What The Nursery Needs...

“If it’s any consolation,” Monica said to Jason, “your daughter waited a year longer than Amy here before trying a cigarette. Fortunately, it made her as sick as a dog and that was the end of that.”

“Mom,” Amy wailed with a horrified look. “How did you know?”

“You think I didn’t know what was behind your green complexion and upset stomach when you came home from that overnight last fall? With the way your clothing reeked of tobacco? Get real, kid. I wasn’t born yesterday.” Monica looked Jason Engel up and down speculatively. “I’ve got an idea,” she said. You could almost see the proverbial lightbulb flash over her head. “Don bought enough Chinese for one of my brothers and his wife, too, but they had to leave. Why don’t you and Maura finish up your salad and bring it over here? By the time you get back, Catherine or I will have found the plates and we’ll all share what we’ve got.”

Maura looked pleadingly at her father, and he knew if he said no, he’d be out buying more candy bars tomorrow. Oh, well. “Maura, it’s infringing. They haven’t even had a chance to open a box yet—”

“They could all come to our house, couldn’t they, Dad? That wouldn’t be infringing. It would be gracious on our part, right?”

Catherine had to hide a grin at the child’s ingenuousness. She turned her attention back to Jason and waited.

“Ordinarily, you’d be right,” Jason replied. “But as you well know, there are exceptions to every rule. Times when normal protocol doesn’t apply.”

Maura scowled suspiciously. “Like when?”

“Like when somebody gets so excited at seeing somebody they know, they race out of the house without turning off the kitchen faucet.”

Maura studied the floor. “Oh. But nothing bad happ—”

“Like when the lettuce that somebody was washing covers up the drain in that sink, causing it to overflow.”

“Uh-oh.”

“And finally, like when that same somebody’s father races into the kitchen to get to the tap, slides on the wet floor, tries to catch himself only to knock a bottle of salad dressing off the countertop and have it smash all over the floor leaving glass shards everywhere that he hasn’t had time to clean up yet because he went looking for his daughter. That’s like when.”

Maura looked everywhere but at her father. She cleared her throat. “Yes, well, sorry about that, Dad.”

Catherine finally took pity. “Sounds like you’ve had a heck of an afternoon,” she told Jason. “Let the mess sit there for a while. It won’t go anywhere. As long as you don’t object to the chaos here, I don’t mind. Sit down. Eat. Fortify yourself for the cleanup ahead of you.”

Maura looked at her father pleadingly.

Jason rubbed the back of his neck in a tired gesture. “All right, if you’re sure you don’t mind. I’ll go salvage what I can of the salad. I think I’ve got another bottle of salad dressing in the fridge. Maura, you come help.”

Maura grabbed Amy’s hand and tugged her along in her wake. “Amy can come too, right. Dad?”

Jason grunted his agreement as he opened the back door and held it for the two girls. They shot through the opening and kept right on going. He sighed. “When a gentleman holds the door for you, you’re supposed to say ‘thank you,”’ he called after them, shaking his head. Damn, but this parenting was work.

“I don’t have any beer in the house,” Catherine advised him. “I’m afraid you’ll have to bring your own if you don’t want pop or water.”

Jason shook his head regretfully. He could sure use one. “I don’t keep anything alcoholic in the house,” he said with a sigh of regret. Not since Karen had remarried and Maura had come to live with him. Bad example. “Water or soda will be fine. We’ll be back in five minutes, no more, I promise.”

As soon as the door slammed, Monica was up and standing on tiptoes to look out the kitchen window at their retreating backs. “Did you hear what that little girl said, Cath?”

“No, what?”

Monica grabbed both Catherine’s arms and held her still. She spoke softly, not wanting Don to overhear. “Cath, that child said it was just her and her dad living there. The mother’s remarried.”

“Yes, so?”

“So, he’s tall and has a nice body to go along with the height. If his hair was any darker brown it would be black, eyes to match. He’s as handsome as sin. Good God, the man even has manners. Forget about your blond, blue-eyes fetish for a minute. Did you see the way he held the door for the girls? My gosh, if I can see it, why can’t you? That, my dear, is prime marital material! I’m thinking that you can still have it all! Why, any idiot with even minimal level hormones could fall for that hunk. All you would have to do is get him to fall in love with you, and presto, instant family.”

Chapter Two

Catherine couldn’t keep her jaw from dropping open. “I can only hope,” she whispered to her sister, “that whatever form of madness you have suddenly developed is not genetic in nature. I find you downright frightening at times—especially since we’re related.”

With a flick of her hand, Monica brushed Catherine’s insult off. “Let’s think about this with an open mind, sister, dear. The man was tall, he was dark, he was handsome. He conveniently lives right next door. In my opinion you could make beautiful babies together.”

“You are insane. We’ve barely met the man and you’re already marrying me off to him?”

“What are you two whispering about over there? Would you kill me if we started without them, Monica? I’m half-dead from hunger,” Don grumped.

“We’re talking about what a grouch you are when you’re hungry, Don.”

Don managed a wounded look. “I’m a paragon, a saint, I tell you. I put up with the two of you, don’t I?”

Monica turned her back on her husband and resumed her lecture. “Think about the embarrassment factor of doing it your way, Cath. Even if we manage to locate one of those sperm bank places, you’re going to have to walk in and explain what you want. Think about that, sweetie pie.”

Catherine did, flushed and swallowed hard. “Oh, well, when you put it that way I can see that this idea of yours makes perfect sense. Just tell me one thing.

“What’s that?”

“If I’m not brave enough to march into a sperm bank and explain what I want, and let’s face it, they’d have to at least have a suspicion of what’s on my mind—only carrying one product the way they do—what makes you think I’ll be able to propose marriage and parenthood to Jason Engel?”

Monica sighed and closed her eyes. “Nobody’s asking you to propose tonight, Cath. Patience is its own reward, remember that. You’ll be living right next door to the man. All you have to do is make sure you spend some time together every now and again over the next little while, so that any little seeds we plant get a chance to bear fruit.”

“They’re here,” Don announced, as a brief knock sounded on the back door before the handle turned.

“We’re back,” Amy announced, running into the room. “The water’s mopped up and the glass is gone, but the floor’s still kind of slippery and slidey.”

“Come on in,” Catherine called to Jason and Maura.

“We’ll finish our discussion later,” Monica insisted under her breath to Catherine before going to take the salad bowl from Maura.

“No, we won’t,” Catherine returned just as quietly, tossing her hair out of her face with an exasperated motion. Honestly, sometimes Monica could be downright scary. Catherine crossed over to Jason and relieved him of the paper plates, cups and two liters of pop he’d brought as an additional offering. “Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him. “This was very thoughtful.”

“You’re welcome,” Jason replied. “I’m afraid it was all I could come up with in terms of an impromptu housewarming gift.”

“It’s perfect,” Catherine assured him, already unscrewing the cap on the cola bottle. “It’s been a distressing day. I could use a jolt of caffeine right about now.” She gave Monica a meaningful look.

“I bet. Here, let me do that,” Jason said, pulling several cups out of the plastic sleeve they’d come wrapped in. “How about your husband and your friend? What would they like?”

“What husband?” Catherine asked, as she watched his strong hands take over the task of pouring drinks. “Oh, you mean him? Donald? That’s not my husband—”

“Kindly refrain from referring to me as a that,” Don interjected. He’d already confiscated the paper plates and was spooning out large quantities of rice onto one. “I am a he, at least I was before I started withering up and dying from lack of nutrition.”

“That grouch over there,” Catherine indicated, as though her brother-in-law hadn’t spoken, “belongs to my sister, Monica. She actually loves him.” Catherine pointed in Monica’s direction. “Amy is theirs.”

Jason took a quick look around the kitchen, then leaned slightly back to glance down the hallway that bisected the front of the house. He hadn’t missed anybody. “Then you’re not—?”