The Manny

‘OK. So I’m very interested in this job.’

Omigod. ‘You are?’

CHAPTER SEVEN The Manny Makes his Debut (#ulink_af3f3c04-588f-5396-8295-1a8840a34d65)

I sat on the edge of Dylan’s bed, brushing the hair off his forehead. ‘I have some good news for you.’ He looked up at me.

‘What is it?’

‘Guess.’

‘You won the lotto?’

‘No.’

‘You’re going to quit your job?’

‘Dylan!’

‘Well?’

‘Dylan. I’m with you a lot.’

‘Are not.’

‘Sweetheart, you know I need to work, but it’s just a few days a week. We have dinner together all the …’

‘No, we don’t. You’re always working.’

‘Well, I am working a lot right now.’

‘So fine. Just admit it.’

‘OK. I admit I am working a lot on my piece. And I told you it was the biggest piece I’d ever done. And I want to do it well. And I want to be proud of my work.’

He rolled his eyes and turned away from me towards the wall.

‘Dylan. I love you and being your mom is the most important thing in my life.’

He pulled the covers over his head.

‘You know what? I’m not going to get into a debate about this. I know how difficult it is to have a mommy that works hard. I know you would prefer that I were here more. But I promise it will get better in just a few weeks’ time. But I have news. Something that’s going to make you happy.’ Intrigued, he now lay on his back, edging closer to me.

I turned out the light and lay down next to him with my elbow propping up my head. I caressed his forehead with my fingers, our bedtime ritual, and pulled his hair back.

‘A cell phone? My own cell phone? You said I had to wait till I was …’

‘It’s nothing like that. It’s not a thing. It’s a person.’ I massaged his eyebrows, outlining them down with my thumb and index finger. He closed his eyes, all dreamy, letting his anger go.

‘Tell me,’ he whispered.

‘You’re going to make a new friend, someone who is going to be so much fun for you.’

He sat up, appalled. ‘Oh maaaan! You said I didn’t have to see Dr Bernstein any more! I don’t want to see another feelings doctor. It’s so stupid.’

‘It’s nothing like that, Dylan.’

‘Someone at school?’

‘Nope, not …’

‘At sports? At the …’

‘Dylan, lie down.’ I pushed his shoulders down to get him to lie on his back once again. ‘You’re never going to guess, so just let me explain.’

‘OK.’

‘His name is Peter Bailey. You’re going to have your own friend in the house all the time. I mean, from after school on till bedtime. He’ll be here after school tomorrow.’

‘Like my own boy babysitter?’

‘Better than that. He’s about twenty-nine. He’s from Colorado. He’s an awesome skier, or snowboarder, I guess. He loves chess, works on chess computer games or other games making homework fun for middle school kids. And he’s super cool. I mean, really cool. He has long hair.’

My son had shifted into neutral. I thought he’d be ecstatic about the kinds of things he and Peter could do together – and relieved this wasn’t another Dr Bernstein. Of course, in retrospect, that was just my own hyped-up fairy-tale version of how Peter would glide into our lives.

I added, admittedly with forced enthusiasm, ‘What matters is he’s fun! He’s going to pick you up, take you to sports, anywhere you want! Even the batting cages at Chelsea Piers.’ Still nothing.

‘Honey. You’re not excited about batting cages? How come?’

He kept his eyes closed and shrugged his shoulders. This was heartbreaking. I thought this would bring joy to my little Eeyore; instead, it just made him sad. I had waited for this moment to tell him because I wanted him to go to sleep happy. His lip quivered.

I tried one more time. ‘You only get to go to the cages for birthday parties. I’m telling you this guy is going to take you there just on a regular weekday!’

He sat up. Then he turned on the light and looked at me with those squinty eyes. ‘Is this all because Dad’s never home?’

Kids are always smarter than you think.

‘Whoa.’ Peter Bailey handed me his coat the next afternoon and I searched for a hanger. ‘This closet is bigger than my bedroom.’ He peeked around the corner to the living room.

‘It still seems big to me, too. We just moved in a few months ago. But you’ll see, we run a very relaxed household.’

I had told him to dress casually, so he showed up for duty wearing two-toned Patagonia snowboard pants with pockets and zippers up the flaps on the sides. A worn-out flannel shirt covered up a T-shirt with a Burton logo on his chest. He had brown suede Pumas on his feet.

He took off his baseball cap and I gasped.

‘Oh, this.’ He pointed to a scab the size of a tangerine on his forehead. ‘That’s why I wore the cap. I slipped off the skateboard last week. Stupid. And I know it’s ugly. Sorry.’

I shook my head. ‘No worry. Dylan will think it’s cool.’