Emotional Turmoil - Part 3 (Troubled Heart of the Billionaire)

by Sierra Rose

  Bella brushed Corinne’s baby blonde curls, trying to tame the flyaways and pull it into a ponytail even as silky hairs escaped her efforts. She wanted the children to look neat, clean, well-cared for. She wanted Harvey to have to acknowledge, even to himself, that she was a good mother and they had everything they needed. She even vowed to take a picture of him with them at their first meeting, to show that it was both an occasion and the beginning of their new life as a modern family. A family where mommy and daddy were fighting in court, probably, but a family just the same. And she wanted to hide in his arms, lay her head on his shoulder to weep out her fears and frustrations. He was the one she wanted to turn to in her distress.

  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.”

  “This rice is good. You’ll love it once you try it,” Harvey said. Corinne gave him a look of sincere pity, as if he had no idea how ignorant he was, and it was Bella’s turn to try not to laugh.

  “No, I won’t. It’ll make me gag, and then I won’t be able to eat,” Corinne said seriously.

  “Then you’d better eat your food,” Harvey said with a smile.

  “Then you’d better not try and get me to eat that rice,” Corinne returned every bit as stonily. It was almost eerie the way she sounded like him, matching his tone and speech pattern perfectly.

  The drinks and guacamole were placed on the table. Corinne recoiled instantly, pinching her nose shut and leaning back against the booth in an exaggerated fashion. She elbowed her brother who had been engrossed in his drawing. He noticed the guac, wrinkled his nose, and with a squeak of alarm, whipped his head around to look at his mother as if to demand if she were serious with this crap. She smiled encouragingly.

  “Do you want to taste it? It’s salty, not spicy. You can dip one corner of your chip in and try it,” Bella said.

  “No!” Caden said, “I don’t want it. It’s yucky! Where’s my applesauce?” His voice was climbing to a whine. He was tired. He was hungry. He didn’t want green goop for supper. She rocked him back and forth a little and rummaged in her purse for crackers. When she produced a cellophane sleeve of crackers she’d saved him from her salad a few days ago, Harvey cut in.

  “He can eat what’s on the table or he can wait,” he said firmly.

  “A few crackers won’t hurt,” she said.

  She opened the crackers and gave Caden one. He was instantly mollified and munched one cracker while clutching the other one. He looked at Harvey suspiciously. This man, he’d decided, was after his crackers. Bella didn’t blame the kid for being cranky. It was a tense situation for the adults who understood what was going on. To the kids, it was just supper in a weird restaurant with a stranger who had opinions on what they should eat.

  “I want crackers!” Corinne wailed, noticing that her brother had something she didn’t.

  “You can have a chip,” Bella said.

  “I don’t want one. I want a cracker.”

  “Your mac and cheese and carrot sticks will be here soon.”

  “Why can’t I have fries? If I can eat chips, why can’t I have fries? They are, l
ike, the very same thing,” Corinne said indignantly.

  “Fries are made of potatoes. Tortilla chips are made of corn,” Bella said, “So they’re not the very same thing.”

  “I only like cheesy chips. Other chips make me gag. And so does that smelly green goop. I can’t stand the smell. I wish they’d take it away.”

  “Enough, Corinne,” Bella said coolly and Corinne, by some miracle, shut up for a minute. Bella gulped her water, wishing it were something stronger.

  Harvey asked Caden about soccer. Caden continued to color. Harvey asked again. Bella nudged her son, whispered that it was polite to answer when someone asked you a question.

  “He’s a stranger,” Caden said solemnly.

  “No, he is my friend, Harvey. It is okay to talk to him.”

  “It’s not okay to take presents from him. Or candy. Or get in a car with him,” Corinne recited proudly. “We don’t go with anyone but Mommy or Maria. Sometimes the sitter, but Mommy always tells us first and always tells our teacher, that way we’re safe.”

  “Good policy,” Harvey said, “but I’m not trying to coerce you into a strange van.”

  “Don’t try and tell me you’ve lost a puppy and need help looking for it either because that’s just a trick. I am not getting in a car with you!” Corinne said triumphantly.

  The couple at the next table looked at Harvey, and he blushed.

  “I’m not trying to get her in a car,” Harvey laughed at the couple who then looked away.

  “She’s just a smart girl who knows how to take care of herself,” Bella said proudly, a little amused.

  The food came, and Harvey began to interrogate the children as she cut up Caden’s chicken. “So, do you know how to read?” he asked them. Corinne shook her head, her mouth full of macaroni and cheese. Caden ignored him.

  “How many goals have you made in soccer?” he asked Caden. When Bella elbowed the kid, Caden mumbled, “None.”

  “What about passing? Are you good at passing the ball? How’s your footwork?” Harvey asked. Harvey took a bite of his quesadilla and was quiet while he chewed.

  Caden pushed at his chicken and ate his applesauce out of sheer desperation. Corinne had better luck with the mac and cheese, but the carrots got no attention. Still, if they didn’t embarrass her any worse than this, they were getting ice cream. They hadn’t mentioned that mommy put on more deodorant in the car or that she told them they had to promise to be on their best behavior. So far, it was a win.

  She barely tasted her food, trying to think of something to say to Harvey. At last, she told him that Corinne knew all of her shapes.

  “All right, how many sides does an octagon have?”

  “Uh, that’s not a real shape.”

  “Sure it is. Stop signs are octagonal. How many sides? Mom said you know your shapes.”

  “Harvey, she knows the basic ones. Triangle, square, rectangle, circle, oval. Not the advanced ones. She’s five. It’s awesome that she knows so many shapes already.”

  “Mommy, do I not know all the shapes?” Corinne’s voice trembled, and Bella shifted Caden off her lap so she could put an arm around Corinne.

  “You know every single kindergarten shape. I bet oval is even a first-grade shape. Harvey here went to college. You’re not supposed to know college shapes yet. You’re a little girl.”

  “I want to know about the Octonauts!”

  “The show on Disney Junior?” Caden said, “I love Captain Barnacles! I know all about it.”

  “No, she means octagon,” Bella shook her head, took out a crayon and drew the shape for her daughter and helped her count the sides.

  “It has eight edges and eight vertices,” Harvey announced. Corinne’s face clouded again.

  “Dude, call them sides. She’s five,” Bella whispered.

  “Why do you keep saying that? I know she’s five.”

  “Apparently, you don’t. You’re stressing her out. She’s worked really hard at this, and now you’ve made her feel bad. So eat your damn quesadilla and shut it,” Bella said.

  “You said damn,” Caden whispered.

  “She said shut up, too,” Corinne said, eyes wide, “Mommy doesn’t talk like that.”

  “Technically she said ‘shut it’, not shut up,” Harvey said and laughed. “Is dinnertime always this exciting?

  “There’s always dinner and a show,” Bella said. She peered at him. “I’m sorry, Harvey. I’m stressed out. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

  He laughed it off. “It’s okay. Do they ever eat food?”

  “What do you mean by food?”

  “Salmon? Vegetables? Anything real?”

  “They eat kid food, Harvey. Don’t stress yourself out. It took me a while to come to terms with the whole picky eater thing. I had this idea that if they only had healthy food in the house, that’s what they’d eat. It didn’t work out. Mac and cheese became a staple. I don’t recommend trying to change that.”

  “Obviously by exposing them to a variety of foods, they’ll develop a better palate.”

  “Better as in you want them to become food critics? Because I want them to eat enough that they can grow.”

  “I’d like them to appreciate fine cuisine. It’s part of being a cultured adult.”

  “You’re eating quesadillas. Is that fine cuisine?”

  “In this case, no. However, I am familiar with some very sophisticated menus around the world. Remember the time I got you to try the tripe?”

  “I remember that,” she said, shaking her head.

  “What’s tripe?” Corinne piped up.

  “Not something I’m going to make you try. It is a kind of—fish.”

  “I like fish sticks. With mustard.”

  “When I first knew your mom, she was crazy about the food in my kitchen. She was a much less picky eater than you,” Harvey said.

  Bella remembered late night conversations and more in that kitchen and studied her plate for a moment. It brought back so many memories. They never had the tension they now had. They were happy and carefree. She missed those times.

  “Was she five?” Corinne challenged.

  “No, she was older than that. She was grown up.”

  “Then maybe she liked more foods because she was bigger,” Corinne said, “Mommy’s always telling Maria we’ll grow out of it. Maybe she grew out of it.”

  “It’s a phase,” Caden offered, clearly repeating something he’d heard his mother say. Harvey smiled.

  “Do you have a lot of phases?” Harvey said.

  “Yes, all the time,” Corinne informed him. Then she turned to Bella. “Is this enough for ice cream or do I have to eat the carrots?”

  “Three carrot sticks,” Bella said.

  “Two?” Corinne wheedled.

  “Four?” Bella offered, and Corinne laughed and ate a carrot stick. Caden had eaten his applesauce, avoided his chicken, and was whining for more crackers.

  “Try a chip,” Harvey said.

  Bella flagged down the waiter, who provided a basket of crackers that delighted Caden. The boy leafed through the packages of crackers gleefully, choosing the kinds he wanted.

  Chapter 11

  Harvey watched her with them, how she helped and guided and corrected and occasionally giggled with them. He felt not pride that she was so good with them, but a stab of jealousy. He had to sit there, an awkward stranger, witnessing their family interactions. It was impossible to see this as a first step toward building a relationship with the kids, not when they wanted nothing to do with him.

  They rejected the food at the restaurant he chose, every offer of chips or rice he made, every question he asked or suggestion he made. Neither child had climbed in his lap or offered to hug him, or been very friendly at all. It was a major disappointment that they didn’t connect. He felt like he’d wasted his night by following Bella’s rules and her terms. If he could have picked up the kids on his own and taken them somewhere fun, brought them some presents, this would’ve gon
e smoother. It was Bella’s fault for being so controlling, he decided and signaled for the check.

  They said their goodbyes.

  He wanted to go call Catherine. She was his most reliable fuck buddy when she was in town. He hadn’t called her in months. Maybe she’d be available tonight to make him feel better. He paid the check and waved at the kids as he left.

  Catherine was available and thrilled to hear from him. But as soon as she started purring about what she was wearing, he felt uncomfortable. Like he shouldn’t be talking to her. Like he felt guilty which was absurd because he was a bachelor, a free agent who could talk to whoever he wanted, could do whoever he wanted without reference to anyone else. He and Bella were not involved. They hadn’t been in a serious relationship in six years. So why should he feel like he was betraying her by calling Catherine, an attractive woman with whom he had an understanding for years.

  In the end, he told Catherine he had an urgent call and hung up. Flustered, annoyed, he went home alone, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Those kids didn’t like him, which upset him more than he cared to admit. Bella acted like she knew everything and he knew nothing, which wasn’t something he was used to or comfortable with—he was a powerful executive, the authority and expert in any room! Then, to top it all off, he was sitting by himself at home when they were all having ice cream together and probably laughing at him and his food suggestions. It bothered him.

  His phone jingled with a message from Bella, a photo from their dinner that showed him leaning toward Corinne to talk to her. Why did she think he’d want this stupid pity photo? To remind him that they were clearly her kids and didn’t need him at all? Well, that was it. He was done doing things her way. He replied that he wanted the kids on Saturday at ten in the morning.