They’ve only met once, but Otto appears perfectly at ease as he chats with my nephew.
“Time to go, Tommy boy,” I announce cheerfully, setting his backpack in the footwell.
Tommy pouts. “I want to stay and play.”
“Not today.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t today.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m telling you no,” I say in my firmestlisten to me or elsetone.
Tommy sighs dramatically but climbs in the back seat.
“You should check his seat,” Otto tells me quietly. “Make sure it is installed right.”
I nod, ducking my head in to check the clips and ensure the straps are tight. While I do, Tommy perches on the console and admires Otto’s car.
“This is nicer than Grandpa’s,” he comments as I tuck the seat belt under the arm of his booster seat.
I’m tempted to laugh. I settle on a noncommittal, “Mmhmm,” before stepping back and shutting the door.
Otto’s standing about a dozen feet away now, surrounded by one, two,fourwomen.
One exclaims, “Oh, IlovedBerlin!”
I round the trunk and climb in the front seat, feeling young and frumpy, tempted to sniff my shirt to assess how much I smell.
Tommy chats nonstop from the back seat, mostly about his upcoming birthday party, then abruptly asks, “Is Otto your boyfriend?”
I glance over my shoulder. “No. He’s one of my coaches, remember? We’re, uh, friends.”
“I like him,” Tommy continues, blessedly oblivious to how much his question unnerved me. At least he didn’t ask it in front of Otto. “He’s nice.”
“He is,” I agree, watching through the windshield as Otto’s fan club grows to six sophisticated women. “Super friendly.”
Luckily, Tommy has yet to discover sarcasm.
“Can I invite him to my birthday party?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I exhale. “He’s too old.”
“You’re old, and you’re coming.”
I laugh despite the jealousy seething in my stomach. “I’m your aunt. Otto isn’t related to you.”
“Josh is coming, and he’s old and not related to me.”
Otto’s headed back this way.
“It’s different, Tommy, okay?” I say quickly. “Are you hungry? I might have a granola bar in here…”
