Prescription: Marry Her Immediately

“Everybody except vegetarians.” When he sat down and stretched his long legs, they brushed hers. A shiver ran through Amy. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She tried not to think about how much she’d enjoyed that brief contact. Then she remembered the purpose of their meeting, and seized on it gladly. “I brought a list of topics for us to discuss.” Amy nodded toward a file folder she’d set next to the pizza box.

Quent swallowed a bite of pizza. “Just because I’m not bubbling with conversation doesn’t mean I need prompting.”

“About child discipline,” she said.

“Oh, right.” It was hard to read his expression behind the glasses. “Do you subscribe to any particular theory?”

“Love and communication.” To Amy, those were the keys to any relationship.

“How about safety?” Quent said.

“That’s important,” she agreed. “But I don’t see what that has to do with discipline.”

“What if love and communication don’t stop a child from trying to knock over the baby’s crib?”

“I’ll have to think about that one,” Amy admitted.

Quent downed what must be his third or fourth slice. “Want more?”

“No, thanks.” She’d had three pieces, which was her limit.

“Great!” He gave an apologetic shake of the head. “That didn’t come out right. I meant, if you’re sure you’ve had enough, I’ll save the rest for breakfast.”

“I used to love pizza for breakfast when I was a teenager,” Amy said.

“Wow.” Quent stood and closed the box. “I’ve never met a woman who understood about eating pizza for breakfast. Most of them think it’s gross.”

“It comes from growing up in a house full of guys,” she said. “Ready for Ping-Pong?”

“You bet,” he said.

“We can go over ideas for the presentations while we play.” Amy, like Quent, was kinesthetic, which meant she learned and thought best while in motion.

After he put the pizza away, they tossed the paper plates in a wastebasket. Soon they were slamming the ball back and forth almost as fast as they volleyed remarks about how to discipline children.

The problem was that they didn’t see eye-to-eye. Amy believed explanations and careful listening were vital to teaching children the rules. Quent stressed timeouts and suspension of privileges for disobedience.

He served the ball without losing the flow of their conversation. “Personally, I think there are kids who benefit from the occasional mild spanking. Since these young mothers may not understand the difference between appropriate punishment and hitting a child in anger, though, I’ll leave that out.”

“You believe in spanking?” Amy was so shocked, she barely managed to return his shot. “I would never spank a child!”

“What if he kept running into traffic?” Quent slammed a ball right by her. “My point.”

“I thought we weren’t keeping score.” They’d agreed that conducting a formal game would interfere with their work.

“Doesn’t matter. I still like knowing I won the point.” He grinned.

“It depends which point we’re talking about. I don’t agree about spanking,” Amy said as she retrieved the ball from behind a stereo speaker. “My dad never spanked us, and we didn’t run into traffic.”

“Maybe he didn’t spank you because you weren’t the kind of kids who needed to be spanked.”

“You’re baiting me.”

“You just hate to admit I’m right.”

She glared. Quent laughed. “Don’t worry. I promise not to mention corporal punishment in our talk.”

“Good.” After a moment’s consideration, she said, “I think it’s okay for us to have differing opinions as long as we agree on the main issues.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said. “When are we giving these talks?”

“Saturday morning, if you’re free.” Amy had forgotten to mention the short notice. “I know it’s the Thanksgiving holiday, but most of the girls will be there.”

“No problem. I’m on duty, so I’ll be around,” Quent said. “The department has some charts I can use.”

“Great!”

Amy was glad to get the matter settled. Quent looked so appealing with his blond hair ruffled and his polo shirt clinging to his chest that she had a hard time thinking about the presentation.

If there’d been a couch, she would have been tempted to push him onto it. But the very thought of trying to curl against him in the awkwardness of a recliner suggested a humorous rather than amorous result.

“So how many kids do you want to have?” Quent asked.

Surprised by the question, Amy lost her concentration and served the ball into the net. “Why do you assume I want kids?”

“When you were staring at those babies at the birthing center, you had a look on your face like…like…”

“Like what?”

“Like you wanted to hold one in your arms.”

“Sure. They’re cute. Big deal.” The last thing she wanted was for him or anyone to feel sorry for her. So what if she hadn’t been able to make her dreams come true? There was plenty of time left.

Yet for some reason, she served the ball so hard it nearly missed the table. It chipped off the edge at an angle and shot by him.

“Foul!” Quent called as he went after the ball.

“It is not!” She refused to concede, even though she suspected he was right. Besides, they weren’t supposed to be playing for real.

“It was over the line.”

“There is no line.” The table, which he must have bought secondhand, had faded. Amy saw nothing wrong with using that fact to her advantage.

“Everybody knows there’s a line.” Quent returned to his place. “However, I’ll concede if you answer my question.”

“Which question?”