Slow Dance

Forty

“I don’t have to eat dinner with you,” her mother said. “I can go to my room.”

Shiloh was cutting up a honeydew melon. “No, I’m saying—I want you to eat with us. So it seems more platonic.”

“Does Cary think it’s platonic?”

“ Yes, ” Shiloh said. “And when he walks in and sees you, he’ll know that I think it’s platonic, too.”

Her mother took a piece of melon. “It’s less of a mystery now, how the two of you never slept together.”

“Just stay out here until I put the kids to bed.”

“What happens then?”

“Well, at that point”—Shiloh was gesturing with her paring knife—“if you stay out here, it will seem like you’re chaperoning

us.”

Her mom rolled her eyes. “Just wink twice when I’m allowed to go.”

Junie came into the kitchen. “Mommy, I’m starving.”

“You’re not starving.”

“I am.” Junie clenched her hands in her bobbed hair. “I’m so hungry, I can’t even think .”

There was a knock at the front door.

“I’ll get it!” Junie shouted.

Shiloh wiped her hands on her jeans. “Are you allowed to answer the door?”

Junie hung her head. “No.”

Shiloh went for the door. Junie was right behind her. Gus was sitting on the living room floor, playing with plastic cars.

He was just getting to the age where Shiloh could leave him alone for a few minutes. Like, he could still kill himself if

left to his own devices—but it would probably take more than five minutes.

Cary was standing on the porch in a Navy baseball cap and a blue T-shirt. Shiloh opened the door and got a better look at him. He was wearing brown ripstop pants—Cary’s pants always had several loops and pockets—and running shoes. Did Cary run?

“Hi,” she said.

“Cary?!” Junie shouted. “What a nice surprise!”

He smiled at Shiloh. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” She laughed and stepped back. “Come in.”

He walked past her, taking off his cap and running his hand through his hair.

“Did you come for a visit?” Junie asked.

“Cary came for dinner,” Shiloh said.

“That is so nice .”

“I agree.” Shiloh looked up at him. “I could feed the kids first, if you want?”

“Just do what you usually do.”

“We usually all eat together.”

“Let’s do that.”

“Okay,” she said. “Come help me. How’s your mom tonight?”

He followed her to the kitchen. “Better. Every day that she’s better, I realize how bad it was when I first got here. She’s

sitting up now. She’s eating.”

“Is Grandma Lois coming for dinner?” Junie had trailed behind Cary.

“Not tonight,” Shiloh said. “Junie, go wash your hands.”

“Hey there, Cary,” Shiloh’s mom said, still eating the melon. “I’m sorry your mom’s having a rough time.”

“Hi, Gloria. Thanks.”

Her mom wiped her hands on a towel. “I’ll go get Gus ready to eat.”

Shiloh nodded her thanks and got out a stack of mismatched china bowls. The soup had been in the slow cooker all day. She

opened the lid.

“You really made split pea soup...” Cary said. He was washing his hands in the sink.

“Yeah?” Shiloh picked up a ladle.

“I thought that was a joke.”

“Why would that be a joke? You don’t like split pea soup?”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever had it. Do kids eat pea soup?”

“I find that kids eat just about anything if they don’t have other options. Your mom never made this?”

“My mom made... Well, she made sure there was baloney and Wonder bread in the kitchen.” He shook his head. “That’s not

fair. She cooked sometimes. Spaghetti. She cooked when my sisters were younger.”

“Gloria cooked when she wasn’t working...” Shiloh said, ladling out a bowl of soup with lots of ham and potatoes. She raised

her eyebrows. “Which was, you know, occasionally. I try to cook when the kids are here.” She held out the bowl. “You don’t

have to eat this if you don’t like it—but pretend to like it if Junie asks. There’s bread, too.” Shiloh handed him a spoon.

“We sit at the table.”

Cary walked out, but then came back to help her with the rest of the bowls and spoons. Shiloh got out the milk. “Cary? Do

you want a beer?”

“No, thanks.”

She took the rolls out of the oven and grabbed the butter.

Cary was standing at the dining room table. He waited for her to sit down, then took the empty chair between her and Junie.

“We don’t say grace,” Junie said. “We aren’t a church.”

“She means we don’t belong to a church,” Shiloh said.

Junie folded her hands. “But you can do it silently,” she whispered. “Like at daycare.”

“I’m good,” Cary said.

The kids both ate their soup by dipping bread into it. Cary seemed hesitant about the soup—but he was eating it. His hat was

hanging from the back of his chair.

Shiloh’s mom asked Cary more questions about Lois. He told them about the surgeries and the rehab center. Shiloh’s mom knew

someone who worked there.

Shiloh watched him talk. She was distracted by his bare arms— she hadn’t seen Cary’s forearms for fourteen years. (She hadn’t gotten a good look at them that night in her bedroom.) They were less wiry than she remembered. More substantial. Lined. Tan. His elbows were still knotty and chapped-looking. She felt almost painfully fond of his elbows. Like she might cry if she kept looking at them.

Shiloh buttered a roll for Cary when he didn’t take one for himself. She went to the kitchen to get the melon.

Gus was in a good mood, thankfully. He was usually in a good mood at dinner. He ate the butter off his roll and asked for

more. Shiloh obliged him. The kids didn’t get dessert on weeknights, so she let them eat as much as they wanted at dinner.

Watching her kids eat was one of the happiest parts of Shiloh’s day. That was probably biology working on her again. Her entire

personality was dictated by hormones.

“This soup is great,” Cary said. He’d eaten most of his bowl.

“Thanks,” she said. “There’s more if you want it.”

“I’d take more.”

“I’ll get it!” Junie said.

“I’ll get it,” Shiloh said, standing up and reaching for Cary’s dish.

“Want soup,” Gus said. “Gus wants soup.”

“Gus has soup.” Maybe Shiloh shouldn’t talk about Gus in the third person—was that reinforcing the problem?

Shiloh set another big bowl full of soup in front of Cary. He knocked his shoulder against her hip. “Thanks.”

She touched his shoulder. “You’re welcome.” When Shiloh looked up, her mom was watching.

After dinner, Shiloh tried to get the kids to watch a video so she and Cary could talk. But Junie wanted to play a game—and

she wanted Cary to play, too.

They ended up playing Chutes and Ladders while Shiloh’s mom washed the dishes. (She didn’t usually offer.)

Cary was quiet during the game. He let Junie run the show. Shiloh also usually let Junie run the show. Shiloh was an expert in playing Chutes and Ladders or dolls or even reading bedtime stories with one part of her brain, while another part of her brain whirred away on whatever was weighing on her at the moment...

Tonight it was Cary. As the game went on, Shiloh felt more and more regret about inviting him over and then making it hard

for him to say no.

This wasn’t a reasonable way to ask Cary to spend his time in Omaha—when he was so worried about his mother. Shiloh wasn’t

comforting him. Or supporting him. She was dragging him along on her single-parent marathon.

At eight o’clock, it was time to get the kids ready for bed. Junie made a big production out of saying good night to Cary,

but she went upstairs without a fight.

“I’ll get Gus rolling,” Shiloh’s mom said.

“No,” Gus said. “Not tired. Not go to bed. No.” He was already working himself into tears.

Shiloh’s mom lifted him up and headed up the stairs.

“Grandma, no, you not know what Gus wants.”

“That’s for damn sure,” her mom said.

Cary started packing up the board game.

Shiloh touched his forearm. “This was dumb of me.” She pulled her hand back. “I don’t know what I was trying to prove.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were right to consider whether I had the kids tonight. I can’t actually be a good friend and a good mom at the same time.

Concurrently. On a weeknight. And you have enough on your mind... I should have seen that this would end up with you entertaining

my kids. That we wouldn’t have a chance to talk.”

Cary peered up at her. “I didn’t expect you to ignore your kids while I was here.”

“I was wrong,” she said.

He smiled a little, going back to putting away the game.

“What?” Shiloh asked. “Why are you smiling?”

“I’m thinking that it’s still weird hearing you admit that you’re wrong about something... And I’m also thinking that you

weren’t wrong, necessarily.” He looked up at her. “I’m glad I came over. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in months—it’s probably

been a year since I’ve had a home-cooked meal cooked by someone other than me.” He put the lid on the Chutes and Ladders box.

“Now I know that I like split pea soup, I already knew I liked you and your kids... This was better than sitting alone

in my hotel room. Or eating by myself at some Omaha restaurant that isn’t as good as I remember.”

She shifted her lips into one cheek. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“All that said...” Cary glanced away. He sighed and scrubbed his hand through his hair, then looked back at her. “Do you

want me to go now? Or can I stay and talk?”

She smiled. “You can stay and talk. I have to do bedtime though. It’ll be half an hour.”

“Can I have that beer?”

Shiloh was smiling too much, too big. She was glad her mom was upstairs. “Yes.”

“I’m going to check my email,” he said.

Shiloh got him a can of beer. She wasn’t much of a drinker, not since her first pregnancy. But her mom drank red wine and

Coors Light, so there was usually some in the fridge.

When Shiloh got upstairs, her mom had Gus’s face washed and his pajamas on. The kids only took baths every couple nights or

so.

“Did Cary leave?” her mom asked.

“No,” Shiloh said. “We’re going to talk awhile.”

“Nice. Very platonic.”

“It’s not like that.”

Her mom frowned at her. “It should be. You need to aim for the pins when it’s your turn to bowl.”

“Uh... yeah,” Shiloh said. “Well. I’ve taken my shot. And look, I have two little pins who are ready for bed. Say good night to Grandma, Gus-Gus.”

“No. Gus-Gus not go to bed.”

It took longer than a half hour.

Shiloh’s strategy as a single parent was to negotiate as little as possible—over food, sleep, television.

But Ryan was much more malleable, and the kids were constantly pushing at Shiloh’s boundaries, looking for a tear in the fence.

Gus seemed to sense that Shiloh wasn’t going to let him escalate to a full-blown tantrum with Cary downstairs. He pushed for

an extra story, and Shiloh ended up lying in his bed, listening to him complain, until he complained himself to sleep.

When she finally went back downstairs, Cary was sitting on the couch. He had one leg bent, his ankle on his knee. His cap

was resting on his other knee. His head was leaning back, and his eyes were closed. He was still holding the beer.

Shiloh hit a creaky stair, and he looked up. She waved at him. He sat up a little and waved back.

Shiloh sat down on the couch next to him. “You tired?”

“Still jet-lagged, believe it or not.”

“I’ve never been jet-lagged.”

“We need to get you out of Omaha.”

Shiloh shrugged.

“I need to see Mikey’s kid while I’m here,” Cary said. “What’s his name?”

“Otis. And I’m sure Mike will understand if you don’t make it over.”

“I want to, though. And I can’t sit in my mom’s hospital room twenty-four hours a day. I can’t stand being there when Jackie

and her husband, Don, are there—but I can’t exactly forbid them from visiting. They’re there every night.”

Shiloh brought her feet up onto the couch, folding her legs and facing Cary. “Well, Otis is cute—fat, bald, no teeth—you won’t regret meeting him.”

Cary smiled. “I heard you’ve been hanging out with Mikey and Janine...”

“A little.”

“ Good. ” Cary rearranged his hat on his knee, looking down at it. His smile faded into something more thoughtful. “Your ex-husband

seems like... a handful.”

Shiloh laughed, a genuine laugh. “Oh, he is that. Definitely. But I’m not going to say terrible things about him, because

it just makes me look stupid.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No. You’re fine. And you’re correct. He’s a lot. He’s a high school drama teacher.”

Cary laughed and looked up at her with his head still tipped down. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn. Those kids got it from both directions.”

Shiloh laughed and kicked him—she was wearing socks. Cary’s hand immediately settled on her ankle.

He turned his head to her. “Did you meet in some production?”

“Yep. In college. A Midsummer Night’s Dream .”

“What’d you play?”

“I was a tree.”

“Was he Puck?”

“Shut up.”

Cary laughed into his beer. “That’s a yes.” He lifted the can up to get the last of it.

“Do you want another beer?”

“No.” He set the can aside. He started rubbing Shiloh’s ankle.

“Why didn’t you get married?” she asked.

Cary shrugged. “Just never got there.”

“Did you ever come close?”

He looked at her for a long beat, like he was deciding whether to answer. “Yeah,” he said.

“What happened?”

“We didn’t get married.”

Shiloh tilted her head, like maybe she could figure out the rest of the story just by squinting at him.

“I’m not great at it,” he said.

“At what?”

“Um... relationships? I guess?”

“Does that mean you don’t have them?”

“No, I have them. And then... I don’t. Because I’m not great at them.”

Shiloh wanted to argue, but she didn’t have any ammunition for it. “Well,” she said. “Me neither. Obviously.”

“I don’t know,” Cary said, “you made it past the finish line.”

“No, I made it past the starting line.” Shiloh laughed.

Cary bounced his eyebrows. “See? What do I know.”

She folded her arms. She felt relaxed. She was smiling.

Cary rubbed her ankle. “Are you going to tell me about your divorce?”

“Maybe someday.”

He looked in her eyes. Waiting.

“It wasn’t my finest hour,” she said.

“I wouldn’t figure.”

Shiloh’s smile felt tight. She dropped her eyes to Cary’s hand on her ankle.

“It’s my own fault,” he said after a while.

She looked up. “What?”

“That I’m not in a relationship.”

Shiloh waited to see if he wanted to say more.

“I shut down,” he said. “And I have to be in control. And I’m never interested in the sort of women who put up with it.”

Shiloh hummed faintly, acknowledging him. She knew she was giving him a soft look.

Cary pinched her Achilles tendon. He cupped her heel. He wrapped his hand around the bottom of her foot and pressed his thumb

up along the arch.

“I think those are things you can change,” she said.

“Nobody changes that much.”

Neither of them felt like talking after that. Cary sat on the couch, holding Shiloh by the ankle. Shiloh rested her head on

the couch and watched his hand.