Da Vinci asked to come along, and my first instinct was that it was a very bad idea. I didn't want my family thinking there was anything going on with da Vinci, and it might look peculiar to have him tagging along to a family event. But he was lonely. And he loved children, saying often how much he missed his big family back in Italy. I worried that the kids liked him too much now, that da Vinci would move on from us and they would lose another male figure. Protecting my children from future heartbreak was more important than my own.

Yet I acquiesced-it was only an innocent play, I told myself- and we headed out to the production called Four Seasons, put on by the creative independent school Zoe attended. Zoe missed way too much school to go to public school, and because Rachel deemed the arts and individual expression the highest standard for an education, Zoe ended up at the Austin Creative Academy where parents hoped for future Mozarts or Dickenses or… well, da Vincis. It also happened to be where the A.D.D. kids who failed in a more regimented environment got stuck, so it was an interesting mix, to say the least.

We arrived late as usual-Bradley couldn't find his lucky socks and William couldn't find his light jacket and da Vinci had to shower in my bathroom because a pipe had busted in the studio. I know what you're thinking. Did I get a sneak peek at da Vinci in the shower to see if reality matched up to my fantasy?

Yes. And no. While I was busy shoveling through my kids' drawers and closets to find their missing items, I remembered that some of Bradley's clean clothes had gotten mixed in with my clothes by mistake. I'd seen them in my closet, which is of course off my bathroom where da Vinci was showering. I opened the door, the steam from the shower rushing out, and slipped into my closet. As I passed by the shower with the clear plexiglass stall, I could see the frame of a naked man and all I could think was that I couldn't believe there was any naked man in my shower, let alone a man like da Vinci. I tried to be quiet, but my closet door squeaked and da Vinci hollered out. “Is that you, Mona Lisa?”

And I could feel my whole body tingle from the toes up and answered. “I'm sorry. I'm looking for Bradley's sock.”

Da Vinci hollered back. “You've been keeping secret from me, Mona Lisa.”

“Oh, yeah? What's that?”

“Your shower is much better than studio shower. Not complaint, though. Only truth. No fix other shower, and I shower with you.”

He didn't laugh, but with his broken English, I couldn't always tell when he was kidding. I couldn't see his face. Until I turned, missing sock in hand, and saw da Vinci peek his head out from the shower door. With a big smile on his face. I saw six inches of his naked body from top down, but only the left side. “It's warm in here. Come and join me. I'll wash your hair.”

If we didn't have to be at the auditorium in ten minutes and if we were alone in the house, I would've leapt into the shower as if my feet were on fire. If my heart were beating any faster, I was sure it would explode. Still, eros would have to wait. “I'll take a raincheck,” I said, which da Vinci didn't understand. “That means next time.”

He closed the door again and started singing in Italian. I don't know what it was, but I could've listened to it all night long. “Whatever,” da Vinci said, which he had picked up from Bradley, only da Vinci didn't infuse the same sarcasm.

Now all I could think about was how badly I needed a shower.

My father hates to be late, and nearly all of my childhood memories involve my dad standing with his elbow in the air, his right eyebrow cocked, staring at his watch as if the house would explode if we didn't get out by the time the minute hand hit whatever magical number he had in mind for us to leave.

In all other regards, my father was an easygoing dad: fair, caring, and noble. Yes, like his name.

Noble: from Latin, (g)nobilis, “ noted, highborn” from the Indo-European root, gno. My father revered education, was a better Scrabble player than I am, and while other dads in my neighborhood hosted poker night, my dad preferred Trivial Pursuit. No one would dare call my dad a nerd. If so, he was a handsome nerd. Or at least I'd give him “distinguished looking.” Yes, like his name. He was easy to get along with because he knew enough about any given topic to keep a conversation going and tell you something you didn't know about your favorite topic. I loved that about him. He had also filled my head with many useless facts over the years, which I was surprised to have come back to help me years later. He taught me about anagrams, a word formed by rearranging all the letters of another word, when I was six. It was my favorite car game and before I knew it, everywhere I went I was forming anagrams. It became our “thing.”

“Cinema,” Dad would say as we were in line for a movie.

“Iceman,” I would quickly answer.

“Good girl,” he would say and pat my head.

No wonder I was getting a PhD in linguistics. I'd been trained like Pavlov's dog. My love for words grew from there-my pastime looking for root words and keeping a dictionary in my backpack (and later purse) to satiate my thirst whenever I encountered a word I didn't know. Then a notebook much like da Vinci's, though I still didn't know what was in his. Mine was full of words. I had pages of words I loved like:

butter

crème de la crème

avant garde

muse

monkey

poignant

And words that made me cringe:

asparagus

prison

death

And even words that weren't even real words, but ones I thought should exist like “mind-drift” and “love coma.” I tried these words (and many others) out over the years, but so far, none of them had caught on. I would have to get them in a Steven Spielberg movie or on MTV to accomplish adding a new popular phrase into the dictionary.

Noble was checking his watch in the dark (yes, it had a light in it, of course) when we arrived. Even in the near dark of the theater, his look spoke volumes. And he sighed as if to say, “Oh, Ramona, still late at thirty-six years of age.” Two boys had not improved my proclivity for tardiness. Another word I love: proclivity.

He kissed me on the cheek, my mother hugged the boys and me, and Rachel was nowhere to be found-probably backstage being a stage mom. My father said, “Ramona, this is Dr. Cortland Andrews,” and my stomach dropped. I had no idea. What a silly thing for my body to do, just from the mention of someone's name. I squinted and sure enough, Cortland was sitting next to my father, with three empty seats to his left. The boys sat next to my mother, and I introduced da Vinci to my father. My mother was busy mothering da Vinci: how was he liking America, is Ramona feeding you enough, can I come do your laundry. Good. They just thought I was being nice to him. His patron, no more, no less. They wouldn't in a million years believe da Vinci had just propositioned me in the bathroom. I perspired just thinking about it.

“Good to see you,” Cortland said as I scooted past him to sit down. Cortland and da Vinci shook hands, though da Vinci told me the night of Panchal's wedding that he didn't like Cortland. Or more specifically, did not like the way he looked at me or danced with me. He'd been jealous. Silly, really. I started to sit two seats over from Cortland to leave room for Rachel, but Cortland said, “She won't come back. She asks me to come to these things, and I never see her until after they're over with.” He patted the empty seat with his hand, so I obliged and sat next to him. Da Vinci sat on my left. The last time I was sandwiched by two handsome guys? You guessed it: never. “ How are you?” I asked Cortland, our shoulders rubbing together as I sat down.

He straightened in his seat. “Hey, I'm glad you came. I have a word for you.”