iPad, a stuffed animal, etc. Then, holding up a black permanent marker, ask her how she would feel if you were to use it on her favorite thing ever. When she balks, explain to her that she is your favorite thing ever. Case closed."
A smiley face emoticon next to her name and contact information followed, as did a call later that afternoon from Dianne Devane, managing editor of the Gazette 's Lifestyle section, requesting that she come in for a face-to-face the very next day.
So enthused was Claire over this unexpected but wildly exciting career development that she didn't mind in the least when Paul announced over dinner that they would be hosting a cross-country team dinner. In two days.
Having never so much as broken a sweat in high school, the concept of team dinners was completely foreign to her. As she sat at the opposite end of the kitchen table from Paul, stabbing green beans with her fork, she asked, "So the entire team comes here for dinner the night before the meet to carb load?"
He nodded his reply.
"How many boys are we talking? A dozen?"
Paul smirked. Looking toward his oldest for confirmation, he ventured, "What, sixty?"
Luke, a mini-me of his father, shrugged. "Sounds about right."
"Sounds like fun." Claire tore her roll in two and shoved one half in her mouth.
After swallowing, she asked, "What are you going to make?"
At this, Paul, who had been shooting her curious glances during this entire exchange, laughed out loud. "I'm not cooking anything. The parents volunteer to bring everything—pasta, salad, bread, water, fruit. It's all taken care of."
Seeing that everyone had finished eating, he announced, "Marc and Tomas. It's your turn to clear and wash tonight. Luke, homework. Jonah, lay out your clothes for tomorrow and pick out a book for bedtime."
Try as she might, Claire still couldn't manage to keep the thrill of a potential new career opportunity at bay. Apparently, Paul noticed.
"What's with you?" he asked, sounding more annoyed than inquisitive.
"What?"
"It doesn't faze you in the least that we're about to be invaded by sixty boys?"
"Please. We already have four. What's fifty-six more?"
Paul stood and picked up his empty plate. Pointing to hers, he asked, "Finished?"
She shoved it toward him. "Thanks. That was good."
After rinsing them off and placing them in the dishwasher, he returned to his seat at the table with a stack of recently clipped coupons in one hand and a little collapsible coupon holder in the other.
"Seriously, what's with you today?" he asked as he started categorizing the clipped coupons into neat little stacks on the table before him, squinting carefully at each one before placing it in the correct pile and tossing any that had expired.
Knowing full well she should tell him about her interview, she just wasn't sure how to do it without sacrificing her good mood in the process.
Stop stalling.
"Listen, I've got an interview first thing tomorrow morning. Shouldn't take long."
Her insides contracted, bracing for the argument she was sure would follow.
Paul's head shot up. "Oh? Where?"
"Downtown."
When she said nothing more, he asked, "Permanent or temporary?"
Claire frowned. "I'm not sure."
His narrowed eyes shot a question at her. "How can you not know?"
Then he ventured, "Is it a start-up?"
Biting her lower lip, she raised her eyebrows and answered brightly, "No, actually. It's a newspaper."
When Paul didn't respond right away, she could feel her happy mood dissipating faster than a one-pound box of Frango Mints at a Weight Watchers meeting.
"Doing what?" he finally asked.
"Something I think I'd really like," she replied, making quotation marks around the last two words.
"Yeah, but how much does it pay?" he asked flatly.
"Don't know. I'll find out more tomorrow."
Paul stood and went upstairs.
Here we go.
She followed him into the office and closed the door so the boys wouldn't overhear. Paul was sitting in the desk chair rifling through
A smiley face emoticon next to her name and contact information followed, as did a call later that afternoon from Dianne Devane, managing editor of the Gazette 's Lifestyle section, requesting that she come in for a face-to-face the very next day.
So enthused was Claire over this unexpected but wildly exciting career development that she didn't mind in the least when Paul announced over dinner that they would be hosting a cross-country team dinner. In two days.
Having never so much as broken a sweat in high school, the concept of team dinners was completely foreign to her. As she sat at the opposite end of the kitchen table from Paul, stabbing green beans with her fork, she asked, "So the entire team comes here for dinner the night before the meet to carb load?"
He nodded his reply.
"How many boys are we talking? A dozen?"
Paul smirked. Looking toward his oldest for confirmation, he ventured, "What, sixty?"
Luke, a mini-me of his father, shrugged. "Sounds about right."
"Sounds like fun." Claire tore her roll in two and shoved one half in her mouth.
After swallowing, she asked, "What are you going to make?"
At this, Paul, who had been shooting her curious glances during this entire exchange, laughed out loud. "I'm not cooking anything. The parents volunteer to bring everything—pasta, salad, bread, water, fruit. It's all taken care of."
Seeing that everyone had finished eating, he announced, "Marc and Tomas. It's your turn to clear and wash tonight. Luke, homework. Jonah, lay out your clothes for tomorrow and pick out a book for bedtime."
Try as she might, Claire still couldn't manage to keep the thrill of a potential new career opportunity at bay. Apparently, Paul noticed.
"What's with you?" he asked, sounding more annoyed than inquisitive.
"What?"
"It doesn't faze you in the least that we're about to be invaded by sixty boys?"
"Please. We already have four. What's fifty-six more?"
Paul stood and picked up his empty plate. Pointing to hers, he asked, "Finished?"
She shoved it toward him. "Thanks. That was good."
After rinsing them off and placing them in the dishwasher, he returned to his seat at the table with a stack of recently clipped coupons in one hand and a little collapsible coupon holder in the other.
"Seriously, what's with you today?" he asked as he started categorizing the clipped coupons into neat little stacks on the table before him, squinting carefully at each one before placing it in the correct pile and tossing any that had expired.
Knowing full well she should tell him about her interview, she just wasn't sure how to do it without sacrificing her good mood in the process.
Stop stalling.
"Listen, I've got an interview first thing tomorrow morning. Shouldn't take long."
Her insides contracted, bracing for the argument she was sure would follow.
Paul's head shot up. "Oh? Where?"
"Downtown."
When she said nothing more, he asked, "Permanent or temporary?"
Claire frowned. "I'm not sure."
His narrowed eyes shot a question at her. "How can you not know?"
Then he ventured, "Is it a start-up?"
Biting her lower lip, she raised her eyebrows and answered brightly, "No, actually. It's a newspaper."
When Paul didn't respond right away, she could feel her happy mood dissipating faster than a one-pound box of Frango Mints at a Weight Watchers meeting.
"Doing what?" he finally asked.
"Something I think I'd really like," she replied, making quotation marks around the last two words.
"Yeah, but how much does it pay?" he asked flatly.
"Don't know. I'll find out more tomorrow."
Paul stood and went upstairs.
Here we go.
She followed him into the office and closed the door so the boys wouldn't overhear. Paul was sitting in the desk chair rifling through
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