14. Cole
Every month,Archie’s pre-K holds an optional event, a field trip of sorts, where the kids get to pile onto a bus and go somewhere interesting. I always make sure Archie is signed up for it—some enrichment is good for the kid, and I want to give him the chance to make friends.
Last month, they went to the Natural History Museum, and the time before that, the aquarium. This time around, the trip is outside of the city, to a petting zoo upstate.
Parents are encouraged to accompany their children on the trips, but I’m usually too busy to go. They fall on Fridays, which are some of my busiest days of the week, so I’m always stuck in the office waiting to hear about Archie’s adventures at the end of my day.
But when the petting zoo trip rolls around, I decide to bite the bullet and go. I take a bit of time off of work, telling myself that I’ll make up for it by working from home tomorrow, and join the gaggle of five-year-olds and their teachers on a bus headed out of the city.
Riley comes with us, too. She sits across the aisle from me, looking out of the window. Every once in a while, I glance over at her and catch her looking at me. Each time, we force our gazes apart, back at the rolling neighborhoods outside of the windows.
The drive to the petting zoo is about half an hour long, and when we arrive, we’re hit by a wave of animal smells. Some of the kids spend a few minutes dancing around, holding their noses and complaining about the stench.
Archie doesn’t seem to mind. He’s first in line to get into the petting zoo, and once inside, he runs straight over to a pen full of goats.
“Riley!” he calls, waving over to her. “Come see!”
Indulgently, Riley follows Archie to the goats. She stands next to him as he holds out a plastic cup filled with food pellets. The goats swarm him, greedily gulping down the pellets and then licking his arms with long, pink tongues.
He giggles, tickled, and scratches the creatures behind the ears. Riley crouches down next to him. “Do you like these guys?” she asks.
“They’re funny,” Archie says. “Their eyes are weird!”
Riley looks one of the goats in the eye. “Do you think I could win a staring contest with this fella?”
“No way!”
She gives it a shot, holding her eyes comically wide as she holds the goat’s horizontal-pupiled stare.
The goat stares at her placidly. She stares back, but I can tell that she’s beginning to falter. Eventually, she gives in, blinking. She sighs melodramatically and throws her arms up.
“I can’t believe I lost to a goat!”
That does it for Archie; he breaks into immediate hysterics. Riley smiles at him, ruffling his hair.
I’m enraptured, watching the two of them. I like the way she interacts with him—she meets him at his level, but she’s never condescending or patronizing. And Archie adores her.
“Daddy!”
Archie’s voice grabs my attention. He runs up to me, pointing over to a pretzel cart a few hundred yards down the path.
“Can I get a pretzel?” he asks, blinking huge eyes at me.
“Of course.” I reach into my pocket to fish out my wallet, handing Archie a ten-dollar bill. “Make sure Riley goes with you, okay?”
“Okay!” He skips cheerfully back over to Riley, grabbing her hand. She leads him over to the snack cart, swinging both of their arms and listening to him prattle on about the goats.
I stand next to the goat pen, watching them leave. One of the animals comes up beside me, ears flicking back and forth. It nuzzles into my hand, and I give it a reluctant pat on the back.
While I’m petting the goat, bits and pieces of conversation drift through the pen. There’s a gaggle of young mothers gathered several feet from me while their kids run around with the goats. Their heads are bent together as if their gossip is clandestine, but their voices are loud enough to carry.
“—and that jacket. It’s not even last season. It’s…”
“It looks like she got it from Walmart.”
A chorus of nasty giggles erupts among them, then one of them, a blonde woman with her hair in a high ponytail, says, “Honestly, it’s bad enough that she’s even here at all.”
“True,” says another. “I mean, if he’s here, why does she need to be?”
“She’s trying too hard.”
There are murmurs of agreement. The blonde woman sniffs and says, “It’s like she’s trying to be his mother, or something. She should know her place—she’s just the nanny.”
A flash of anger goes through me as I realize suddenly that they’re talking about Riley. Their heads are all turned toward her and Archie, watching as she bends down to hand him a salt-coated soft pretzel. There’s disdain in their expressions—maybe even hatred.
Heat kindles in my chest, a very different heat than the kind that stirs between me and Riley. This heat comes from rage.
Before I’m even consciously aware of what I’m doing, I find myself marching toward the group of mothers. I clear my throat a few feet away from them, and a few of them jump, startled.
“Excuse me,” I say in a low voice. “I can’t help but notice that none of you are minding your own business at the moment.”
There’s a pause in which all of the mothers exchange nervous, uncertain glances. Eventually, the blonde woman steels herself to speak to me.
“Oh—hi, Cole,” she says, over-familiar and sycophantic. “We were just noticing that—”
“Maybe,” I interrupt, “you should have been spending your time paying attention to your own children, rather than Riley and Archie.”
The blonde, who seems to have taken up the mantle of speaking for the group, purses her lips. “It was out of concern,” she tells me. Another flare of anger lights in my chest at her patronizing tone.
My teeth are gritted as I respond, “I think it might have been more out of jealousy, to be honest with you.”
Her eyes go wide, then narrow. “What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Well, while the four of you are grouped up over here gossiping, your kids are having a great time without you,” I point out. “Meanwhile, Riley is having fun with Archie. It seems to me that the group of you might be bitter that she’s closer with my child than you are with yours.”
The blonde woman hesitates. All of the mothers’ gazes dart from Archie, who is offering Riley a torn-up piece of pretzel, to their own children. One little boy with the same platinum-blonde hair as his mother is sitting on the ground, covered in dirt, while a goat licks the back of his head.
They all seem a bit cowed at that, and embarrassed, looking at the ground. The blonde starts to stammer out a response, but eventually quails under my glare. She huffs and stomps away, with the rest of the group following in her wake.
Just in time, too, because Riley and Archie are returning from the snack cart. Archie is clutching his pretzel, which he holds up to me.
“Want some?”
“No thanks, buddy,” I say.
Riley’s smile diminishes as she meets my gaze, concern on her face—she must have noticed something in my expression. “Are you okay?”
“Of course,” I say, managing a smile. It actually comes pretty easily. The sight of the two of them running along the asphalt path, both beaming and giggling, brought it out.
Her eyebrows shoot up; for a moment, she looks taken aback. Then she gets her wits back about her and grins. “Wow. I didn’t know you knew how to smile.”
I pretend to scowl at that, but I find that it’s actually more difficult to force a frown than a smile. I can’t hide my expression, no matter how hard I try.
“Come on,” I say, laying a hand on Archie’s shoulder. “There are a lot of animals left that need to be petted. Let’s get going.”
The three of us make our way through the zoo, moving steadily away from the rest of Archie’s class. Archie prefers to take his time with his favorite animals, while the other kids are eager to move along and see whatever’s next.
None of the kids stick around while he lingers with a treasured Shetland pony, a stocky, fluffy brown thing with a velvety white nose. He also spends a long time with a funny-looking, one-eared sheep that has won his affections. I don’t want to rush him, and neither, it seems, does Riley.
Eventually, we find our way to the end of the petting zoo. Archie has formed a list of his new friends, and is rattling them off on his fingers as we approach the buses.
I pause, frowning at the buses, and glance at Riley. “What do you say we let them go on ahead of us, and we go get an early dinner around here?” I suggest. “I don’t feel like riding back on the bus.”
Partially, it’s because I don’t want to be crammed into close quarters with those women again, listening to their bullshit while they turn their noses up at Riley. But it’s also out of a desire to spend more time out with Riley and Archie.
For whatever reason, I can’t stop smiling. I’m in better spirits than I’ve been in for a long, long time, and I want to keep it going.
Riley’s face lights up at the suggestion, and she nods. “That sounds great.”
“What do you think, kiddo?” I glance down at Archie. “We’re going out to eat.”
“Yay!” He gives a little bounce, which I take as an agreement.
I approach one of the buses, giving the driver a wave. “You can go on without us,” I say. “We’re going to head home separately.”
The driver gives me a curious look, but nods. The two buses take off, peeling out of the parking lot in the direction of the city. I walk back to Riley and Archie, pulling out my phone as I do so to send for a car.
“Anyone got any suggestions for food?” I ask them.
“I’m pretty hungry,” Archie says solemnly. “It’s been a long time since I ate the pretzel.”
“It sure has,” Riley agrees, smiling fondly down at him. She looks back up at me. “What about something simple? Burgers and shakes?”
It’s been a long time since I had a meal as down-to-earth as a burger and a milkshake. There’s something charming about the idea, though, so I nod in agreement. “Burgers it is.”
We wait in the park across the street from the petting zoo while my driver brings a car up from Manhattan. It takes around half an hour, during which Archie tires himself out climbing on trees and Riley and I sit on a bench, talking.
Even though we live in the same house, I don’t usually get the chance to have a one-on-one conversation with Riley like this. Sure, we talk at night after Archie goes to bed, but that’s usually in the context of her job—she tells me about Archie’s day, and about anything I should be worried about.
Now, though, as we watch him run through the trees, our conversation is a little more personal. She tells me about growing up in foster care, and how her experience informed her path through education.
“So that was the goal of the social work?” I ask, after she tells me about her degree program.
She nods. “I wanted to help kids like me—and like Noah.” She gives a little sigh, then continues, “It’s a tough world out there. Things don’t always turn out right, and kids are especially vulnerable.”
There’s a note of regret in her voice that I can’t help but notice. I want to ask her what that’s about, but I’m having trouble finding a tactful way to voice it, so we sit in companionable silence while I give it a shot.
Eventually, I give up, settling for a safer comment. “That’s very selfless of you.”
She looks at the ground, a flush of red creeping into her cheeks. “Well, I don’t know about that. There are plenty of people doing more.”
“Still—you devoted a lot of your life to this. It’s admirable to want to help people.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to glance at the screen. It’s my driver, letting me know that he’s arrived. I look over my shoulder and see the sleek, black SUV idling by the curb.
“That’s us,” I say, rising to my feet. I lift my voice to reach Archie. “Our ride’s here, bud!”
Archie darts over to us, and together, we head to the car.
It’s a short drive to the nearest restaurant, a humble place that feels like it was lifted from a simpler time. As we step through the door, we’re hit by a rush of warm air that smells like French fries. There’s an old-fashioned jukebox pushed against one wall, and a classic rock tune plays quietly over the speakers.
The restaurant is almost at capacity, but it doesn’t take long for us to get a table, a booth by a back window. Riley and I each order burgers, and I ask for a kid’s meal for Archie—a cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake.
While we wait for the food to arrive, Archie talks non-stop about the petting zoo.
“I think my favorite was Ralphie,” he says with a thoughtful air.
“Which one was Ralphie?” I ask.
“I think Ralphie was the sheep,” says Riley, earning a nod of confirmation from Archie.
“What did we like about Ralphie?”
Archie gestures to his ears. “He only had one ear. He was different from the other sheep.” He pouts down at the table. “I think the other sheep are mean to him about it.”
Riley meets my gaze, her eyes brimming with laughter. She glances back at Archie. “How are they mean to him?”
“I think that they make fun of him,” says Archie. “I don’t know, though, ’cause I don’t speak sheep.”
At that, Riley is unable to hold her laughter in anymore; she chuckles lightly, and I find myself almost laughing along with her.
“I’m sure they don’t make fun of him,” I tell Archie, trying to cheer him up. “Sheep don’t care about little things like that.”
“How do you know?”
There’s a teasing glint in Riley’s eye as she says, “I’m pretty sure he was chatting with the animals while we went to go get your pretzel. They probably gave him all the gossip.”
Archie gapes at me, shocked. “You were?”
I think back to the goat pen, then sigh. “That’s right. I sure was.” That seems to delight Archie, so I add, “They all keep up with each other, you know. News travels fast in a place like that, so the goats know everything that’s happening in the sheep pen.”
There’s a look of wonder on Archie’s face; I’m sure that he’s cooking up something in his five-year-old imagination that will start to appear in Riley’s bedtime stories.
I catch her eye across the table, and see my own fondness mirrored in her expression. She also seems pleased that I played along.
“I can’t speak to the animals,” Archie says, miffed.
“Your dad probably learned how to do that in college,” Riley ad-libs. I’m impressed by her quick responses.
The waiter saves me from having to explain which elective taught me how to talk to goats, arriving with his arms full of plates. I notice that Riley jumps to help him, taking two plates in each of her hands immediately. She worked in a restaurant before she came to work for me, I remember; she must know exactly how hard it can be.
For a little while, things are quiet at our table as everyone digs in, hungry after a long day at the petting zoo.
“Mhm, this burger tastes like heaven,” I say to get the ball rolling before leaning over to Archie and asking, “How’s yours buddy?”
Archie ignores me, an obvious mixture of hungry and tired that has left him incapable of doing anything but scarfing down food. Riley leans forward to meet Archie’s eye level and tells him, “Hey, hey. Slow down, kiddo. The food’s not going anywhere.”
“Sowwy,” he sputters through a full mouth, causing us both to laugh.
“And don’t talk with your mouth full,” she says, even though she’s grinning in obvious amusement.
“You sure have a way with kids,” I say, unable to keep my gaze off the two of them as they interact.
“You have a way of making me feel like I’m still being interviewed,” she retorts. Suddenly, I’m aware of how stiff I’ve been holding my body, the inquisitive scowl affixed to my face. I wasn’t doing these things on purpose, but they were clearly making her uncomfortable, at least a little.
And that’s not what I want. That feeling at the petting zoo, the lighter-than-air sensation that made it impossible to stop smiling—I want to hold onto that for as long as I can.
Maybe it can’t be forever. But as I look at Riley, her soft brown eyes gentle and teasing, I think to myself, It can definitely last for today.
I sit up comically straight and fold my hands in front of me on the table, leaning into my interview persona.
“So, what makes you think you’re qualified for this position?” I ask in an overly-serious tone.
“Which position?” she replies.
“This position,” I repeat, gesturing with my eyes to indicate that she should just go with it. “Why are you the best fit for this position?”
With break-neck speed she replies, “I’m just looking for the position where it will best fit.”
I almost spit out my water, shocked, and turn to look at Archie. He has continued eating, happily unaware of the inappropriate joke his nanny just spun.
She looks at Archie too, making sure that her joke sailed gracefully over his head. Then, when she’s sure that she stuck the landing, she laughs. I laugh too, and this time, all the tension genuinely drains from my body.
As we finish eating, I notice that my shoulders are relaxed. Archie is quiet now that there’s food in front of him, and the conversation between me and Riley flows easily from my college days to her years as a waitress.
She tells me about the job, pointing out different parts of the restaurant, which is apparently similar to the one she used to work at.
“Over there,” she says, nodding as a waitress disappears behind a section of wall, “that’s where the real magic happens. They probably put that wall there so that you can’t hear the servers yelling ‘corner’ when they head back.”
“Corner?” I repeat, mystified. “Why ‘corner’?”
“People are bustling around back there with plates full of hot food,” she explains. “So you have to shout to let them know you’re coming, or something might break.”
“Sounds stressful.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Says the investment banker. At least I never had millions of dollars of other people’s money in my hands.”
“Money isn’t hot,” I say, grinning. “And it’s not made of breakable ceramic, either.”
That gets a laugh out of her—exactly what I was hoping for.
Once we’re all done and waiting for the check, Riley slides out from the booth.
“Excuse me,” she says as she gets up, “I have to use the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.”
As she turns away, I can see a slight flush in her cheeks and wonder if my emotions are as obvious as hers—if she can read my face as easily.