“Not where people can hear. Didn’t you landscape your backyard recently?” I ask.
“I did. Come see.” He leads me to the back door and out onto the patio.
Thankfully, his big backyard is empty of listening ears. Our boys are busy playing video games. I know because I can hear them through the wall.
Andrew and Marisol’s ranch-style house was built in the fifties, and it’s in a gentrified neighborhood where everyone knowseveryone. It’s close to Marisol’s large extended family, so they’ll probably never move. They’ll just keep updating things until the end of time.
Andrew really thinks I want to see the new yard he designed himself, so I follow him around while he talks about what he did here or there, from adding a gravel perimeter with a mix of red and gray boulder rock, to creating a flagstone walkway with xeriscape plants. The middle of the yard has an oval section of turf with a playground and a little putting green next to it.
He’s just launching into an explanation of oversized boulder delivery when I cut him off.
“Andrew.”
“What?”
“Marisol’s going to call us into the kitchen any minute. I’m already going to get a look for not offering to help with dinner prep.”
“She never takes us up on it.”
“Yes, but I usually insist anyway and set the table or something. That’s not the point. What did Maggie say?”
He goes from confused to amused in seconds. “Right, you brought us out here to talk about Maggie. Why in the world did you let me keep monologuing about plants and rocks?”
“I didn’t think it would take that long.”
The back door opens and Gisela peeks her head out. “Mom says it’s time for dinner.”
“We’ll be right there,” Andrew tells her.
At nine years old, Gisela is the mirror image of her mother, including the look of loving skepticism at Andrew’s answer. “You better, Dad.”
As soon as the door closes again, he says, “You didn’t tell me Maggie dumped you.”
“I didn’t think you’d care.”
“I don’t. She’s not the one for you. But it was a little awkward when I ran into her at lunch and invited the two of you over for dinner sometime, which I only did because I promised Marisol I would, and Maggie frowns at me like I’m stupid. Lawyers are insufferable. They make the most condescending faces.”
“Your sister is a lawyer.”
“I know.” Despite the time crunch, Andrew retrieves a putter and a ball from the holder he installed next to the putting green and sets up his shot.
“What did she say about Rosalie?” I prompt him.
“She asked if she still had a boyfriend.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.” His shot veers to the left, and he goes to retrieve the ball and sets it back up. “At this point, I just want to get my croissant sandwich and leave, but we’re still five customers back in line, so I play dumb. I say, ‘What do I know about Liam’s nanny?’”
“And then she interrogates me, because she somehow knows that Marisol and Rosie are friends, and I finally say, ‘You know what? I feel like having sushi today.’ And I leave the line. I don’t even stop anywhere else for lunch. I just walk the two blocks back to the office and eat all the snacks you keep in your bottom desk drawer. This is all your fault. Friday is my croissant sandwich day, and you ruined it.”
“Daaad!” It’s Callie who pokes her head out this time. “Dinner is ready, and Auntie Marisol said the last one there has to do the dishes.”
I’ll be doing the dishes anyway, but it’s time to go. “Be right there,” I call back. I have one last question for Andrew. “You knew Rosalie and Brennan broke up?”
“That’s old news, man. Why? Did you tell Maggie they were still a thing? Considering her jealous streak, I get it.” He puts his club and ball away, satisfied with his own conclusions.
It’s actually jealousy mixed with a desire to control the narrative post-breakup, but hopefully Maggie will let it go considering how unhelpful Andrew was. He’s the wrong person to pump for information. Once he feels like a conversation is done, it’sdone.