Mid-morning on Sunday, I dressed in peppermint-green, knee-length shorts and a lilac short-sleeved shirt. My hair was perfectly combed and I hoped to make a good impression.
I parked in front of the daycare center and went in through the open front door. “Hello?” I called as I stepped further inward.
“Back here,” came the reply, and I followed the voice. I ended up in the play area and saw Gregory on his knees near a back wall. He wore paint-spattered clothing and was filling in the outline of a duck.
“Hi,” I said and sat on a nearby bench.
He put down his brush and turned to greet me. “You came.” He looked me over and smiled. “While I appreciate the gesture, you’re likely to get covered in paint at some point. Wouldn’t want those expensive loafers or threads to be ruined.”
I thought
