The Nanny, the Husband, and the Woman They Forgot I Was novel · Chapter 29 of 32

Chapter 29: The Date

The whole room waited.

Rosie, on my hip, reached for the paper cup.

"I'm a lawyer," I said. "I'd like to see the terms."

"Saturday," Cliff said. "Seven o'clock. A place in Los Altos with tablecloths. I'll wear the jacket."

"The tight one?"

"I bought my own."

"Who's the babysitter?"

Behind him, the twins' mom raised her hand.

Then the young mom raised hers.

Then the chemistry teacher.

"There was a separate vote," the midwife said, consulting her clipboard. "It was contested."

"Who won?"

The door at the back of the room opened.

Vivian walked in, in her black suit, in a library community room, on a Tuesday.

Every new parent in the circle turned to stare at her.

"I won," she said. "I've never held one overnight. I'd like to try it before I die."

I laughed so hard Rosie laughed with me.

"Yes," I told Cliff. "Yes, to dinner."

The room cheered.

Cliff smiled.

"Your decaf," he said, and finally handed me the cup.

On Saturday at five, I dropped Rosie at Vivian's apartment on Russian Hill.

Vivian had bought a crib.

It was still in its box in the middle of her white living room.

"I assumed it assembles itself," she said.

"It does not."

"Then she'll sleep in the bouncer. I've seen her do it." She held out her arms, stiff as a forklift. "Give."

I gave.

Rosie looked up at Vivian's face for a long, serious moment.

Then she grabbed the reading glasses off her head and put them in her mouth.

"Fine," Vivian said. "We have an understanding."

"Her bedtime's seven-thirty. There's milk in the bag. She likes a song."

"I don't know any songs."

"Any song."

Vivian thought about it.

"I know the California Family Code," she said.

"Perfect. She'll be asleep in four minutes."

The restaurant in Los Altos had white tablecloths and candles and a waiter who called me madam.

Cliff was already at the table.

He stood up when I came in.

He was wearing a dark gray jacket that fit, and a white shirt, and he'd trimmed his beard.

He stood there a little stiffly, clearly unaccustomed to the jacket.

"You look," he said, and stopped.

"Finish the sentence. I'm a lawyer. I need the full sentence."

"You look like you're not going to get spit-up on that dress."

"That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a year."

"I know. I practiced."

We ordered too much food.

We talked about everything except Blake.

He told me about the first apartment he shared with Ponytail, which had a raccoon living in the oven.

I told him about the summer I worked at a law firm in New York and fell asleep in a partner's office under his desk.

"Did he find you?"

"He stepped on my hand. I said, 'Objection.' He made me a second-year."

Cliff laughed so hard the people at the next table turned around.

He asked what I wanted the practice to be.

I told him about the woman with the engineering degree in the group, and the doctor who'd stopped practicing, and the notes I'd been keeping on my phone for months.

He listened the way he listened to orders at the window, all the way to the end, without interrupting.

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