still funny now. But now Adam was forty-five, not twenty-five. Now, Adam was a father and an AP History teacher. He and Minnie had a twelve-year-old daughter, a thirteen-year-old marriage, a thirty-year mortgage. He and Minnie had met right as the nineties were dipping out and Y2K fears were slipping in and every time she thought about that picture, she felt like she’d missed out on something in his life before her. Caitriona had known Adam when he was a smoker, when he had beery breath, when he tied flannel shirts around his waist and listened to music, not just NPR. Caitriona had known Adam when they were both learning the lyrics to RENT, when Adam had played Roger in the local production. Caitriona had played Mimi. While Adam was living his superstar-laidback-local-theatre life, Minnie had been in school, getting her music degree with a cello emphasis.
Cat. Minnie hated when Adam called Caitriona Cat.
Minnie was cultured too. One of her cello teachers had called her a rare talent once and Minnie had almost wanted to get it printed on a sticker and slap it across her orange hard case.
* * *
Minnie felt mousey in the passenger seat. She glanced at Adam. He looked tired. They’d go home, pay the babysitter. Adam would have a small glass of whiskey and ice before taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes, falling asleep on the couch watching one of the West Coast baseball games while Minnie played her cello downstairs. She was angry with him and knew how ridiculous that was. She still wanted to have sex with him. Minnie’s stomach growled again.
“So, you’re on hunger strike because I get paid to kiss Cat every night? You think I don’t ever get jealous of you and Connor going all over the countryside together, playing at these romantic events like some kind of…sexual troubadours?” Adam asked, pushed his glasses up.
“Sexual troubadours? Really? Wow,” Minnie managed to say before laughing loudly.
“Absolutely, sexual troubadours. You and Connor drinking wine and rambling through the forest!”
Adam stopped at a red light and looked at her.
“Rambling through the forest? With a cello? Adam, for the love, give it a rest. Oh and don’t forget there are two other women with us…it’s a quartet!”
“More like a duet,” he said.
“Really? You think we, what, use a time machine and go back to the High Middle Ages every weekend?”
“Caitriona and I have been working together for years. You know her. I barely know anything about Connor.”
“You know plenty about him!”
“I know the guy plays the viola, that’s all.”
“He’s been to our house, you’ve met his wife.”
“I don’t taste Cat’s mouth when I kiss her,” he said as the light turned green.
“You’re exhausting,” Minnie said to him, before he could say it to her.
* * *
Adam paid the babysitter and did everything Minnie knew he would do. She went upstairs, changed into her pajamas, came down and sat on the other side of the couch, put her arm around Ivy who was nursing a small mug of chamomile like an old woman. Adam had the ballgame turned down low and sipped at his whiskey. Minnie had reheated last night’s ziti and cheese and finished it, standing in the kitchen. Adam had made himself a roast beef and cheddar cheese sandwich, the crusts bordering the small plate he’d balanced on the arm of the couch. Minnie looked at her phone, saw a text from Connor. A question about the new music. She put it down without responding.
“Daddy, who are you for?” Ivy asked. Her voice was sleepy. She sat on Minnie, snuggled up to her even tighter. They’d been attachment parents, Minnie slinging Ivy wherever they would go when she was a baby, breastfeeding her until she was two years old. Ivy had slept on Minnie exclusively until she was five months old. Because of that, Ivy tended to sit on Minnie or Adam, like she was hatching them. Minnie felt a bit guilty being overstimulated by it and made sure she set aside some time at night to let Ivy sit on her, knowing it wasn’t Ivy’s fault they’d raised her that way. Ivy especially loved perching on Minnie when she was sleepy.
“Tonight? Let’s go with the Rangers,” Adam said. He was a Cubs fan but they weren’t playing.
“I’m for the Angels,” Ivy said.
“Me too,” Minnie tacked on.
Adam looked at them, drank his whiskey.
“You should never root against angels, Daddy,” Ivy warned.
“Of course not,” Adam said, giving up too easily.
“Ivy, scoot off