Aftertaste - Meredith Mileti [105]
Fiona and Ruth help gather the empty wrapping paper while Richard, Neil, and my dad break down the boxes. “Oh, Mira, you forgot one,” Ruth says, holding out one last gift, buried under a pile of discarded paper.
“Oh, that’s from us,” says Neil, “although it’s really for Mira, not for Chloe. You can open it later if you—” But I’ve already begun removing the paper. It’s a book. What to Expect: The Toddler Years.
“Thanks,” I tell him. When I meet his eye, I’m surprised by the intensity of his gaze.
“Hey, I have this book,” says Ruth, leaning over my shoulder. “I loved the series. Of course I really didn’t need the What to Expect When You’re Expecting, but I thought the one about the first year was great.”
“Me too. During that whole first year my wife and I referred to it as ‘the Bible.’ ” At the mention of Neil’s wife, Ruth falls silent. Neil clears his throat.
“I’ve never read a parenting book,” I tell them.
“Really?” Neil and Ruth ask in unison.
“Not a one. I guess I should have,” I say, judging from their incredulous expressions.
“Surely you read T. Berry Brazelton? You must have,” Ruth says, shocked.
I shake my head, trying to remember why I hadn’t. Running a restaurant had been an exhausting business. By the time Jake and I crawled into bed at night after closing up, it was too late to do anything but sleep. Remembering how little time Grappa had left for anything else, I wonder how different Chloe’s life would be now had we stayed.
Richard jumps to my defense. “How could you? You didn’t even read the newspaper! The moment you stopped moving you fell asleep.” Neil and Ruth are unimpressed. I give Richard’s arm a grateful squeeze and pick up the book. It’s a hefty tome. How much invaluable parenting advice have I missed already?
“Time for cake, everyone?” Fiona asks, handing Chloe to my father and adjusting her party hat.
“Don’t forget to read the inscription. It concerns an addendum to the Manifesto,” Neil whispers over my shoulder as we move into the dining room for cake and ice cream.
“What manifesto?” Ruth asks, innocently.
I tuck the book under my arm and follow Fiona into the kitchen. Richard dims the lights, and Fiona readies the camera. I bring in the cake, a homemade vanilla sponge cake with real buttercream icing. I’ve decorated it like a pasture with green coconut grass and a corral made of licorice. Inside, an entire farm’s worth of animal candles are grazing. Chloe is charmed.
Food. As I’ve long suspected, it is my greatest parenting accomplishment.
To Ruth’s chagrin, Neil and Eli leave shortly after we finish the cake, pleading nap time, but Ruth suspects it’s the prospect of free playtime with Carlos that has chased them away.
“Seriously, every time Carlos sees Eli he goes into attack mode. It’s like he’s gunning for the poor kid!” Ruth says, exasperated. “You’ve got to admit, this doesn’t exactly bode well for the Brady Bunch future I’ve been envisioning,” she says, helping herself to another slice of cake. “It’s a good thing I’ve already got an in,” Ruth continues. “Did I tell you? Leah asked me what I was doing for Passover. I think there’s a chance she might invite me—I mean us,” Ruth says, looking down at Carlos. He’s sitting on a blanket at her feet, gnawing on the cow candle. “Carlos! Enough of that,” she says, picking him up and sitting him on her lap. I hand her a napkin. “Look, a hive! There must be red dye in those candles. Mira, can you get the Benadryl? It’s in the living room in the diaper bag.”
My dad’s in the process of putting together the kitchen set from Richard, and the living room is littered with hundreds of plastic pieces. It takes me a while to find the diaper bag. When I return to the kitchen with it, Ruth is no longer at the table. She is standing at the kitchen counter. She looks up when I come in, and the expression on her face is pure pain. Her mouth is set in a grimace as if she’s about to cry.
“Mira,” Ruth whispers. “How could you?”
I look