28. Kent

TWENTY-EIGHT

"Have you given leather any more thought?"

Ruth's words cause a temporary lapse in my balance, my body jerks, and I stumble on the track. She grabs my arm as I catch myself.

"Easy, easy," she soothes. "It's just a suggestion. Don't plotz."

"Do you remember every Yiddish word and phrase I say?"

"Are you shepping naches?" she asks and then giggles, head back, her face brighter than the sun.

"Yes, Ruth, I am impressed and proud of you." Truly, her ability and desire to integrate a plethora of Yiddish into her lexicon amazes me.

"Anyway, you'd look great in leather. A harness."

"A what?" I ask, reestablishing my balance on the bouncy track. The cold is back, and frigid March air fills my lungs, but the bright, direct sun attempts to warm my keppie.

"A harness. It stretches across your chest and wraps around your neck." She motions with her hands. "So fucking hot. It gives your partner something to grab on to." Ruth latches her arm in mine, perhaps to keep me upright. "They make fabric ones, but a leather harness on that furry dad bod—you'd make Vincent's eyes explode."

"Excuse me, how do you know the ins and outs of leather harnesses?"

Ruth's eyes roll up so far, I'm convinced she's exploring the recesses of her own brain.

"I have two. Black and purple. Sarah adored them. Whips and leashes too. A little light bondage play can really crank up the pilot light."

"Whips? Leashes?" My mind races to put the pieces together. "Is there anything you don't know about?"

"My friend. Lesbians know about … well, everything. It's a fact."

"Okay, fair. Fair," I say, patting her back. There really isn't much she doesn't know. She even changed my oil once. "But what? How?"

Another eye roll, and Ruth pats my arm. "Kent, Kent, Auntie Ruth will take care of you."

"But where would I even?—"

"The internet. Kent Lester, you can literally buy anything on the internet. Where do you think I bought my Gina Gershon pillowcase?" She taps my arm affectionately. "I'll come to your office at lunch. We can shop together. I need a new strap-on harness."

"A what?"

She erupts into laughter, pats my back, and hooks her arm in mine. Once again, I find myself asking what I'm getting myself into.

"Poppy!" Lia leaps into my embrace and wraps her arms around my neck.

Vincent waits a step behind me, rubbing his thumb and index finger together. Lia wears her warmest flannel pajamas. Pink with tiny rainbows and unicorns.

"You brought your boyfriend," Lia whisper-yells into my ear.

"I did." I don't want to correct her and I'm not sure what I'd call Vincent at this point, anyway. "We had so much fun with him at the LEGO center, remember?"

"Is he going to be my new Poppy?" she asks louder, her words now devoid of any trace of privacy.

"Lia, let's not embarrass Vincent," I say, hoping he didn't hear, but almost certain he did.

Vincent moves forward, his eyebrows drawing closer. "I'm fine. And Lia, you never know." He shrugs, attempting to assuage her.

"If you get married, can I be the flower girl?" Lia does a twirl. "I could throw tiny LEGO pieces instead of flower petals."

Gillian, hearing the commotion, joins us in the entryway. "It's freezing! You're letting the cold in. Sweetie, let Poppy be for a minute."

I put Lia down, and the moment her feet hit the ground, she grabs Vincent's hand and pulls him inside. The door shuts behind us, and Gillian's meatloaf, my mother's recipe, hits my nose, sending a smile over my face. When my mother passed away three years ago, Corrine and I spent hours combing and collating her recipes into a book. Knowing Gillian uses the index cards with my mother's horrible handwriting makes my heart swell.

"Vincent, nice to see you again," Gillian says. "Lia, go help your father set the table." She shoos her off toward the dining room. "Dad," she says, nodding toward the coat closet. "We're eating in five minutes." Gillian leaves us in the foyer, and I shake off the cold from outside and let the coziness of being at my daughter's with Vincent envelop me.

Alone for a moment, Vincent hands me his coat, and before I place it in the closet, I give him a quick kiss. Soft. On the lips. Mouths closed. Warmth transfers from his lips to mine and my body relaxes at the contact. We came straight from school, and I could only pop a mint in my mouth on the drive over. These small, sweet kisses don't seem to bother him. Vincent's hands move around my waist. He pulls me close and places his nose on mine.

"Bathroom?" I ask.

He dips in, his lips connect with mine, and I smile into his kiss.

"Flower girl!" Lia shouts from behind Vincent. "And I get to pick my dress!"

Caught in our small moment, we burst into laughter as we joyfully join the family.

Around the table, with freshly scrubbed hands, Vincent sits next to me, with Lia on his other side. She's staring at him, although I'm not sure he notices. Even after our LEGO outing, Vincent is new and interesting, and she's curious and determined to ensure he adores her.

"Mommy said boys can marry boys," Lia says with half a piece of meatloaf hanging off her fork. She's taken a bite, and a full mouth mumbles her words.

"Sweetie, Poppy and Vincent know." Gillian cuts Lia's meatloaf into bite-sized pieces.

"And girls can marry girls," Lia adds.

"Yes," Louis says. "Anyone can marry whoever they love."

"There's no need to talk about weddings," Gillian says. "Poppy and Vincent are just …" She stops and gives me her confused look. The same one she gave me when she came home from school at seven and asked me how the baby got into her teacher's belly. "Just, just …"

"Very good friends," I say.

"No. Boyfriends," Lia says. "Mommy said you were boyfriends. Right, Mommy?"

Gillian shrugs, and I say, "Well, we're, we're …" The words stumble out of my mouth like loose change.

"Boyfriends," Vincent says. His hand covers mine, and he gives me a soft smile. My heart trips in my chest, and I attempt to swallow. I'm fifty-two and have never had a boyfriend. Vincent rubs the back of my hand against his cheek, and my heart does a tiny cartwheel.

"I want a pink flower-girl dress," Lia shouts. "With roses!" Vincent laughs and this prompts her to blurt, "Or LEGOs!"

After dinner, Vincent helps Lia with her LEGO Princess Castle. They sit at the small play table in her room, Vincent's knees in his chest, as he patiently explains the ins and outs of the directions. Lia watches him as if her life depends on it. Batting her eyelashes, smiling, and grabbing on to Vincent's arm, she's quickly casting her spell on him. As they work, I return to help Gillian and Louis clean up.

Louis buses items from the table as I rinse, and Gillian packs leftovers and loads the dishwasher.

"You like him." Gillian spoons mashed potatoes into a plastic container.

"Of course he likes him," Louis says. "You don't call someone your boyfriend if you don't like them."

"What do you know about boyfriends?" Gillian snaps the lid onto the container. "You thought I actually wanted help with algebra homework in college. A yutz." She hands me the bowl to rinse.

"Math is confusing." Louis sidles up to her, poking at her ribs.

"Says the accountant." Gillian bats him away.

"Yes. I like him," I say. "He's sweet."

"And dating and working together," Gillian says with enormous eyes.

"So far, so good," I say.

"Be careful," Louis says, handing me a stack of dirty plates. "You don't want to screw things up. With work. With him."

"Ah, my Louis, giving his father-in-law dating advice," Gillian says.

"Not dating advice. Life advice," Louis says. "Just make sure you keep your head clear."

"I don't want you getting hurt." Gillian places the last plate into the dishwasher and comes behind me, resting her head on my shoulder.

"It's good." I reach up and cup her face. "We're not rushing into anything. We're just enjoying each other's company. And the project is on track. We go live soon. Then, the board meeting. It's been mostly smooth sailing. Vincent and his partner know what they're doing."

"Good." Gillian moves in front of me. "Just take care of this." She pokes my chest and taps my heart.

"If I need to kick anyone's ass, you tell me," Louis says, handing me the last of the glasses.

"You're not kicking anyone's anything," Gillian says, pinching her husband's bottom, starting a cascade of laughter in the kitchen.

A smile scatters across my face. Being here, even in the chaos, my soul settles. The picture of our family, painted with warm watercolor brushstrokes, comes into focus. And I glimpse a spot for Vincent on the canvas.