“I’ll be right back.”
This sudden exit didn’t seem to bother Grant, but I couldn’t ignore it. “Is she okay?”
“She’ll be fine,” Grant reassured me, smiling across the table. “She’s been a little jumpy lately because of some stuff at work. Don’t worry.”
I hesitated, but eventually let it go, knowing Grant wouldn’t be so blasé if there was truly something to worry about. With so much stew left to eat, it was easy to distract myself.
“So, Tessie,” Christian turned to me, his tone conspiratorial. “Want to be my assistant? I bet the cake will be delicious.”
I really, really wanted to say yes, and not just because of the cake. I could see it all over his face—a wedding date, like all those family events we attended together as kids. Growing up, it was nice to have a stand-in date for every major function. This time, I couldn’t ignore the big, gleaming door of opportunity.
“I think I’m out of town that weekend,” I said, metering out the appropriate amount of disappointment in my voice. “But I have a friend at work who used to take side jobs as a photographer’s assistant. Don’t you think that would be better anyway? Since she’s got experience?”
Christian’s face faltered only for a second, then fixed itself into a plastic smile. “Sure. Sounds great.”
CHAPTER FIVE
A free Saturday in my world is a celebration in itself. I preferred to spend such days with Riley, who preferred to spend them on a swing. So this Saturday, I was headed to meet up with my thrill-seeking young godson. By the time I’d walked the mile to the playground between the T stop and Kendra’s house, I was frozen solid. I’d been duped. Again.
Late April in New England really wants to be warm, but it just doesn’t have the strength. The sun shined brightly, the trees rustled invitingly, and the flowers coyly peaked up from the soil, all in a well-coordinated effort to seduce me. That morning, everything about the scene outside my window said, “Come out and play, Tessa! It’s just like summer!”
Having lived in Boston since birth, I knew well the foul trickery of a New England spring day. After a grueling winter, a little sunshine and some chirping birds enchant even the most hardened local. Usually, I resisted the temptation to dance around in my bathing suit and sarong, ready to hit the beach. But once a year or so, Mother Nature convinces me to open the trunk under my bed and pull out my shorts and strappy sandals just a few weeks too early.
That Saturday was my annual day of unseasonable fashion.
“What on earth are you wearing?” said Kendra from behind the swing set. She was sensibly dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and sneakers. Her son Riley was bundled up in a hooded parka, his little cheeks rosy from the wind. “It’s twenty below.”
“Easy on the hyperbole.” It took everything I had not to chatter my teeth. “It’s only, like, forty degrees or something. That’s practically summer”
“In Alaska.”
“All right, fine,” I clutched my thin, yet stylish, jacket around my stomach. “It looked warmer.”
Kendra resumed pushing Riley on the swing. I found an empty bench bathed in direct sunlight and sat down, counting on the UV rays to protect me—Mother Nature’s safeguard against stupidity-induced frostbite. At least I looked cute today.
A cute but awkward spectator, who could only watch as parents and children played together in all corners of this neighborhood playground. A line of five- or six-year-olds giggled in line for the slide, while their parents chattered nearby. Some smaller children, only a bit older than Riley, threw toys at each other across the sandbox, much to the chagrin of their pregnant-again mothers. Kendra and Riley blended right in, as she pushed the swing at just the right speed. Not too hard, just enough to elicit a
This sudden exit didn’t seem to bother Grant, but I couldn’t ignore it. “Is she okay?”
“She’ll be fine,” Grant reassured me, smiling across the table. “She’s been a little jumpy lately because of some stuff at work. Don’t worry.”
I hesitated, but eventually let it go, knowing Grant wouldn’t be so blasé if there was truly something to worry about. With so much stew left to eat, it was easy to distract myself.
“So, Tessie,” Christian turned to me, his tone conspiratorial. “Want to be my assistant? I bet the cake will be delicious.”
I really, really wanted to say yes, and not just because of the cake. I could see it all over his face—a wedding date, like all those family events we attended together as kids. Growing up, it was nice to have a stand-in date for every major function. This time, I couldn’t ignore the big, gleaming door of opportunity.
“I think I’m out of town that weekend,” I said, metering out the appropriate amount of disappointment in my voice. “But I have a friend at work who used to take side jobs as a photographer’s assistant. Don’t you think that would be better anyway? Since she’s got experience?”
Christian’s face faltered only for a second, then fixed itself into a plastic smile. “Sure. Sounds great.”
CHAPTER FIVE
A free Saturday in my world is a celebration in itself. I preferred to spend such days with Riley, who preferred to spend them on a swing. So this Saturday, I was headed to meet up with my thrill-seeking young godson. By the time I’d walked the mile to the playground between the T stop and Kendra’s house, I was frozen solid. I’d been duped. Again.
Late April in New England really wants to be warm, but it just doesn’t have the strength. The sun shined brightly, the trees rustled invitingly, and the flowers coyly peaked up from the soil, all in a well-coordinated effort to seduce me. That morning, everything about the scene outside my window said, “Come out and play, Tessa! It’s just like summer!”
Having lived in Boston since birth, I knew well the foul trickery of a New England spring day. After a grueling winter, a little sunshine and some chirping birds enchant even the most hardened local. Usually, I resisted the temptation to dance around in my bathing suit and sarong, ready to hit the beach. But once a year or so, Mother Nature convinces me to open the trunk under my bed and pull out my shorts and strappy sandals just a few weeks too early.
That Saturday was my annual day of unseasonable fashion.
“What on earth are you wearing?” said Kendra from behind the swing set. She was sensibly dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and sneakers. Her son Riley was bundled up in a hooded parka, his little cheeks rosy from the wind. “It’s twenty below.”
“Easy on the hyperbole.” It took everything I had not to chatter my teeth. “It’s only, like, forty degrees or something. That’s practically summer”
“In Alaska.”
“All right, fine,” I clutched my thin, yet stylish, jacket around my stomach. “It looked warmer.”
Kendra resumed pushing Riley on the swing. I found an empty bench bathed in direct sunlight and sat down, counting on the UV rays to protect me—Mother Nature’s safeguard against stupidity-induced frostbite. At least I looked cute today.
A cute but awkward spectator, who could only watch as parents and children played together in all corners of this neighborhood playground. A line of five- or six-year-olds giggled in line for the slide, while their parents chattered nearby. Some smaller children, only a bit older than Riley, threw toys at each other across the sandbox, much to the chagrin of their pregnant-again mothers. Kendra and Riley blended right in, as she pushed the swing at just the right speed. Not too hard, just enough to elicit a
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