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Sitting on the bench, Tony and Felicia leaned against each other and watched kids and adults alike glide, gather, and scatter across the outdoor rink like tossed confetti.
The afternoon glare on the snowed-in cityscape was finally too much. “Where are my sunglasses,” Tony muttered, digging around in his messenger bag.
Felicia sipped at the thermos she clutched in her hands. “Get mine too, and will you put them on my face, please? The sunlight’s hurting my eyes.”
She suddenly straightened. “Max, honey!” she barked at a small figure across the rink that was moving forward along the guard rail at a near-imperceptible pace. “Reading is an activity for sitting, not for skating!” She frowned until he joined the ebb and flow of the other skaters. “How did he sneak that book in without me noticing?”
“He started The Boxcar Children series last Sunday from the beginning," her husband supplied helpfully. "That is either The Yellow House Mystery or Mystery Ranch.”
“I have half a mind to go out there and take it from him. It’s still in his hand; what if he slips and isn’t able to catch himself?”
“He’ll just bounce off the ice because he’s wearing ten layers of sweaters and ski pants?”
"Wait, he’s stuffed it down the front of his coat. Okay. I guess that’s fine. Probably how he got it past me this morning.”
“I can't believe our spawn smuggles contraband novels into birthday parties. He's a junkie.” He slipped Felicia’s sunglasses onto her nose, and donned his own. She pulled the folds of her purple scarf over the bottom half of her face, and tucked herself into the crook of his arm.
After a few minutes, it was Tony’s turn to sit up in notice. He peered at the right side of the little rink, towards which Maggie had made a zigzagging beeline about ten minutes earlier. She was still inside the rink, one gloved hand on the rail, the other waving about beside her head as she talked earnestly at a man facing her on the other side, who honestly didn’t seem to be contributing much to the conversation. Beard (mountain man or hipster? a toss-up, depending on the angle); a pair of skates looped by the laces around his burly shoulder; a definite air of ... pleased bemusement.
He elbowed Felicia. “Who is that, that Maggie’s talking to? He looks familiar.”
"No idea. Some guy she knows?”
Tony slapped his thigh. Felicia jumped. “More like some Guy!" He began to cackle. "It's failed insemination Guy!” He was loud enough that the man in question blinked and glanced about in mild puzzlement.
“What. Really? Oh my God, he heard you. Look away. Look away!” Felicia shrank deeper into her scarf as Tony shook with mirth.
“It’s fine, we’re stealthy, we're wearing sunglasses." Tony's voice lowered to a delighted whisper. "And he doesn’t care, just look at him looking at Maggie! He’s like an adoring golden retriever.”
Guy Childers’ attention had indeed been fully recaptured by the effusive woman in front of him.
"Almost a decade later," Tony said, thoughtful. "He was always kind of a goof about her. It was subtle. But I could tell."
"Did they ever go out?"
"Not that I know of." There was something about Guy that seemed relevant to the moment, but Tony couldn't pinpoint what it was. "He never made a big deal out of it. He was usually swooning over obscure mathematical theorems instead of girls most of the time, the big nerd. And Maggie was too busy in her own little world to notice him. That's what I thought, anyway, and that's why I was so surprised when she told me they'd agreed he'd be the sperm donor." Tony frowned. What the hell was it? This was going to bother him for hours.
"Maybe we're not giving Maggie enough credit," Felicia said. "They're cute."
"Mommy! Pickle man!" Lily shouted. They fell silent, watching in shrewd curiosity as John led the little girl gently over the ice towards her mother. Maggie took her hand with a smile, and Guy exchanged a few polite words with John before the older man skated off to rescue a stranded Georgette.
"Hi, Lily!" Guy leaned down and pointed at the pin Felicia had fastened to the front of Lily's coat. "Wow, that says you're thirty-three today. You're older than I am!"
Lily giggled and shook her head. "No! I'm three." She counted off slowly and deliberately on her fingers to correct him, holding them up. "One. Two. Three."
“He better be single,” Tony said.
“And Maggie better embrace the shit out of the mystery of the universe this time,” Felicia added.