“What’s tripe?” Corinne piped up.
“Not something I’m going to make you try. It is a kind of—fish.”
“I like fish sticks. With mustard.”
“When I first knew your mom, she was crazy about the food in my kitchen. She was a much less picky eater than you,” Harvey said.
Bella remembered late night conversations and more in that kitchen and studied her plate for a moment. It brought back so many memories. They never had the tension they now had. They were happy and carefree. She missed those times.
“Was she five?” Corinne challenged.
“No, she was older than that. She was grown up.”
“Then maybe she liked more foods because she was bigger,” Corinne said, “Mommy’s always telling Maria we’ll grow out of it. Maybe she grew out of it.”
“It’s a phase,” Caden offered, clearly repeating something he’d heard his mother say. Harvey smiled.
“Do you have a lot of phases?” Harvey said.
“Yes, all the time,” Corinne informed him. Then she turned to Bella. “Is this enough for ice cream or do I have to eat the carrots?”
“Three carrot sticks,” Bella said.
“Two?” Corinne wheedled.
“Four?” Bella offered, and Corinne laughed and ate a carrot stick. Caden had eaten his applesauce, avoided his chicken, and was whining for more crackers.
“Try a chip,” Harvey said.
Bella flagged down the waiter, who provided a basket of crackers that delighted Caden. The boy leafed through the packages of crackers gleefully, choosing the kinds he wanted.
Chapter 11
Harvey watched her with them, how she helped and guided and corrected and occasionally giggled with them. He felt not pride that she was so good with them, but a stab of jealousy. He had to sit there, an awkward stranger, witnessing their family interactions. It was impossible to see this as a first step toward building a relationship with the kids, not when they wanted nothing to do with him.
They rejected the food at the restaurant he chose, every offer of chips or rice he made, every question he asked or suggestion he made. Neither child had climbed in his lap or offered to hug him, or been very friendly at all. It was a major disappointment that they didn’t connect. He felt like he’d wasted his night by following Bella’s rules and her terms. If he could have picked up the kids on his own and taken them somewhere fun, brought them some presents, this would’ve gon
e smoother. It was Bella’s fault for being so controlling, he decided and signaled for the check.
They said their goodbyes.
He wanted to go call Catherine. She was his most reliable fuck buddy when she was in town. He hadn’t called her in months. Maybe she’d be available tonight to make him feel better. He paid the check and waved at the kids as he left.
Catherine was available and thrilled to hear from him. But as soon as she started purring about what she was wearing, he felt uncomfortable. Like he shouldn’t be talking to her. Like he felt guilty which was absurd because he was a bachelor, a free agent who could talk to whoever he wanted, could do whoever he wanted without reference to anyone else. He and Bella were not involved. They hadn’t been in a serious relationship in six years. So why should he feel like he was betraying her by calling Catherine, an attractive woman with whom he had an understanding for years.
In the end, he told Catherine he had an urgent call and hung up. Flustered, annoyed, he went home alone, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Those kids didn’t like him, which upset him more than he cared to admit. Bella acted like she knew everything and he knew nothing, which wasn’t something he was used to or comfortable with—he was a powerful executive, the authority and expert in any room! Then, to top it all off, he was sitting by himself at home when they were all having ice cream together and probably laughing at him and his food suggestions. It bothered him.
His phone jingled with a message from Bella, a photo from their dinner that showed him leaning toward Corinne to talk to her. Why did she think he’d want this stupid pity photo? To remind him that they were clearly her kids and didn’t need him at all? Well, that was it. He was done doing things her way. He replied that he wanted the kids on Saturday at ten in the morning.
“Saturday Corinne has a birthday party at noon,” she said, “and they’re not ready to go with you alone. I guess I could come.”
“I said I wanted them. I’m their father.”
“We will see you Saturday.”
“The zoo.”
“Caden’s scared of tigers.”