“Sure, baby,” I say. “Just wipe your hands before touching.”
He hastily wipes his hands on a napkin then rushes to my living room shelf of records. Mica loves my records. I’m sure they’re the most novel thing in the world to a kid growing up today. He’s flipping through them when Ellis looks at me. “You’re such a hipster.”
“Ugh, how offensive. I just used to date musicians a lot and thebest thing to come out of that was my love of listening to music this way.”
“With intention and focus,” he says. “I get it. Sometimes I don’t even know the titles to songs I listen to all day.” Then he pauses. “You dated a lot of musicians, huh?” His eyebrow is cocked, challenging me.
Before I can answer, Mica finds something and places it on the record player. Slow and careful like we’ve practiced hundreds of times before. And then the first few notes of Pavement’s “Cut Your Hair” starts playing.
“Good choice,” I say as Mica comes back to the table, ignoring Ellis’s question. “Did your dad introduce you to Pavement?” This is where Logan and I have shared interests—what Marcella disdainfully calls our love of sad-white-guy music. Which she says is doubly shameful since neither of us is white.
“Yeah! This song is funny because the guy doesn’t want to cut his hair, like me!” Mica’s perfect curls haven’t been touched in years.
“Yeah, you and Stephen Malkmus are soulmates,” I say.
Ellis looks amused. “You get dumplingsandan indie rock education at Cassia’s house?Luuuucky.”
Ozzie giggles. “We love Aunt Cassie’s house.”
At that Betty screeches. “Ooh can I feed her?” Ozzie begs.
“Sure, but after dinner. She knows she can’t just demand treats,” I say, which is punctuated by another vicious cry.
“You guys aren’t scared of Betty?” Ellis asks.
“No!”both kids cry out. Ellis widens his eyes in surprise, and they giggle.
“She’s nice to little ones,” I tell him. “She can sense her dominance.”
“Does that mean she actually accepts you as her alpha?” he asks me.
“Hardly. I’m her handmaiden.”
He laughs. “She’s a powerful bird.”
I remember her behavior with him when he was over. “And she likesyou, too. Literally the only human beings she tolerates are all in this room right now.”
After we’re done, the kids run into the living room to play with Betty while Ellis and I clean up the kitchen together. The sounds of the kids’ squeals and laughter are a welcome backdrop so that standing side by side with Ellis at the kitchen sink doesn’t feel too awkward.
The everydayness of this moment suddenly hits me in the chest. The possibility of it. A family eating dumplings, a mom sharing her favorite music with her son. The kids running around while Mom and Dad do the dishes in comfortable, companionable silence.
This is what I want. A family. Not out of obligation to my family business, but because I want to build a world around a child—make it as magical and wonderful for them as my mother made life for me.
The realization shakes me, and I switch my focus to Ellis. I watch as he makes neat piles for recycling, rinsing out containers before placing them in a paper bag. He turns off the faucet between washes and uses only a trickle of water.
“Environmentalism runs deep in you, it does,” I say in a bad attempt at Yoda’s voice.
He looks startled for a second then starts laughing. “Oh, that’s so bad.”
“I know. Erase it from your memory.” My face feels hot and I’m truly shocked at such a dorky fumble in front of a guy. This is the uncool side of me I usually save for Mar. I blame it on my sudden family epiphany.
But he won’t let it go. “Forget it, I won’t,” he says in anexcellentYoda voice.
“I hate you.” I flick water at him from the sink, but he dodges it artfully. “Look, I’m wasting water. Arrest me.”
“That is so…mature,” he says. “And listen, I have no choice but to save water. My retirement is going to be spent in line for water rations.”
“Bleak.”
