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Finally, they announce, “Okay, you can begin to cut the ribbon.” Connor, with a huge grin on his face, eagerly plunges the oversized scissors down with a flourish. I offer a grin when I’m directed by the photographer. The cut ribbon flutters to the ground as the watching crowd gives a rousing cheer.
Connor and I swiftly step out of the way as people surge into the space: the publicity coordinator and the photographer approach. “Hey, your son is a natural. Those photos I got with his smile will go over big.” I reach down and squeeze Connor’s shoulder in praise.
The coordinator leans down and states, “Hear that? Your picture is going to be in the newspaper and on the evening news tonight.”
Connor just shrugs like it’s no big deal. I hide my grin as I ask, “Are we done here? Have you gotten all the pictures you need?” The photographer assures me, “Don’t worry, I got plenty. Thanks for your patience, both of you.”
With that, I shake their hands. As I usher Connor away from the crowd, I glance down at him. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for lunch.”
Connor replies with a grin spread across his face, “Me, too! I’m starving!”
I smile as I shake my head, as my son always seems to be needing food. As we climb into the air-conditioned car, I steal a glance at him. “What kind of food sounds good?”
He scrunches up his nose in thought. “I don’t care. How about Chick-fil-A?”
“Perfect.” I put the car in gear and drive toward the fast-food restaurant.
Once we’ve stuffed ourselves with chicken sandwiches and waffle fries, we make our way to the car. My mind wanders to thoughts of Anna as Connor keeps up a constant chatter on the drive home.
I shift uneasily in my seat as I remember how she looked this morning when we left. Her smile was brittle and didn’t reach her eyes. She never said a word to me about my decision to keep her out of the public eye. But I can tell that my words hurt her. She acts like nothing is wrong, but the easy-going camaraderie that was developing between us seems to have evaporated.
I can’t say I regret my words, but I didn’t tell her the entire truth. It was also for her protection. When Kat mentioned the gossip rags, my first concern was for Anna. I didn’t want some fame-hungry reporter splashing gold-digger all over the media. Her sordid history needs to remain in the past - where it belongs. I feel adamant about that.
We step into the elevator, I hit the button, and the doors close.
Connor looks over and, with a grin on his face, asks, “Dad, do you know why the number six is scared of the number seven?” I think about it for a minute, knowing this is a joke, “No, Connor, why is six scared of seven?” Connor’s eyes are filled with merriment as he gives the punchline, “Because seven ate nine!” I can’t help it. I break into a grin and then start to chuckle along with him, and soon, we’re both laughing hardily as we enter the apartment.
I know the minute I smell something simmering on the stove, I messed up. Anna avoided me this morning as Connor and I got ready to leave. I never got a chance to tell her about my plans to grab lunch before we came home.
Anna comes around the corner. “Welcome back. I hope you’re both hungry.” The smile on her face appears forced. “I made spaghetti and meatballs with plenty of garlic bread.”
As Connor and I glance at each other with guilty expressions, her eyes narrow in suspicion.
Giving her my best apologetic smile, I mutter, “It’s my fault. We stopped at Chik-fila on the way home.”
As her face tightens, I try to smooth things over, “Sorry, I should have mentioned it when we left this morning.” At her continued silence, I say a bit defensively, “I didn’t expect you to go to all this trouble for lunch.”
I watch as she takes a deep breath. “That’s fine. I understand.” She walks into the kitchen and turns off the stove. Over her shoulder, she says to Connor, “You should probably change out of those clothes before you get them dirty.” A sharpness to her voice that isn’t normally there.
Connor wisely nods, turns, and, with a sheepish look in my direction, escapes to his room.
I watch as Anna, her shoulders stiff and her back ramrod straight, begins pulling down food containers from the cabinets. She dishes a small portion into a bowl for herself and then methodically starts transferring the remaining food into containers.
I stand there for a few frustrated moments but she studiously keeps her back to me. “Anna, it was just fast food, but I should have called to let you know.” At her continued silence, I feel like a heel. I walk into the bedroom, peel the sweaty dress shirt over my head, and drop it in the hamper with a grimace. I take a quick shower, then change into jeans and a T-shirt.
When I emerge from the bedroom. “Where’s Connor?”
“He’s taking a shower,” she mutters, about the same time my mind registers the sound of running water coming from the main bathroom.
I guess I was expecting Anna to be over the lunch misunderstanding. She isn’t. She avoids my eyes as I step farther into the room. I immediately go on the defensive. “Really? You’re still angry because I took Connor to lunch?”
She swirls around and then places her hands on her hips. “You could have mentioned it this morning.” She flings at me.
I fire back, “You were avoiding me!”
Her chin rises in a defiant gesture. “You could have texted me,” she says, her tone icy.
I nod, “Yes, I could have, but I forgot.” I then mutter, “I already said I was sorry. What else do you want? Blood?”
