Kristine practically jumped out of her shoes. Turning around, she was surprised to see a tiny man with a large nose and crooked teeth standing just inches away from her. He was dressed all in white, other than a bright blue apron filled with a variety of cooking utensils. When he moved, the spoons jingled together, making a sound like that bell Chloe’s cat always wore.

“I am Hannigan!” The rotund man stood on his tiptoes to kiss her cheek. “Oh, you are delicious.” He sniffed the air around her like a bloodhound. “You smell like coconuts.”

“Hello.” Kristine took a step backwards, trying to move him out of her personal space. To her surprise, Hannigan followed. She took another step back. He followed again, as though they were performing some odd number on
Dancing with the Stars.

Kristine looked at her daughter in confusion, not quite sure how to get out of this.

Chloe grinned. “Hannigan is going to teach us about making pasta. Grandma met him through a mutual friend. Although he has asked her on a date, once or twice—”

“Three times, yes.” Hannigan nodded, vigorously.

“Hannigan has resigned himself to teaching us about cooking instead.”

“Yes, yes.” He abruptly abandoned Kristine’s personal space and invaded Chloe’s instead. Running his stubby hands through her ponytail, he proclaimed, “This one is already my sous chef.”

June bustled back into the room. Smoothing down her red polka-dot apron with white ruffles, she said, “Shall we get started?”

“Yes.” Hannigan bebopped over to June. “Let’s start the party.”

June gave a hearty sigh and pushed him away. Reaching for her Thursday night notebook, she cleared her throat and placed a pair of purple-rimmed reading glasses onto her nose. Two days ago, Kristine had picked up the exact pair to replace the pink ones. It was time to get a real pair of glasses.

June cleared her throat. “Harriet Van Horne said, ‘Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.’
The Italians create their meals with love, creating dishes with few ingredients and enjoyed over a period of hours, to maximize time with family. Today, we will learn how to make homemade pasta in an effort to spend more time together as a family. And of course . . .” She cleared her throat again. “To honor Kristine’s upcoming trip to Rome.”

Hannigan whistled. He yanked Kristine over to the pots like a lobster he planned to boil. “We cook here.” Then, he dragged her over to an area with colorful plastic mixing bowls. “We create here.”

The three of them worked quickly to keep up with Hannigan’s instructions, dumping eggs, flour and a variety of spices into the bowls. The chef chose a whisk from his apron collection and whipped the ingredients together, while maintaining a tight grip on Kristine’s elbow. Thanks to the motion of his arm, she felt like a kid stuck on a merry-go-round. The ingredients transformed into dough and the chef cried, “Who would like to master the art of the roll?”

“Chloe would,” Kristine said, pointing.

As Hannigan raced to be by her side, Kristine approached her mother. “Thanks for doing this tonight. It’s really sweet.”

June sniffed. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m sorry I missed the past few weeks.” She kept her voice quiet. “The store’s been busy.”

“Work is the excuse Kevin is using with you,” June said. “Don’t you dare use it with me.”

“Mom . . .” Kristine sighed. “Look, what you did to Kevin was completely unacceptable. Our marriage is not your business.”

June eyed her over those purple frames. “If it involves you, it
is
my business.”

“You made me look like a child. Can you imagine what would happen if I talked to . . .” She wracked her brain. “Chloe’s dean? Without her permission?”

June’s eyes looked guilty. “I only—”

“You only wanted to butt in. I’m begging you, butt out.” Kristine reached up and tugged at the knot in her hair. Pulling it down, she rearranged it and tied it up again. “Seriously. I don’t need your help. I need your support.”

“Kristine, I know that things have been difficult for you and Kevin lately.”

Kristine looked at her mother in surprise. Even though June had made her concerns about Italy more than clear, Kristine hadn’t realized her mother knew that things had been strained with Kevin. On the other hand . . . maybe it was just that obvious.

Reaching out, June smoothed back a strand of Kristine’s hair, just like she’d done when Kristine was a little girl. “And because things are difficult, I don’t think you should go. You’re putting yourself in a bad position. But . . . it’s your life and your decision. I just want you to go into it with your eyes open.”

Kristine shook her head, irritated at her mother’s insistence that something had to go terribly wrong. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

“Helloooo.” Chloe waved at them from across the kitchen. Hannigan was draped over her, demonstrating how to cut noodles. “What are you two talking about?”

“I was updating your mother on your new boyfriend,” June called. To Kristine, she whispered, “They’ve been seeing each other a lot in the past few weeks. Did you know that he’s the grandson of Rue, from my mahjong group? Rue and I just made the connection.”

“You’re kidding.” June loved the ladies in her mahjong group. “Does that mean that Chloe found someone you might actually approve of? I thought that was an impossible feat.”

The first time Kristine brought Kevin home, she had expected her mother’s disapproval. What she had not expected was how much that disapproval hurt. Now, she wondered why June had given them such a hard time. Maybe it was because . . . she let out a slow breath. Maybe even back then, her mother had seen that the differences between Kristine and Kevin would eventually tear them apart.

“I think it’s wonderful Chloe found someone,” June said. “I think she’s falling in love.”

Hannigan seemed disappointed. “You’re in love?”

Chloe gave the chef a mournful look. “If only we’d found each other first.”

Without missing a beat, Hannigan glommed onto Kristine instead. “Come here, pretty lady.” He tugged at her hand. “Let’s cut the pasta and make a beautiful meal together.”

When the pasta was finally cooked and served, the chef declined their invitation to dinner. “No, no. The meal is for the family.” Clearly, he was disappointed to not yet be a member of the family.

“Ah.” June was delighted. “Then it must be time for you to leave.” After paying Hannigan his fee, she ushered him toward the door.

“Whew.” Kristine pulled out a seat at the kitchen table. Sliding off her shoes, she tucked her legs underneath her. “That guy was a handful.”

“You mean, we were a handful.” Chloe laughed. “He was like an octopus.”

June swept back into the kitchen, a look of indignation on her face. “Do you know what just happened?” She smoothed her hair, as though still trying to believe it. “That slimy little man just tried to kiss me. He tried to
kiss
me. At the door. Can you imagine?”

Chloe’s jaw dropped. “What did you
do
?”

“What do you think I did?” June said. “I slapped him across the face. Then I told him that I have a collection of knives that extends well beyond the kitchen. And if he tried something like that again, I would cut off his weiner.”

“You didn’t.” Kristine gasped.

“I most certainly did.” Sitting down at the table, June folded her napkin and took a bite of pasta. Kristine and Chloe stared. “Oh, please. If I didn’t know how to stand up to the pasta man, what am I supposed to do when we take tango?”

The three of them burst out laughing. Chloe laughed so hard her curly hair bounced, something that made June laugh even harder. Wiping tears away from her eyes, she passed around steaming plates of linguini.

Kristine stuck her fork into the pasta and brought it to her lips. It was dripping with olive oil, and gooey Parmesan cheese melted in her mouth like chocolate. “Wow.” She closed her eyes. “Amazing.”

“Made with love,” June said. “A meal meant to be shared with family.”

Chloe waved a fork at Kristine. “Even the pasta in Italy won’t be this good.”

“The company won’t be as good,” June corrected her. “The pasta will be just fine.”

Twenty-five

C
hloe’s cell phone rang on the El train. To her delight, it was Geoff. He’d called a couple of times in the past few days, but she’d been at her internship or in class. Then, he’d missed her return calls because he was always with a patient.

“Hi,” she shouted. “Sorry it’s so loud. I’m on the train.” The El clanked and vibrated as the city rushed by the window in a metallic blur.

“Would you like to join us at the park?” Geoff shouted back. “In about twenty minutes?”

“I can’t.” Disappointed, her eyes fell on an abandoned newspaper on the train seat. An ad was facing up, with a happy couple jogging together along the beach. “I’ve got to prep for midterms.”

“What’s the topic?” In the background, Mary Beth screamed something about ice cream.

“Intervention methods.” Chloe splayed her fingers like Whiskers sometimes did with her paws. Her hands were sore. Probably from writing too many papers.

“Ah, yes.” Geoff’s voice was warm. “I can intervene with the best of them.” She smiled, cradling the phone against her ear. “Come to the park,” he said. “I’ll give you a private lesson.”

Chloe studied her reflection in the door of the train. She was carting around a huge book bag and her hair fell in a frazzled ponytail, but her eyes were bright and lively. Geoff’s words came back to her, from that day in his office:
Slow down, enjoy your life.

“Okay,” she said, surprising herself. “But only if we can get ice cream.”

* * *

Chloe raced the few blocks from the train to the popular playground, her book bag banging against her side. Geoff looked completely out of place in a tweed jacket, but this time it was Mary Beth who took the cake. She was wearing a white party dress and a pair of white patent leather shoes, completely inappropriate for the dirt and dust of the park.

“Wow.” Chloe nodded. “Are we going to an open call for
Toddlers & Tiaras
after this?”

Geoff turned. To her surprise, he looked exhausted, with a five o’clock shadow and dark circles under his eyes. “She wouldn’t stop screaming until I let her pick the outfit. I finally had to give in.”

“Good tactic.” Chloe laughed. “I should have tried that on my mother when I was a kid.”

The summer after kindergarten, Chloe had begged Kristine to let her pick out her own outfit for school. She had the perfect vision in mind: a hot pink swimsuit, rubbery yellow rain boots and her favorite pair of bedazzled fairy wings. She’d failed to negotiate the swimsuit or the rain boots but Kristine did let her wear the wings.

Geoff smiled at the story. “Your mother sounds very understanding.”

“She’s great, but . . .” Chloe pretended to cringe. “She was right to try and rein me in.”

Geoff got the message. “You’ve seen how that goes. I can’t do it.”

“Of course you can.” Chloe nudged him. “You’re a psychologist. Duh.”

The
duh
dropped out of her mouth like a piece of chewing gum and immediately, Chloe felt stupid. Luckily, Geoff seemed too dazed to notice.

“Theory versus practice,” he said. “Last night, it took me three hours just to get her to go to bed. She slept for five hours and had me up at six this morning.” Mary Beth ran back and forth across the top of a bridge on the jungle gym, no exhaustion in sight. “Honestly, I’m too tired to fight her.”

“Can I ask . . . where’s Mary Beth’s mother?”

Geoff set his jaw. “California.”

Chloe stared at the patches of sun on the ground and the way they made long shadows out of the playground equipment and group of kids. One thing she’d learned in her psychology classes was that typically people would talk if you’d just let them. With that in mind, she waited.

Eventually, Geoff let out a small sigh. “In my professional opinion she suffered from postpartum. She wouldn’t hold Mary Beth and didn’t want anything to do with her. But in my personal opinion . . .” Pain etched across his handsome face. “Maybe she left because she wasn’t in love with me anymore.”

Chloe’s heart ached for both of them. Watching the little girl run back and forth, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to grow up without a mother. It was impossible to imagine. Between Kristine and June, Chloe had more mother than she knew what to do with.

Chloe had always been lucky enough to have a family that cared about her, which was part of the reason she went into art therapy. It broke her heart to see kids who were neglected, unloved and abused. The chance to coax these kids into a safe place, to help them express their feelings with a paintbrush or markers or even chalk, made her feel like she was giving back the love her family had given to her.

“It’s been a very difficult time,” Geoff said. Turning to Chloe, he put a hand on her arm. “I know seeing each other might be slightly complicated, but I’m delighted you’re giving me a chance.”

Chloe was surprised. “Uh, I’m the one who’s . . . delighted. You’re kind of a big deal.”

Geoff smiled. “And you’re beautiful.”

“I’m a mess,” she said, embarrassed. “I haven’t slept in days, my hair’s all frazzled . . .”

“You look beautiful,” he repeated. Looping an arm around her shoulder, Geoff pulled her in close. Chloe thought he was going to kiss her, but Mary Beth made short work of that idea.

“Daddy!”
Ripping off a patent leather shoe, she flung it at Geoff’s face. It hit him square in the jaw, just missing Chloe.

The other kids at the park gave up a collective gasp. Mary Beth was obviously In. For. It.

Dropping Chloe’s hand, Geoff took a step away. “I’m so sorry. Mary Beth must feel threatened.” Walking toward the jungle gym, he called, “Honey, let’s go get that ice cream.”

Ice cream seemed to be Geoff’s go-to parenting move. And it was all wrong, as the women at the park were quick to point out.

“Ice cream?
Hell
no.” A heavyset mother glared at Geoff. “Don’t you set a bad example in front of
my
kids.” The woman shook a thick finger at her daughter, as if her daughter had done something wrong. “You don’t
get
ice cream after that.”

The other parents nodded. Delighted to have everyone’s attention, Mary Beth took off her other shoe and whipped it at Chloe. Catching it, she considered her options.

Kids needed security. They needed boundaries. Even though Chloe wanted Geoff to like her, letting Mary Beth run wild wasn’t helping anyone. Especially not Mary Beth. “Geoff, can I please have your permission to get your daughter under control?”

“Fine.” His expression was as petulant as Mary Beth’s. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“You’re doing good,” Chloe fibbed. “I’m just going to talk to her.” Turning toward the monkey bars, she roared, “Young lady, you get over here
this instant.
”

Instinctively, the other kids scattered to the far side of the play area. Mary Beth remained on the jungle gym. She tugged at her tights as though planning to whip them at Chloe, too.

“I am going to count to three,” Chloe warned. “If you are not down here in three seconds, you will be in
huge
trouble. One . . .”

Mary Beth cocked her head.

“Two.” Chloe took a menacing step forwards. “Two and
a half . . .
”
She frowned at the young girl. “Mary Beth, if I get to three, you had better believe you’ll regret it.”

“Just go,” a little brown-haired kid whispered. He glanced over at a woman who must be his mother. She was sitting on a bench and watching him with a no-nonsense look on her face.

“Two and
three quarters
 . . .” She moved toward the bars. Mary Beth let out a squeal. Sliding down a metal pole, she stalked up to Chloe.

Chloe pointed to the shoe lying in the dirt. “Go pick it up.”

Mary Beth let out a huff but walked over and picked it up. Chloe snatched it away.

“Now, little girls who throw shoes do not get to wear them until they apologize. Go sit on that bench.” She pointed at a seat next to the stern mother. “When you’re ready to apologize, you come over and talk to me.” Facing Geoff, she murmured, “Do not look at her until she comes back over here.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Chloe watched as Mary Beth took a seat on the bench. She kicked her feet against the ground until the mother next to her gave a warning look. Mary Beth huffed and watched the other kids playing. Finally, she got up and walked back over to them.

“I’m sorry I threw the shoe at your head, Daddy.” Mary Beth tugged at her party dress, her lower lip practically hitting the ground.

Geoff’s eyes were surprised. “Thank you. For your apology.”

“Mary Beth, what else are you sorry for?” Chloe asked, her voice gentle.

Mary Beth rubbed her hand across her nose. “That I threw a shoe at
your
head.” She turned her attention back to her father and gazed up at him with big green eyes. “I love you, Daddy.”

Geoff bent down and pulled her into a hug. “I love you, too.”

To her surprise, Chloe felt a lump in the back of her throat. Swallowing hard, she glanced around the playground. The other mothers were nodding.

“Alright.” Chloe patted Mary Beth on the back. “It’s alright.”

Beaming, Mary Beth ran to the monkey bars and played with a new vigor.

The admiration in Geoff’s eyes was genuine. “That was impressive.”

“Kids want boundaries.” Chloe shrugged. “You just have to give them some.”

He cleared his throat. “Would you like to go for dinner with us? After this?”

She had at least four hours of reading to do and a paper to write. But for the first time in her life, all of that seemed less important than the person standing right in front of her. “I’d love to,” she said. “But if Mary Beth’s good, I want to get her a cookie, first. But no ice cream.”

Geoff gave her a sly look. “Positive reinforcement for my little serial killer?”

Chloe grinned. “You got it.”