30
I move through the next few weeks as if in a dream. Everything is falling into place, everything feels so right. Our date calendar is on fire, constantly updated. There is such an ease in folding Daniel into my daily life. On the days we start together—whether at his house or mine—we brush our teeth at the same time, our electric toothbrushes whirring while the kettle is heating up water for coffee.
I shower at night, him in the morning. Sometimes together.
Daniel and I are on the same page about our eggs-and-toast breakfast—especially on the days he’s made bread. The first time he made me a loaf of sourdough, I almost got pregnant from my first bite.
And weexcelat evenings. Between Daniel and me, we have the entirety of the L.A. restaurant scene covered. Some nights it’s Szechuan in the San Gabriel Valley. Other times it’s old-school steak houses in Beverly Hills, sometimes tacos grabbed from a truck and eaten on the hood of our cars. Sushi in the Valley and handmade pasta in the arts district. We catch movies, comedy shows, and concerts at the Hollywood Bowl and the Greek. Daniel always scores the best seats—whether it’s front row or in a box. I feel taken careof, shepherded from one lovely activity to the next without effort. But I can’t fully relax—Daniel is my fated and that comes with a heaviness inherent in the promise of it. This isn’t casual dating, even if it feels like it to him. But I hide that pressure, bury it to try and just be present with Daniel as we get to know each other.
If weekday evenings are packed, weekends are lazier. When we’re feeling up for it and Daniel wants to cook something good, we might hit up a farmers market. If there’s a particularly exciting exhibit, we might stop by a museum as well. But most days we do what we love to do best: work. Next to each other either on his giant dining room table or side by side on my kitchen counter.
Turns out, dating a guy who runs his own business can help you with your own. “Hm, I think you can raise prices. You guys are pretty affordable considering your clientele,” Daniel says as he scrolls a financial report.
“Just a matter of convincing my grandmother,” I say with a sigh. “I’m taking over at the end of the year, but I still feel like she doesn’t fully trust me with the big decisions.”
He kisses my forehead. “It’s just because you’re her granddaughter. She’ll get over it.”
I barely get to see Mar in all this dating frenzy, and a cloud of guilt hovers over me. At one point, I send over a dozen bagels to her new restaurant and that evening she calls me as I’m doing a load of laundry.
“Oh my god, I was about to leave a message,” she says when I answer. “Your voicemail greeting is my new best friend.”
“Ha,” I say as I throw some towels into the washer. Betty roosts on the dryer, basking in the vibrating warmth as it runs. Weirdo. “Sorry, it’s just been nonstop. How are you?”
“Me? I’m great now because of those bagels. Thanks for that. It kept the electrician jazzed a couple hours longer. But yeah, same ol’new-restaurant stress. Oh, and Mica’s teeth are falling out all at once.”
“Ew, what? Is he okay?” I start the washer and head to the kitchen.
“Yeah, yeah. Just, three teeth got loose. At the same time? No one told me about this in my parenting orientation.”
“Poor guy. Can I take him out for ice cream this week?” I put the call on speakerphone as I pull on rubber gloves to start scrubbing the hell out of my sink. It’s the third Tuesday of the month, which means it’s Kitchen Deep Clean Frenzy night. I set my egg timer for fifteen minutes so I know when to move onto the fridge.
“Ah, this week might be hard because of some dumb stuff,” she says, her voice sounding hollowed out.
I pause my scrubbing. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just overwhelmed.”
Her faraway voice reminds me of the days when Mica was a toddler and Ozzie was a newborn. Drained and hanging on by a thread. “Mar, do you need some help?”
A pause. “No, it’s fine. I just…I miss you.”
My throat tightens. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been really busy with Daniel and work.”
“Hey, don’t feel bad! That’s not why I called. This helps, I just wanted to talk.”
But I still feel terrible. “I’ll come by this week with dinner for you guys. I’ll bring soup dumplings, Mica and Ozzie’s favorite.”
“Really?” Her voice perks up and it makes me feel doubly bad.
“Of course, bro.”
I do manage to swing by with boxes of dumplings and noodles later in the week and am treated to a live demonstration of all of Mica’s loose teeth.
Later in the week, I tell Daniel all about Mica’s teeth woes whilehe’s roasting me a chicken at his house, something jazzy and inoffensive playing on his fancy speakers, and I’m watching him from the marble counter, drinking an ice-cold gin and tonic.
“So when will I be properly introduced to them? And your family?” he asks as he rubs olive oil over the chicken.
There is justonelittle thing I haven’t shared with him yet.
