I wakeup in the morning to a text from Nina’s mother, the host of the elaborate birthday party that Hannah was supposed to go to today.
Hey everyone so nina woke up with a fever so we’re going to have to postpone the party so sorry
I write her back an appropriately sympathetic response; it has sometimes been my turn to have my kid pick up something in the petri dish of New York City public schools. Then I start to text Ollie and sigh. I guess he really is learning the realities of dating a single mom. I explain the situation in as few wordsas possible, trying to make myself sound wryly amused instead of deeply frustrated. I send the message and wait, giving him a chance to formulate a polite reply.
While I am waiting, I get another text, this one from the NYC transit system. Apparently, the subway line leading from our Brooklyn neighborhood into Manhattan is temporarily down, so we probably wouldn’t have been able to make it to Central Park today anyway.
No subway either, so I guess this is fate, I text Ollie.
My phone buzzes a few seconds later.Can I call you right now?
“So here’s what I’m thinking,” he says when I pick up. “It’s an outdoor picnic environment. There are playgrounds nearby. Is there a reason we can’t take Hannah with us?”
I sigh. “It wouldn’t be a date,” I say, “which is fine by me, but you need to be aware that as soon as my kid is there, the whole day will be about keeping her entertained.”
“I’m okay with that. I like your kid.” I try not to let myself react to that. “And we won’t say we’re dating, obviously,” he goes on. “We can say we’re work friends.”
“We don’t have an easy way to get there,” I reply.
“I could pick you up in my car.”
A car? He’s a lawyer, so I shouldn’t be totally shocked, but I forgot that people had those in New York. “You can’t just drive to Brooklyn and pick us up in your car to go to Manhattan. Where would we even park?”
“In the worst-case scenario, my lot isn’t that far away from Central Park. I have a monthly spot near my building.”
A reserved parking space near Central Park? Why not offer to fly us on his Concorde jet?
“Alright,” I say, glancing outside. The weather is really perfect. “I’ll let Hannah know.”
“Thank you, Laura.”
I don’t know what he’s thanking me for. I don’t know why that makes me happy.
When I explain the plan to Hannah, she is reluctant to go into the city to sit and listen to music, but I promise her there will be dancing, and playgrounds, and that she can bring a bag full of snacks and coloring books…and I promise that she gets to use her Nintendo Switch on the car ride, which seals the deal. Apparently, I am one of those terrible parents who buys good behavior with screen time, but I have decided to live with it. If anyone wants to come after me for it, they can find me on Single Parent Lane, with the rest of the residents who don’t give a damn.
Ollie calls my phone when he is downstairs, and Hannah and I come down to find him waiting in front of our building next to a tan Mercedes that’s at least ten years old. It feels like a reverse image of the dates in my early twenties when the guy was smoking a cigarette and leaning against his shabby red sports car. Ollie is wearing a button-down short-sleeved shirt, and he looks put-together and nicely groomed, but emphatically not cool.
“It’s my mom’s old car,” he says as he gestures behind him. “It’s not exciting but it only has thirty thousand miles on it, so I feel like I have no excuse to get rid of it.”
I glance around at the lovely, soft seats as I sit down. The car smells faintly of leather and Ollie’s warm cedar scent. “I usually refuse to travel in a mere Mercedes,” I announce, “but I will make do.”
“I’ll bring the Bugatti next time.”
“Please do.” I introduce him to Hannah, who doesn’t remember him from ‘Take Your Child to Work’ Day and seems largely uninterested in chatting, as she immediately settles into playing her Nintendo.
“I bribed her with screen time.”
He shakes his head. “Shameful. Next, you’re going to tell me you sometimes buy her ice cream from a truck.”
“Ice cream?” Hannah immediately perks up. “Are we getting ice cream?”
Ollie glances at me. “Sorry.”
“Oh, you’re buying it for all of us now.”
We don’t end up needing to go to his parking lot because Ollie finds street parking only two blocks from the park—a miracle that I don’t think I’ve ever managed once. We walk through the park and track down an empty bench to one side of the large open performance space. A small crowd of people, mostly over fifty, are seated in chairs as the big band warms up on the outdoor stage. Ollie unpacks the picnic basket he’s put together, and I pull out the cold drinks and coloring books that I brought with us in a cooler.
“Do you want to dance when the music starts?” Ollie asks me.
