Emotional Turmoil

She had let Caden wear his soccer gear to dinner in order to prevent a meltdown. So her son was trying to walk on a parking lot in cleats while swatting at her because she kept trying to hold his hand, hissing, ‘Caden, there are cars! Hold my hand!’. Corinne managed to break loose of her mother’s grasp and do a series of wild twirls while Bella was getting hold of Caden.

By the time Bella reached the door of the restaurant, gripping both kids by the wrist and giving the tight smile known by mothers everywhere as a signal they’d better behave, she felt disheveled, out of control, and anxious.

There was Harvey with a big half circle booth staked out, a basket of chips and salsa awaiting them and glasses of milk for the children. All Bella wanted to do was cram her whole head into a fishbowl margarita. Instead, she straightened her posture and pasted on a smile. All she had to do was make sure dinner went smoothly, and the kids behaved decently, and Harvey didn’t mention that he was their father. No big deal, right?

“I want rice,” Corinne announced when presented with a kiddie menu.

“I’m sure they have Spanish rice,” Bella said with forced cheerfulness.

“No. I want my rice. The white stuff. The kind I have at Mr. Yen’s where they put the soil sauce on the side.”

“Soy sauce,” Bella corrected, “They don’t have that here. They have burritos and enchiladas—they’re like rolled up sandwiches with spicy chicken and melted cheese inside.”

“I don’t like hot stuff!” Caden said, his eyes welling up in distress.

“We will get you one that isn’t spicy, or maybe just some plain chicken. Do you want cheese?” she asked him gently.

Bella cuddled him close to her side while praying silently that he wouldn’t start screaming. He’d had school and practice and no time to play and relax and decompress. Caden was the sensitive twin, the one who got upset over seemingly nothing if he was tired or overwhelmed. Like if, say, his chicken was spicy or they didn’t have food he was used to. She held the menu up and read part of it to him softly while Corinne announced that she needed ice and a straw if she was expected to drink ‘regular’ milk without chocolate in it.

Bella was on edge, wondering what Harvey thought of their behavior. He probably expected them to sit quietly and say please and thank you and eat whatever was put in front of them. He had no way of knowing that children had opinions and personalities and they weren’t robots. That eating with kids was a negotiation more than anything.

“Who wants a chip?” Harvey said.

“Who are you?” Corinne said flatly.

“This is Mommy’s old friend, remember? I told you in the car that we were meeting him for dinner because he was so excited to meet you two.”

“You also said we’d get ice cream if we were good. How good do we have to be?” Corinne demanded, and color flooded Bella’s face. She heard Harvey snort with amusement.

“You might try not negotiating at the dinner table. Less likely to get your way. Just be extra polite, don’t complain, and you’ll probably get the ice cream. Just a piece of advice,” he said.

“What about pie?” Caden said. “Because I want pie.”

“I don’t think pie is an option for dinner. How about you eat your chicken and drink your milk and see how it goes? I’ll see about applesauce,” she said.

“Applesauce is not pie,” Caden protested. “It’s like goo.”

“Not ‘goo’. Babies say goo like goo goo. It’s ‘goop’ like goopy disgusting glue,” Corinne corrected him loftily. Harvey looked amused.

“Let’s order, shall we?” she said brightly, “We need a kid’s menu chicken enchilada with plain chicken, no spices, with applesauce on the side. She’ll have the macaroni and cheese with carrot sticks, and I’d like a vegetarian enchilada, please.”

“And to drink, señora?”

“It’s señorita,” she said with a tight smile, “And I’ll just have water.”

“You know you want a margarita,” Harvey said teasingly, and she nearly shot him a furious look. She stopped herself just in time, smiled sweetly.

“No, I’m perfectly happy with a glass of water, thanks.”

“Right, I’ll have the double cheese quesadillas, an order of rice for the girl to try, and an order of guac for the table.”

“To drink?”

“Just water,” he said.

Bella resisted the urge to tell him that those children were not going to try anything mushy and green like guacamole. She just tucked the tag on Corinne’s shirt back into the collar and pulled crayons and a notepad from her purse in time to derail a climbing expedition born of boredom. She caught Caden just as he was halfway over the back of the booth and deposited him in her lap, putting a green crayon in his hand. He swiftly fell to drawing cars and let Corinne dominate the conversation as usual.

“I don’t want to try that rice. I told you that. I only like the rice from Mr. Yen’s. They make it the right way.”