Part 2 (1/2)
Suffice it to say that the quirk factor sharply increases as one moves along the spectrum from A to C. The only thing predictable about training with a Type C mother is that her pervasive insecurity forces everyone totakethelongestpossibleroutetogettinginsync.
I pushopentheheavygla.s.sdoorof thepatisserieandseeMrs. Xalreadyseated,goingover her ownlist.
She stands, revealing a lavender knee-length skirt, which perfectly matches the cardigan tied around her shoulders. No longer in her youthful white s.h.i.+ft, she looks older than she did in the park. Despite her girlish ponytail I'm guessing she's in her early forties. ”Hi, Nanny, thanks so much for meeting me early. Wouldyoulikesomecoffee?”
”That sounds perfect, thank you,” I say, taking a seat with my back to the wood-paneled wall and smoothingthedamasknapkinontomylap.
”Waiter,anothercafeau laitandcouldyoubringus abreadbasket?”
”Oh,youdon't needtodothat,” I say.
”Oh, no, it's the best. That way you can pick what you want.” The waiter brings over a Pierre Deux basketbr.i.m.m.i.n.g with breadsandlittlejarsof jam. I helpmyself to a brioche.
”They have the best pastry here,” she says, taking a croissant. ”Which reminds me, I prefer that Grayer stayawayfromrefinedflour.”
”Of course,”I mumble,mouthfull.
”Didyouhave aniceweekend?”
I quicklyswallow. ”Sarah. y bestfriendfromChapin. ada little farewell party last night before everyone goes back to school. Now it's just me and the California people. hohaveoff till October! Tell Grayer togotoStanford,”I laugh.
Shesmiles.
”So,why'd youtransferfromBrown?” sheasks,pulling oneclawoffhercroissant.
”They had a stronger child development program at NYU,” I reply, trying to tread lightly here, in case I'm talkingto a steadfastBrownalum, choosingnottomentionthehumanexcrement intheloungenext tomyroom, oranyother of themyriad of charminganecdotesI couldshare.
”I reallywantedtogotoBrown,”shesays.
”Oh?”
”But I won a scholars.h.i.+p to UConn.” She drops the croissant to play with the diamond heart dangling fromher necklace.
”That's great,” 1 say, trying toimagine a time whenshewouldhaveneeded ascholars.h.i.+p todoanything.
”Well, I'm fromConnecticut,so...”
”Oh!Connecticut'sbeautiful,”I say.
She glances down at her plate. ”Actually, it was New London so ... Well, after graduation I moved here torunGagosian. heartgallery.”Shesmiles again.
”Wow. hatmust havebeenamazing.”
”It was a lot of fun,” she says, nodding, ”but you can't really do it when you have a child. t's a full- time life,parties, trips, a lotof shmoozing, a lotof latenights?
A woman in dark Jackie O sungla.s.ses accidentally b.u.mps our table as she pa.s.ses, causing the china saucerstoteeterprecariouslyonthemarble.
”Binky?” Mrs. X asks,reachinguptotouchthewoman's arm asI steadythecups.
”Oh, my G.o.d. Hi, I didn't even see you there,”the woman says, lowering her dark gla.s.ses. Her eyes are swollen anddamp fromcry!ing. ”I'm sorryI couldn't come toGrayer's birthdayparty. Consuelasaidit wasfabulous.”
”I've beenmeaningtocall,” Mrs. Xsays. ”Is thereanythingI cando?”
”Not unless you know a hit man.” She pulls a handkerchief out of her Tod's purse and blows her nose. ”That lawyer Gina Zucker-man recommended couldn't help at all. It turns out all our a.s.sets are actually in Mark's company's name. He's getting the apartment, the yacht, the house in East Hampton. I'm getting four hundred thousand flat. hat's it.” Mrs. X swallows and Binky continues tearfully. ”And I have to supply complete receipts for every penny of child support spent. I mean, really.Am I supposed togetmyfacialsatBabyGap?”
”That's appalling.”
”Then the judge had the nerve to tell me to go back to work! He has no idea what it means to be a mom.”
”Noneof themdo,”Mrs. Xsays,tappingher listforemphasis,while I stareintentlyatmybrioche.
”If I had known he was going to go this far, I would have just turned a blind? Binky's voice breaks and she purses her glossy lips together to clear her throat. ”Well, I've gotta run. onsuela has another 'appointment' for her hip replacement.” She speaks with venom. ”I swear, it's the third one this month. I'm really losing patience with her. Anyway, great to see you.” She pushes her sungla.s.ses back into placeand,with anair kiss, disappearsthroughthecrowdawaitingtables.
”Well...” Mrs. X stares after her, her face locked briefly into a grimace before returning her attention to me. ”Well, let's just go over the week. I've typed this all up for you, so you can review it later. We'll walk over to school now, so Grayer can seeus together and get the sensethatI'm trusting you with him. That should relax him. He has a play date at one-thirty, so that'll give you just enough time to have lunchinthepark andyet not overwhelmhim. Then tomorrow you and Caitlin can both spend the afternoon with him, so you can get a sense of his routine and he can see the authority being shared between you. I'd appreciate it if you didn't discuss the transitionwith heratthis point.”
”Of course,”I say, trying toabsorb itall, thebrioches,thebriefing,Binky. ”Thankyouforbreakfast.”
”Oh, don't mention it.” She stands, pulling a blue folder that says ”Nanny” out of her Hermes bag and sliding it across the table. ”I'm so glad Tuesdays and Thursdays fit into your cla.s.s schedule. I think it'll be great for Grayer to have someone young and fun to play with.'m sure he gets tired of boring old Mom!”
”Grayer seemsgreat,” I say, recallinghis giggles inthepark.
”Well, hehas.h.i.+s littlethings,likeanykid,I suppose.”
I gather my bag, glancing down and noticing her lavender silk heels for the first time. ”G.o.d, those are beautiful!AretheyPrada?” Iask, recognizingthesilver buckle.
”Oh, thank you.” She turns her ankle. ”Yes, they are. You really like them?” I nod. ”You don't think they're too ... loud?”
”Oh,no,”I say, followingher outof thecafe.
”My best friend just had a baby and her feet went up a whole size. She let me pick out what I wanted, but I... I don't know.” She glances down at her shoes in consternation as we wait for the light. ”I guess I've justgottenusedtowearingflats.”
”No,they're great.You shoulddefinitely keepthem.”
Shesmiles, delighted,a.s.sheslidesonhersungla.s.ses.
Mrs. b.u.t.ters, Grayer's teacher, smiles at me and shakes my hand. ”It's a pleasure to meet you.” She looks down adoringly. ”You are going to love Grayer, he's a very special little boy.” She pats her corduroy ap.r.o.n dress, which fits loosely over her puffed-sleeve blouse. With her round,dimpled cheeks andplump, dimpledhandsshelooksmuchlike afour-year-oldherself.
”Hi,Grayer!” I say, smilingdownatthetop of his blondhead.He's wearing a littlewhite oxfordb.u.t.ton!down Polos.h.i.+rt, untuckedon oneside, containingthe evidence of a morninghard atwork: finger paint, whatlookslikeglue,andonelonemacaroni. ”Howwa.s.schooltoday?”
”Grayer, you remember Nanny? You two are going to have lunch at the playground!” his mother prompts him.
Heslumpsagainsther legandglares atme. ”Go away.”
”Honey, we can have snack together, but Mommy has an appointment.You two are going to have such a goodtime!Nowhop inyourstroller andNannywill give yousnack.”
As we approach the playground he and I both listen attentively to the long list of Grayer's Likes and Dislikes: ”He loves the slide, but the monkey bars bore him. Don't let him pick anything up off the ground. elikes todothat.Andpleasekeephimawayfromthedrinkingfountainbytheclock.”
”Urn, what should I do if he needs to use the bathroom? Where should he go?” I ask as we pa.s.s under thedustywoodenarchesof theSixty-sixth Streetplayground.
”Oh,anywhere.”