I'm Your Man
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He nodded several times. “She’s fun.”
“Exactly. Let me give her a call and see if she’s free. The woman has a busy calendar.” Maureen went into her bedroom and shut the door. She leaned against it for a few seconds, forcing herself to relax. It wasn’t a matter of coming out the winner over Daniel, although that was a nice side benefit, but of her not backing down from what she wanted. She’d stood up for herself. She didn’t consider herself a weak woman, but, with the exception of at her job, she tended to go along with what anyone else wanted to do, in order to keep peace. She liked peace. She liked order. The one time she hadn’t been the model of responsibility had resulted in her becoming pregnant and a single mother at seventeen.
But this time the stakes were too high to give in to Ted or Daniel. She needed Riley and Jess in her life. So, she’d stood up for herself.
And it felt pretty darn good.
MAUREEN SAW RILEY spot Cherie coming into the PeaceLove Caf'e. He was kneeling on a chair at the table and started waving both arms to get her attention. They had seen each other several times through the years, and occasionally Cherie would talk with him over the computer camera. Now Riley would have a chance to really get to know her well, too. Thank you, Jess.
“There you are!” Cherie called, waving off the hostess, then heading toward them. She greeted at least a half-dozen guests as she made her way through the funky restaurant, a throwback to the old flower-power days complete with psychedelic art on the walls and the servers wearing beads, headbands and long, flowing outfits.
Daniel stood and held a chair for Cherie, but first she went around the table, giving hugs and kisses. She included Daniel before she sat down, as if they were old friends.
“You don’t quite fit the picture I had of you in my head,” she said to Daniel after ordering a glass of white zinfandel.
“Which was?”
“I was thinking, Dr. Cregg, professor of English. Tweed jackets and a pipe. A bow tie, maybe, receding hair line. And a certain tone.”
“What kind of tone?”
“A sort of lofty use of language, with a Bostonian accent, even if he came from Baton Rouge.”
He laughed. “I’ve met those professors. They were my inspirations to be the opposite.”
“A worthy goal.” She leaned toward Maureen. “So, adorable girl, what’s going on?”
Maureen summed up the events in an upbeat manner as Riley used the restaurant-supplied crayons to draw on their butcher-paper tablecloth.
“Will you take me to the ’ramics place, Auntie Cherie? I want to make my mom an I-Love-You plate for when she comes back to get me,” he said, lifting his head finally.
“That’s a date, young man.”
His smile lit up his entire face and got even wider somehow when she picked up a crayon and started drawing with him. Forehead to forehead, they chattered like old friends.
Daniel was uncharacteristically quiet.
“You must be tired,” Maureen said to him.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. A little. How is it you can get jet lag without leaving the time zone?”
“It’s just your body letting down from the stress of travel,” Cherie said. “A good night’s sleep and you’ll be right as rain.”
“I wonder how good my nights are going to be,” he said. “My new roomie, Ty, gets off work at nine. I think his night is just beginning at that point. Should be interesting. Think I’ll be bunkin’ with you, Master Riley, when you na—rest in the afternoon.”
Riley frowned. “Grandma doesn’t have bunk beds, Papa.”
Daniel grinned. “It’s an expression, bud. It means lying down to rest.”
“Maybe you’d like to help me one day when I deliver meals,” Cherie said.
“Do you have a motorcycle? Our pizza guy has a motorcycle.”
“Wouldn’t that be fun? Alas, I don’t even have a driver’s license, so they give me a driver. He waits in the car while I take the dinners inside to people who can’t fix a meal for themselves.”
“Why can’t they?” He’d abandoned his artwork to listen to her.
“Mostly because they’re old. Like me.”
He giggled. “You’re not old.”
“Well. Isn’t that nice?” She beamed. “Do you think you’d like to help me out sometime? Your grandma helps on Saturdays. They’d love to see that sweet smile of yours, I can tell you that.”
“Sure. I can, can’t I, Papa?”
Maureen took a quick swig of her wine, hiding her hurt that Riley had asked Daniel for permission instead of her. He was staying with her.
“That’s up to your grandma,” Daniel said. “She’s the boss now.”
“Can I, Grandma?”
“Of course.” She caught Cherie looking intently at her.
“I hafta go to the bathroom.”
“Okay, bud.” Daniel stood. “Let’s go.”
“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Cherie asked the second they were alone.
“I wish Daniel weren’t here. Frankly, I want Riley to myself.”
“Well, I can see your jealousy, Maureen, and Riley’s going to pick up on that, too. You’ve got Riley. Let go of the old hurt, and everyone will be happier.”
“I’m trying.”
“Building a relationship takes time.”
“I know.” Maureen rubbed her forehead. “I do know. He calls Daniel Papa.” She put a hand to her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, to sound belligerent about it.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Daniel has a nickname, Papa. Riley calls me Grandma. Nothing special.”
Cherie sat back, holding her wineglass, swirling the contents. “Papa is probably the most common variation on Grandpa. It’s those double-repeat syllables that babies learn so much easier—mama, dada, papa. He was there every day with Riley. Aren’t you being overly sensitive?”