“And she said you’d have the kids today.”
He looked at me again.
His mother patted his arm.
Almost.
“But that’s nothing for you. You’re such a hands-on dad.”
I almost admired how quickly he recovered.
Almost.
“Well, I actually have basketball with the guys this morning.”
“Oh, you can play basketball another time.”
Your wife deserves a break.”
“Mom—”
“Johnny.” She gave him the kind of fond, mildly scolding look only mothers can manage. “Your wife deserves a break too.”
He glanced at me, and for the first time that morning, I saw recognition settle in.
He knew exactly what this was.
I gave him the sweetest smile I could manage, kissed him on the cheek, and said, “Have fun with them.”
We committed completely.
Then his mother and I disappeared into the guest room.
We committed completely.
Robes. Face masks. Cucumber slices over our eyes. A warm foot bath between our chairs. Champagne poured into proper glasses because his mother insisted plastic cups would ruin the atmosphere.
She put on soft music and handed me a plate of crackers and cheese.
“Okay, nobody move.”
“This was such a good idea,” she said, settling back.
