But there was no getting out of certain forms of sibling togetherness; she had to take them to see that dentist again before they left for Costa Rica, for instance, and even though April was furious about having to miss ballet, Cynthia had made this appointment six months ago and if they missed it this huckster was booked until summer. She picked them up at school, and even though they were running late they had to take the subway instead of a cab, because for the past three weeks Jonas’s homeroom teacher had been doing a unit about conservation and air pollution and if Cynthia had to hear another word about the fucking ozone layer she was going to scream. They crossed 87th and at the storefront gap that led to the subway entrance they found themselves converging with a guy pushing a baby in a stroller-actually not a baby at all, Cynthia saw, more like three years old, a kid who, by virtue of still being strollered around at that age, was clearly running the show. Beautiful boy, though. The father was a good-looking guy too, very expensively tousled. All four of them did that little no-you-go-first dance at the top step, and even though it only took a second, Cynthia was suddenly conscious of impatient people mustering behind them.
“Sorry,” she said to the dad, “you go ahead,” and she smiled before she realized that he was not even looking at her but instead, uncertainly, down the steps themselves. She had a vestigial memory of pissing off rude strangers while pushing April around in one of those strollers, and also a mother’s instinctive assumption that men are overmatched by small children. “Guys, go on downstairs,” she said to April and Jonas. “Not through the turnstile.” She turned back to the father with her most prim smile as other commuters swirled into the open lane created by the kids’ departure and said, “Can I give you a hand carrying the pasha here?” Suddenly his eyes seemed to focus on her, and he gave her a very winning smile, though without nodding or shrugging or otherwise acknowledging that she’d spoken. He did not even seem to notice the swarm of hostile strangers struggling to get past him, which was an admirable quality, Cynthia thought. Or maybe there was something wrong with him.
“Yes, thanks,” he said at last. “That’s really nice of you.”
He didn’t move and so she went around to the front of the stroller and picked up the strap between the front wheels, even though that meant she would be the one backing down the stairs. He lifted his end by the handles and they started down slowly.
“So you’ve obviously been in my position before,” he said. “Beautiful kids.”
She smiled, looking down at her feet for the next step. In front of her, the little boy’s eyes opened slightly.
“Easy to see where they get it from,” the father said.
“Thanks. Well, you too. He’s a knockout.”
“So, I guess this is like the meet-cute,” he said, and she laughed, even if she didn’t quite know what he meant. People flowed all around them. She tried to find April and Jonas but couldn’t turn her head far enough to see them. “My name’s Eric, by the way,” he said.
“Cynthia.”
“Hey Cynthia?” he said. He bent from the waist, and so she knew she was almost at the bottom step. She had to lean forward suddenly just to hear him. “This was so nice of you. Look, this is going to sound bizarre, but do you live in this neighborhood? I would hate to think that I’ll never see you again. You are a really beautiful woman.”
“I’m sorry?” Cynthia said.
“I can’t believe I said that,” Eric said, and it seemed exactly like he was telling the truth. He was probably an unemployed actor. His wife was probably some corporate lawyer who felt guilty for not spending more time with her son, while her husband spent his afternoons in the playground collecting phone numbers from au pairs.
They were now both standing on the cement floor inside the station, still holding the stroller between them, a couple of feet off the ground. People hustling down the stairs brushed past them as if they weren’t even there. She knew that the longer she just stood there, the more emboldened he would become. She could feel herself turning red.
“Do you do this a lot, Eric?” she said.
He knew how to stare into a woman’s eyes, that was for sure. “I know I’m being insanely forward,” he said, “but I’m not sorry, because two more seconds and I was never going to see you again. I know you’re married. I’m married too. It doesn’t have to be about that.”
What? she kept saying to herself, as if she were deaf to whatever she was thinking. What? His son’s eyes were half open and on her, as expressionless as if he had just sentenced her to death. It made Eric himself seem like some sort of superman to know that on some level he’d forgotten that the boy was even there.
She put her end of the stroller gently on the floor and turned and walked away as fast as she could. Jonas and April were standing by the nearest turnstile with that look of infinite sarcastic indulgence kids always wore when they had to wait for you. Cynthia panicked for a moment, thinking that they would surely ask her what all that was about and knowing she was still too rattled to make up an answer; but they didn’t say a word, they couldn’t have cared less. They turned and ran their MetroCards through the slot and walked ahead of her down the steps to the express track.
Cynthia was neither offended nor flattered, really-mostly she just thought it was hilarious. She couldn’t wait to tell Adam about it. It did bother her a little bit to think that this kind of unsanctioned activity went on without her, that she was not a part of it, even though she had no desire to be part of it-married strangers hooking up in earshot of their kids. Who knew? Maybe this sort of decadence went on all the time. There was a time when she might have at least led the guy on a little bit just to shock herself, when anything that new to her would have presented itself in the form of a hypothetical dare.