Page 78 of From Rivals to I Do

“Good afternoon, Mother,” I respond, trying to sound courteous. “Did you get Alex from school?”

There’s a silence in the air. I turn to see Mrs. Harrington scrubbing her eyelids with a folded fist. I am probably disturbing her.

“Huh? Are you still there?” I ask, finally concluding that she had forgotten to go pick Alex up.

“Oh, sorry. I forgot. I had some stuff to do, so. . .”

I hang up.

Alex’s school had closed since two-thirty. That had been almost two hours ago. I quicken my pace as I round off the painting. Now, Mrs. Harrington is wide awake. I turn the canvas to her to have a look. Her jaw drops. She’s in awe. She loves the painting so much and keeps going on about how beautiful it is. I pack up quickly, telling Mrs. Harrington that I have to be somewhere soon. She smiles and says she has sent my pay to my account already.

I rush out of her mansion and to the street. I will have to walk down the street till I see a cab. Luckily, one drives by, and I flag it down. I already feel so bad for Alex. I tell the driver to speed up a bit.

In fifteen minutes, I am at Alex’s school. He’s sitting outside on the porch of the entrance with two other kids and a teacher. As soon as he sees me, his face lights up and he dashes toward me.

As soon as he closes up the distance, I hunker down to his height and give him a scooping hug. I rub his auburn hair and pull him out of the hug to give him a peck on the cheek.

“Anata, gomen’nasai,” I tell him, as I stare apologetically into his eyes.

He nods, affirming his acceptance of my apologies. We learn a little Japanese around the house. And over time, he has shown interest in doing so.

“Genkidesu ka?” he asks me. ‘How are you?’, and a few other phrases, are the only Japanese phrases he is confident with. He can try to understand the little I make effort saying but can barely say them himself.

“Watashi wa genkidesu, anata wa?” I respond.

He places his index finger at the side of his lips, thinking. Then he responds with, “Watashi mo genkidayo ka.”

We both laugh heartily.

“It’s genkidesu,” I tell him, playfully pulling his cheeks. “You could say, genkidayo, but don’t add ka. Ka is only when you’re asking.”

“Yes teacher,” he responds, and we both smile.

I get his backpack and lunch box from him, holding his hands as we walk back home. A neighbor spots us and offers to give us a ride. It’s a silent ride back home. Manhattan’s streets bustle with so much life and by four-thirty, the day was just beginning.

We step down from the car in front of a tall building just at the corner. It’s our building. It has a gray brick front and a faded burgundy awning over the entrance.

“Thank you,” I say, turning to the man that has just dropped us off. I beckon Alex to wave to him and we both do. He drives off.

I lift Alex into my arms, and we make our way to the elevator. Our stop would be the fifth floor. Soon, the metal cables begin grinding and groaning above us like it is close to maximum load or something. I fear the cables would break and let us down. But it won’t. It’s been this way for the longest time.

Alex wraps my neck tightly. I feel the warmth from his body course through mine. I never get tired of carrying him like this. In some months, he’d be six. I fear he’s growing too fast. Mother sometimes makes comments about how I’ve devoted so much time to Alex, that I can’t go out, have fun, and find a man. That isn’t going to be me. If true love is going to happen to me, it will find me. Or would it?

The elevator opens on a narrow hallway with pale blue walls. The hallway is covered in a gray rug that’s almost tired from bearing a whole generation’s feet. There are four doors in the hallway, all leading to individual apartments. The aroma of heavily spiced roast tangles in my nostrils. Someone is preparing dinner somewhere. It’s funny how in New York, everyone could know what you were having for dinner by just smells.

I stop at the last door, which leads to our apartment. I slowly drop Alex onto the floor, so that I can fish for the keys to the door from my bag. As I try the keys on the door, I realize that it is already open. Mother’s home probably, I wonder.

I push open the door and allow Alex to walk in. He seems tired. I begin to think of quick dinner choices for him. Mac and cheese it will be. Alex walks to the living room and dives into the largest sofa. He heaves a huge sigh and I laugh.

“Who’s that old man trapped in my baby’s body?” I ask, playfully gnawing at his sides with my fingers. He trembles from the tickle and laughs back.

“It’s Humpty Dumpty,” he answers.

“Oh no, not Humpty. Who would put you back together again?”

“My Aunty Amber will,” he says. I lean over to him and give him a peck. I realize I must have done that over a million times daily. But I don’t care. I love Alex to a fault. So many people think he is my son. Well, he still is.

“Lemme go make you dinner my darling,” I say, walking to my room to drop my bags and painting kit. “Go change those clothes,” I tell him. He stands up and walks to his room, which was once Jess’s room.

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