Page 34 of Clever Little Thing

“I leave here,” Irina said, and I couldn’t breathe. I felt like if I didn’t draw a line, she would bring more and more stuff, until she was living with us and we were stuck with her forever.

I patted the sofa to get her to sit down next to me. “Look, Irina, I’m feeling better. I really don’t feel comfortable prevailing on you.”

“Prevail? What is this?”

“You don’t need to come every day. You could just visit. That would be more relaxing for you. Maybe once a week.”

Irina stroked the dress as if it were made of the finest silk instead of cheap rayon. “I want to come every day.”

Charlotte Says: If you want to refuse someone’s company, frame it as a positive, rather than a negative. Don’t say, “I don’t want to have a drink with you.” Say, “I’ve scheduled that night for me time.”

“I need time with Stella before the baby comes,” I said.

“I pick her up two days,” Irina said firmly. “You pick her up three days.”

“OK,” I said. A gradual transition would be easier for Stella. “There’s another thing. It was really kind of you, but I don’t need to eat the bread now. I’m feeling better.” Or I soon would.

“Fine,” Irina said. She took her time putting on her raincoat, seemingly confused by the buttons she’d tackled many times, judging by how old it looked. I hoped that rejecting her bread gift wasn’t some kind of mortal insult.

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That evening, Pete heated up a veggie tagine from our favorite shop, with couscous to go with it. Vowing to eat a nutritious meal, I spooned it up, trying not to wince: surely the sauce wasn’t supposed to be this sour. “It’s great to see you eating,” Pete said as I worked up the energy to swallow. I realized he was brimming with news.

“What is it?”

“Home Depot are in. They’re gonna sign. I can finally pay everyone at the company what they deserve.”

“That’s fantastic, baby! Does this mean you can relax a little?”

Pete adjusted his glasses. “I wanted to talk to you about that. I didn’t really think things through. This deal means we have to ramp up production fast. The time when I can work less is still a while away. I’m just so glad we’ve got Irina to help.”

“Actually, I decided I need more time with Stella,” I told him, swallowing a mouthful of couscous. “I’ve told Irina I’m going to do the school pickup three days a week.”

Pete put his fork down. “But Stella’s been doing so well. She loves Irina.”

“Not as much as her own mother, surely.” I put down my spoon, defeated. The couscous looked like tiny eggs, the kind Pete picked off his kale in the spring.

21.

Pete’s timer rang. “OK, rub for three minutes and leave,” he said. He was kneeling in the middle of the kitchen floor holding a cloth, which he’d been rubbing at the pale blot left after Stella’s birthday party. He squinted at the spot. It was barely visible now—a mark you could see only in the right light, if you knew what you were looking for. “Thank god for the Internet,” he said in triumph. “I should have done this ages ago.” He held up a spray bottle: mineral spirits. “I got the odorless variety on purpose so as not to bother you.”

“The mark looks better already,” I said.

“So listen, you won’t have to do a thing,” Pete said. “I’ve invited people for Thanksgiving.” Even though the mineral spirits were supposedly odorless, they reeked like paint thinner. I breathed through my mouth as Pete explained he’d invited people over from work on impulse, but it would be OK because it was a potluck, people were bringing dishes, and so really, I wouldn’t have to lift a finger.

“How could you invite people without asking me?” I said. “It’sour last Thanksgiving just the three of us. Maybe it would be nice to keep it just us this year.”

His face fell. “I thought you’d be pleased it was all taken care of. You love Thanksgiving.”

True, I treasured the tradition of spending the entire day cooking and eating with family and friends, and we’d kept it up even after moving to the UK.

“Thanksgiving dinner with three peopleisa little sad,” I admitted. And I did have more energy, now I was eating from the nonbread food groups.

“Yes! This is going to be so great. The Brits at the company will get to experience a real Thanksgiving. It’ll be a celebration of the Home Depot deal. A celebration of how well Stella’s doing too. Thank you, baby.” He gave me a smacking kiss on the lips. “Oh, and I’ve invited Irina. It will make Stella happy if she’s there.”

This was true. Stella had been sulky when I told her Irina would only be picking her up twice a week. And she didn’t seem to be getting much benefit from me doing the other three pickups. I’d thought that if I spent more time with her, she’d get back to her true self. She’d insist we race paper planes, or talk my ear off explaining why a stork’s wing was the most aerodynamic. Instead, she just crocheted, or cradled Stick Thing, the doll she’d made with Irina, and sang incomprehensible lullabies under her breath.

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