Page 47 of Mornings By the Linden Tree
“I hear the potty song,” he whispered as he wiggled into my embrace as the sounds of a heated discussion about the Pats erupted downstairs.
“I generally like to sing ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ while I piddle,” I murmured into his hair, the smell of him helping to untie the knot of uneasiness deep in my chest.
“I do know that,” he teased, lifting his head to gaze up at me. “I know you’re not having the best of times. And do not quote Dickens at me.”
“Perish the thought.” I brushed my lips over his furrowed brow. “I’m not having a terrible time. The food was delightful, and your mother is a lovely woman. Your brothers are…” I had some trouble thinking of a word to describe the pack of Cole men.
“I know. They’re loud and rude and prone to wrap every car on the street in toilet paper on mischief night, but deep down, they’re good guys. Just, you know, west enders.”
“They care for you a great deal. I see them glancing at me as if they want to interrogate me but aren’t sure if they dare jack a lawyer up against the fence,” I said and got a short little snort of amusement. Valeria was still singing the pee song. I suspected she may be done but was dawdling. I’d give her another minute, then knock and open the door.
“Nah, they don’t want to do that. They might want to hit you up for free legal advice now and again in the future.”
“Are they thinking of committing crimes? Should I get some of my criminal defense lawyer acquaintances’ numbers on speed dial?”
“No need. They’re cool. I think most of us ran that wild out of us when we were kids. Now we’re all getting married and falling in…” He bit down on his lower lip. I lowered my mouth to his, a sweet fast taste. His mouth was richly flavored with coffee. A particular favorite flavor of mine. “Falling in feelings. Shit.”
I released his hip to stroke his whiskery cheek. I did so love the feel of whiskers. It was so masculine.
“I have feelings for you as well. Deep ones.” I pushed the last two words out as if I were birthing a child. It rather felt that way. Or what I assumed giving birth felt like. Painful, frightening, and yet exhilarating. We kissed leisurely. I got lost in the solid press of his firm body against mine. The football talk disappeared and became white noise as our tongues danced.
“Uncle Wes, I has a shoe story,” Valeria called from the other side of the door.
I broke the kiss with a sigh of regret. “We’ll continue this later.” Lennon bobbed his head. I turned, opened the door a crack, and found my niece standing in the sink with one shoe on and the other…ah, floating in the toilet. The water was up to the rim of the seat. Her feet were both naked. I had no clue where her socks had gone.
“I pooped and it wouldn’t go down so…so…so I tried to step on it so it would go down to the sewer, but it got in my shoe so…so I took it off and climbed up to wash my foot,” she explained casually as one would after one had tried to stomp a turd down a toilet. “I washed my foot good, but the poop is still hiding in the toilet.”
I prayed one of the Cole brothers and/or girlfriends was a plumber.
***
No one in attendance at the proposal party was a plumber, but there had been one on the next block who graciously came over to unclog the toilet for a rather large fee. I didn’t balk at paying the man. It was an emergency call, after all.
So we left the West End with a Tupperware dish stuffed full of lasagna, a much lighter wallet, and a new grandmother for Valeria. The child was beside herself about having a nana. She chatted about it all weekend and then filled in Dr. Bajaj about her recently acquired grandmama during our Monday afternoon session.
I sat on a beanbag chair, with my shoes on, as the two of them rested on the floor, sock feet exposed to the whole of Boston, and talked about what a nana did for her grandchildren.
“They bakes them cookies. And buys them pretty dresses. And tells them they can do things when their uncles say they can’t,” she sleepily replied, then, as if we were not paying five hundred dollars an hour, she laid down on the floor and fell asleep.
“Well, that’s a sign of trust,” Dr. Bajaj said as he smiled down at Valeria. He pulled a small checkered throw from one of the boxes lining the wall, covered her up, and then climbed back into a chair to converse with me like an adult. He still had no shoes on, though. “Did she have a bad night?” I stifled a yawn. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Sorry, that was incredibly rude. She’s been doing so much better. We even slept through three whole nights, and then last night the bed fear returned.”
“That happens. Old fears are hard to shake. As long as we’re seeing progress overall.” I nodded, then waited for him to say something else. When he didn’t, I glanced over at the window, then the wall, and then back at him.
“Is there something out of place?” I asked, reaching up to check the Windsor knot in my tie. No, I was sure all was as it should be. He, on the other hand, well, his manic hair could use a good trim and some conditioner. And his ugly sweater…
“No, there is never a thing out of place on you. I find that amazing. How do you maintain such a pristine appearance when raising a child?” Dark brown eyes lingered on me, and I felt that creeping unease tingle. The man was trying to analyze me.
“Discipline,” I tossed out.
“Discipline. Yes, I can see that.” I nodded in thanks. “You’re a very disciplined man. I imagine there has been little in your life that was not scripted out in advance.”
I crossed a leg over the other and examined the crisp pleat. The dry cleaners had done a wonderful job. You could feel the starch with your fingertips. Extra starch was the key to keeping slacks and shirts looking professional throughout the day.
“Uncle Wes?”
I snapped out of my starch admiration, my sight flying to the odd little Indian man with the far too insightful gaze.
