“When do I ever goof around?”
“You know what I mean,” she said. “Anyway, I have to go help her pick out some clothes. I want to get all dressed up and make it special.”
“That sounds like a very girly day,” I agreed. “I hope the two of you have a good time.”
“We will.”
“How long do you think you’ll be out?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It depends. We might not be back until dinner if London wants to have lunch. I want the day to sort of play out in a relaxed sort of way. Who knows? Maybe she’ll want to see a movie.”
Forty-five minutes later, they were out the door, and I had the place to myself. These days, it wasn’t all that common, but I’d grown so used to rushing from here to there that I wasn’t even sure what I should do. Because everything was pretty much arranged with Taglieri, there wasn’t really anything in the way of work, and other than a few dishes to place in the dishwasher, the house was tidy. I’d finished my workout and the paper and I’d visited with my family most of the day before, all of which left me wandering the house aimlessly after I’d been on my own for less than an hour. Something was missing – or rather, someone – and I realized that what I really wanted to do if I’d had the option was to ride bikes through the neighborhood with London, the two of us together on a wonderful lazy Sunday afternoon.
Vivian and London didn’t return home until nearly seven and I ate both lunch and dinner alone.
I would have loved to have been the kind of guy who’d gone to the gym or meditated, or spent the afternoon reading a biography of Teddy Roosevelt, but the low-key day led to a low-key energy level without a tinge of self-improvement ambition. I ended up spending the day surfing the Internet, one click leading to the next, whatever caught my interest. I read about a giant jellyfish that had washed up on the beaches of Australia, the ongoing travails of various countries in the Middle East, the impending extinction of gorillas in central Africa, and the “Ten Best Foods to Eat to Reduce Belly Fat Fast!”
If there was anything about the surfing to be proud about, it was that I didn’t read a single item about any celebrity. It wasn’t enough to make me hitch up my pants and walk a bit taller, but it was something, right?
Vivian and London were both weary by the time they came home, but it was a good kind of weary. London showed me her fingernails and toenails and told me that they’d seen a movie and gone shopping, in addition to eating. After her bath, I read to her as usual, but she was yawning steadily before I turned the final page. I kissed her, inhaling the scent of the baby shampoo she still preferred to use.
By the time I was downstairs, Vivian was in her pajamas and sitting in the family room, holding a glass of wine. The TV was on – some show about housewives, most of whom seemed emotionally unstable – but Vivian was more chipper than usual. She chatted about her day, gave me a coy expression when I made a suggestive comment and we ended up in bed.
It wasn’t exactly a planned date night, but I was happy nonetheless.
On Tuesday morning, London’s first day of school, Vivian and I walked with her through the parking lot, toward the classroom building. When I asked if she wanted me to hold her hand, she hooked her thumbs under the straps on her backpack.
“I’m not a little girl anymore,” she said.
Yesterday, Vivian and I had received an email from the teacher saying that the first day could be traumatic for some children and that it was best not to linger over goodbyes. A quick kiss or pat on the back and let the teacher lead them into the classroom, the email instructed. We were discouraged from standing by the door and watching, or gazing through the classroom windows for too long. We were warned against letting our children see us cry, no matter how emotional we might feel, because that might heighten our child’s anxiety. We were given the phone numbers of the school nurse, and told that the school counselor would be available in the lobby, if any parents wanted to discuss what they were feeling about their child heading off to school. I wondered if my parents had ever received a letter like that when Marge or I started school and laughed aloud at the thought.
“What are you laughing about?” Vivian asked.
“I’ll tell you later. It’s nothing.”
Up ahead, I saw my mom and dad, waiting by the car. Dad was in his plumber’s outfit, which consisted of a blue button-up short-sleeved shirt with the company logo, jeans, and work boots. My mom, thank God, was sans apron or a red hat; she blended, which I appreciated even if London didn’t care.
London saw them and started running. My dad scooped her up as she jumped. He called her Pumpkin, which I’d never heard before. I wondered if it was new or if I was completely oblivious.
“Today’s the big day,” my mom said. “Are you excited?”
“It’s going to be fun,” London said.
“I’m sure you’ll love it,” my mom assured her.
My dad kissed London on the cheek as he lowered her to the ground.
“Will you hold my hand, Papa?” London asked.
“Of course I will, Pumpkin.”
London walked ahead with my dad while Vivian told my mom a bit about the email we’d received from the teacher. My mom frowned in confusion.
“They have a counselor for the parents?”
“She works for the school,” Vivian explained. “Some parents might be nervous or upset. I’m sure she’ll nod and listen and tell them they’ll be fine. It’s no big deal.”