parents sold it after the divorce.
And while Brookside is a bona fide small town, it’s seen better days, unlike this one. Here, you get the feeling that better and better days just keep on coming.
At least, I get that feeling judging by the lineup of cars parked in the diagonal spots along Main Street: BMWs, Lexuses—even a Ferrari. Every other car is an SUV, with a few Hummers thrown in for good measure.
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you both that Glenhaven Park is very commutable. You took the train up from Manhattan this morning, right?” Verna points at the Metro-North rail station as we pass.
“Actually, we took the train up to my mother-in-law’s—she lives nearby—and borrowed her car to drive over here,” I tell Verna.
“Oh! So you’re familiar with Westchester already, then.” She brakes at an intersection, glances into the rearview mirror, maybe at Jack. “Where does your mom live?”
I can’t tell whether she’s talking to me, or to Jack. Wilma isn’t my mom, she’s my mother-in-law, as I just mentioned. But maybe Verna misunderstood. Or maybe she’s trying to engage Jack in the conversation.
Good luck, Verna.
Jack’s been pretty quiet from the moment we woke up this morning, back home in Manhattan.
True, I had set the alarm for an ungodly early hour for a Sunday, and Jack is never exactly chatty before he has his coffee. But he wasn’t chatty afterward, either, or during the hour-long ride up the Harlem line on Metro-North, or at his mother’s condo during our short visit with Wilma.
It could be that he’s changed his mind about ever moving to the suburbs after all. Or maybe he’s just upset that he has to miss watching the March Madness game today.
Knowing Jack, that’s probably it. He grumbled about it the whole time he was setting the TiVo this morning to record it.
“My mother-in-law lives in Bedford,” I tell Verna when Jack neglects to answer the question, probably too busy wondering how on earth he’ll carry on if there’s a massive blackout in Manhattan and TiVo fails him.
“Really? So you grew up there? Then for you, this is coming home again.” This time, Verna is definitely looking into the backseat via the rearview mirror, talking to Jack.
And this time, Jack replies. “Well, I didn’t grow up here in Glenhaven Park, so…not exactly.”
“She means Westchester in general,” I tell him, wishing he could be more agreeable. “And since Bedford’s practically next door to Glenhaven Park—ooh, how cute!” I interrupt myself to say, gazing at a children’s boutique called Bug in a Rug.
It’s housed in a Victorian building painted in shades of pink and cranberry, with striped awnings. Totally charming. If you have kids.
Or charming even if you don’t, because I, for one, am totally charmed.
“Jack, look at that amazing rag doll in the window! Wouldn’t Hayley love that for her birthday?”
“It’s bigger than she is,” he observes.
True. Still…
“I think she’ll love it.” Hayley is my niece—my brother Danny and his wife Michaela’s daughter, back in Brookside. She’s turning three in June and is obsessed with dolls.
I turn my head to keep an eye on the shop as we drive past, noting its location. Very cute. Very charming.
Speaking of charming—which is not a word I use often, but I’ve found myself speaking it, or thinking it, pretty constantly since we arrived in Glenhaven Park: “Ooh! Look at that—is that a bakery?”
“Yes, isn’t it charming?” Verna asks, equally well versed in the local vernacular.
“So charming. Look, Jack, it’s called Pie in the Sky.” Perched up on the second floor of a skinny building, the exterior is painted sky blue and the sign is hand-lettered on a fat, white cloud in the plate-glass window. “I love it. Isn’t that a great name? It’s so fitting!”
“It’s almost as fitting—and charming—as Bug in a Rug,” he fake rhapsodizes. “Although, unless they’re selling bugs or rugs, I really don’t see why that—”
“So I take it they make good pie at that bakery?” I ask Verna, cutting off Jack. Usually, I find it amusing when he mock gushes. Not today. I don’t want Verna to pick up on it and decide not to sell us a house here.
Okay, okay, maybe I’m being paranoid, but I really want things to go well. I really feel like Glenhaven Park can be my new hometown.
“Oh, absolutely! They make great pie.”
“I love pie!”
Not that I ever allow myself to eat much of it these days. But back when I was fat, and depressed, I could have eaten a whole pie by myself in one sitting. It’s one of my favorite things in the world.
“If you have time while you’re here in town, you really should stop in and pick one up to take back to the city with you,” Verna advises. “The prices are so reasonable and the key lime, especially, is scrumptious. They make it only once a year, for Saint Patrick’s Day, so they have it this weekend.”
Scrumptious, charming and reasonable prices?
What’s not to love about Pie in the Sky?
Or Glenhaven Park, for that matter.
Yes, I can so see us living here—Jack and me. Without Dupree. Er, I mean Mitch.
I feel like celebrating. I might even allow myself a piece of pie.
“The first house we’re going to look at is right back this way,” Verna informs us, turning right around a corner, and then right again.
I’m half expecting the scrumptious and charming streetscape to give way to a pocket of seediness, but so far, so good. The houses are set a little closer to the street and to each other here, but that’s no biggie. Not a derelict or a rat in sight.
“Here we are.” Verna glides the Mercedes along the curb.
For a second, I think she’s referring to the two-story stucco Tudor with the white wooden trellis arching over the front walk.
Whoa—I love it! I absolutely love it! I can just see—
Oh. Oops. We’re still gliding.
When we do come to a stop, it’s in front of the house next door to the Tudor.
A house that…isn’t half-bad. Seriously. I don’t absolutely love it on sight, but…
“It’s nice,” I tell Verna, mustering some enthusiasm.
“Isn’t it?”
Sure it is. Especially if you like small, low ranch houses circa 1971, with vinyl siding in a deep yellowy gold precisely the shade of First Morning Pee.
So
