All in all? A success.
The music was still going strong, though the only ones dancing now were Marge and Lou. Wrapped around each other like pythons, the hippie and the matchmaker were something to behold. And by that, I mean it was terrifying watching them practically mount each other on the makeshift dance floor.
“No more slow songs, I told you that,” I whispered to Lucas, who was trying his best not to watch the train wreck that was currently two-stepping by to the tune of “I Only Have Eyes for You.”
“Come on, chickie baby, it’s nice. In a somewhat gross way.”
“But I liked this song! Now it’s forever tainted by this memory,” I moaned, turning away. And catching something I never thought I’d see again in my life. My father, leading my mother onto the dance floor.
Now, I’d been told by my mother expressly when planning my wedding to Charles that under no circumstances would there be a Mother/Father dance taking place, and that if I pushed it, I’d regret it. So imagine my surprise when the two held hands and, with an appropriate amount of space in between them, began to dance.
“I don’t believe it,” I said, my jaw somewhere down by my feet. “I’ve got to get a picture of this; Clark will never believe it.”
He and Vivian had left long ago, arguing over some historic lighthouse he wanted to see on the way home. As they’d headed to their car, that discussion shifted into which route to take home. I’d also seen Clark’s hand disappear down the back of her skirt as they walked, and I had a feeling that if they stopped, it wasn’t going to be to look at a lighthouse.
“I’m sorry my parents couldn’t make it,” Lucas said. “Dad had to cover a shift at the clinic, and my mom’s getting over the flu. She’s dying to meet you, though, and said to tell you congratulations.”
“Dying to meet me? You been talking about me?” I asked, taking my eyes off my parents dancing for the first time in years to look up at Lucas. Dusk had fallen, and a warm breeze was blowing in off the ocean, carrying the faintest scent of brine, cut with the night-blooming jasmine that was just beginning to open.
“If I had, would that be so bad?” he asked.
“No,” I murmured. “Not bad at all.” I swayed a bit to the music, watching the couples that had now joined Marge and Lou, and my mother and father. Suddenly I wanted to be dancing in my backyard.
I looked up at Lucas, just as he started to say, “Would you—”
“Chloe, dear, your father’s just informed me that there seems to have been a mistake at the hotel, and there’s only one room available. So if it’s all right with you, it looks like I’ll be staying here.”
“What?” I asked, looking around wildly and spying my father heading inside with a devilish grin. “I mean, of course you can stay with me, Mother.”
She sighed dramatically. “I do hope you have enough hot water for my bath. This house always seemed to have the tiniest water heater in the free world. Though since you used paper plates, that should save on some hot water.”
“There’s plenty of hot water, Mother. It’s practically scalding.” I sighed and leaned against Lucas, who tucked me into his side.
Something that my mother’s eyes didn’t miss for a second. Narrowing them, she looked up at Lucas. “My, you are tall, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, and I giggled into his armpit.
She gave him one more appraising glance, then called to my father, “Thomas, if you’re leaving me here, you’re doing it after you’ve brought in my bags. I’m not hauling them up that long driveway myself.”
“Yes, Marjorie. I said I’d get your bags. Pipe down.”
“One dance, and he thinks he can take that tone with me again,” she said, but not without some amusement.
As she headed into the house I slumped further into Lucas’ side, the day’s excitement beginning to wear into exhaustion.
“Rain check on the dance?” Lucas asked.
“Oh, were you going to ask me to dance?” I said, tilting my head and giving him my best coy look.
“Just like your peep show, I guess we’ll never know,” he replied, catching me by the hand and spinning me out, just to spin me right back in.
I laughed. “Hey, what’s with the slick moves?”
“Every ring-a-ding kid has his moves,” he said in his best Sinatra.
And I realized that I’d been in almost constant contact with him all day—whether a shoulder rub, a hip check, or a spin move designed to wrap me in his arms. Those ring-a-ding moves? They worked. I stared into his eyes, wondering if enough time had passed to move forward, and frankly not caring if they had.
Then I felt a tap on my shoulder, and turned to see Lou and Marge, hands held and eyes dreamy.
“You two leaving?” Lucas asked the beaming couple, pulling me in front of him. I could feel him behind me, warm and solid and strong.
“Marge here told me about a bar in town that plays nothing but Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. I have to check that out,” Lou told him. Then he looked at me. “Princess, you kicked ass here. I’m so proud of you.”
“Aw, thanks, Lou. Is this the part where I say I couldn’t have done it without you?”
“Yes.”
“Lou, I couldn’t have done it without you,” I said, meaning every word.
“Oh, go on.” He blushed.
We said good night to them and the last few stragglers who were leaving, then turned back to each other.
“So,” Lucas said.
“So.” I didn’t want him to leave just yet.
Silence.
“Want some help cleaning up?”
“I’d love it! You’re in charge of bringing in the beans.”
We headed to the table, and as we turned around to bring the first load of leftovers into the house, my parents scrambled away from the window so we wouldn’t catch them peeping. Subtle.
An hour later, everything had been cleaned up and there wasn’t any trace of a party. Lucas had helped scrub up the few dishes, and then we made the last round of dog checks. They were all a bit amped up from the commotion today, but once the lights were off they started to quiet down for the night.
We were in the kitchen with my parents as Lucas took the last load of trash out. “You’re almost out of trash bags, Chlo.”
“I think there’s another one in the pantry.”
“Nope, we used that one last week when Sammy Davis Jr. got into the jelly beans.” He told my father, “I’m a vet, and even I was grossed out by what was coming out of that dog.” And with that announcement, he sailed out the door.
“He certainly seems very familiar around here,” my mother remarked, stacking leftover napkins into perfect towers.
“He’s a good friend,” I said, feeling something pinch at me at the word friend.
“And nothing more?” she asked.
My father shushed her. “Marjorie, it’s none of our business.”
“I think I have every right to ask these questions. I’m her mother,” she said, her posture, even on a bar stool, as perfect as always.
I remembered walking through our house, around and around, with a book on my head. People think that kind of thing only happened in old movies, but it happened in my dining room. “Poise, Chloe. You must have poise and grace. You can always tell a lady by her posture.”
“Besides, if she told me anything, I wouldn’t have to ask these questions,” she finished, giving me a pointed look.
“And why do you think that is, Mother? Why do you think I don’t tell you anything?” I asked, slouching on my own stool. Her eyebrow went up, but I didn’t.
Point: Chloe.
“I’m sure I don’t know. Unless there’s some reason you don’t want to share things with me? Maybe not so sure of your choices anymore, dear?”
“You have got to be kidding me. Are you really sitting there with the balls to say that—”
“Oh, yes, of course, it was St. Bart’s where the Tuppermans spent their winter,
not Saint Lucia. How right you are,” she cut in.
I did a triple take. What the—
Ah—Lucas had come back into the kitchen. Dirty laundry must never be aired in front of company. Always keep the pretty white frilly things in front.
Point: Mother.
But I was so tired of frilly white things. They were her specialty, not mine. My father was silent at the end of the counter; he’d heard it all before. Lucas stood in the entryway, looking extremely uncomfortable; my mother’s attempt to change the subject was more awkward than if we’d just kept on talking.
She looked at me expectantly. And I’d had it.
My line should have been: “Yes, I heard they enjoyed St. Bart’s immensely.”
What I actually said was, “Oh, Mother, blow it out your ditty bag.”
You could hear a pin drop. Or a slight breeze blowing through a punctured ditty bag.
After that, all you heard was the scraping of a bar stool and two pairs of male feet making for the front door. One called, “See you in the morning, kiddo!” The other said, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Patterson!” A door slam, tires peeling out, and then true silence.
Finally, “I must say, Chloe, I really don’t appreciate you speaking to me in such a rude way, especially in front of your new boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend, Mother.” I sighed, leaning onto the counter with my head in my hands.
“You sure about that?”
“You think I don’t know whether I have a boyfriend or not?”
“Well, I don’t know. I don’t understand anything you’re doing anymore. But I must say, a small town veterinarian is hardly who I would have picked out for you.”
“Pick someone out for me? He’s not an outfit, Mother,” I snapped, lifting my head up and staring at her. She was totally unaware of how she sounded, how she was affecting everyone and everything. “And if he were my boyfriend, which he is not, I would be incredibly lucky. And what the hell’s wrong with a veterinarian? If he were a gas station attendant, he’d still be an amazing man who makes me laugh and makes me giddy and makes me happy, for god’s sake! Why would that make you so unhappy?”
“I just wanted so much more for you, Chloe. How happy would you be, living here in this tiny town? And while it’s certainly an admirable profession, will a veterinarian be able to provide the kind of life for you that Charles would have?” she asked, clearly still not listening to me.
“There are so many things wrong with what you just said, I don’t even know where to start! First of all—and I need you to hear these words—I am not dating Lucas. Not even a little bit. But even more concerning to me is that you somehow think he’s not good enough for me. Do you even hear some of the things you say? Because you sure as hell don’t hear me.” I was on the move now, hands on hips and practically in her face.
“Don’t you raise your voice to me—”
“I am not finished! Most parents would be thrilled that their daughter was dating someone like Lucas, even just focusing on his profession, which you seem to be. He works for a family business that’s been around for almost fifty years—talk about job security. But that’s not glamorous enough for you. It’s not as flashy as having a surgeon as a son-in-law, or a congressman or an attorney. Shouldn’t the man be more important than the job? The social accolades? The benefits?”
“You say those things like they’re mutually exclusive, but there’s no reason you can’t find everything you’re looking for in one man. That’s what Charles could have been,” she said pointedly.
“Charles was never going to be that. That’s what you don’t seem to understand. I. Didn’t. Love. Charles. Nice guy, great provider, okay sex—”
“Chloe, really—”
“But I didn’t love him. Why in the world is that not enough for you?” I asked, my voice quiet now.
I stared at my mother, who was still perched on the edge of her bar stool, sitting just as tall as can be, makeup still perfect, clothes still wrinkle free though she’d been at a picnic all day, hair flawlessly swept back in her usual chignon. And blinking back at me, truly surprised that I don’t seem to understand where she’s coming from. Neither of us had a clue what the other one was thinking, was feeling. So where did we go from here?
I started back toward the guest room, almost blindly.
“Where are you going?” she called.
“I’m going to make sure you’ve got clean sheets on the bed.” I felt the bite of tears and forced them back. “And put fresh towels in your bathroom.” She didn’t answer, and I continued down the hallway. Wiping away a tear that had escaped, I pulled some sheets and a comfortable blanket from the linen closet and carried them into the guest room, where my father had placed her bags earlier.
He’d arranged this. He’d made this happen. He thought that if the two of us could just spend some time together, we could talk it out and begin to knock down some of the wall that been growing since the wedding.
But that wall had started to go up a long time ago, and I didn’t know what it would take to bring it down. I yanked the bedspread off the bed, then angrily shook out the fitted sheet.
“Do you want some help with that?” My mother appeared in the doorway.
“Thanks, but I’ve got it,” I said, quickly wiping away another tear that had escaped. I kept my back to her as I stretched the corners around and tried to tuck it in.
“Why don’t you let me do one side? Then you won’t have to keep running around the bed.” She tugged on the corner, and I let her. It was easier than arguing. It was easier than running around in circles.
“You know I only want what’s best for you, right?” she asked, her voice not acidic for a change.
I softened. I couldn’t help it. “I know you think you do—yes,” I said with a sigh.
Shaking out the top sheet, I fanned it up over the bed like a parachute. For a split second, I caught her eye underneath the canopy. She looked tired. By the time the sheet had settled, she looked composed, as usual. We pulled the sheet tight, hospital corners at the bottom. As I smoothed the sheet up toward the top, she tugged a little more on her side, pulling the sheet over just a bit. I tugged it back over to my side, making it the same on both: even.
Point: neither.
“You say you didn’t love Charles,” she started.
I shook my head.” I didn’t—”
“Let me say this, please,” she asked, and I nodded. I stood on my side of the bed, blanket in hand.
“You say you didn’t love Charles, and I can see now that you didn’t. But, Chloe, love is not always the only thing you need to make a marriage work.”
“You said that before, but how is that possible? How can that not be the most important thing?” I asked, sitting down on the bed.
“Because it’s just not.” She sighed, sitting down as well. “I loved your father more than anything in this world.” She studied her hands, rubbing the fourth finger on her left hand absently. Not so absently? When she looked up at me again, her eyes were bright. “And it was absolutely not enough.”
“Ah,” I said, nodding my head once. Pieces were falling into place so quickly I could practically hear them clinking.
“We had nothing in common, Chloe—nothing. Except we were stupid in love. And were for a long time. But at a certain point, once you grow up, once you become parents, you need more than that. You need common goals, common interests, a clearly chosen path of how you’re going to live your life. We didn’t have that, and we grew apart. I didn’t feel appreciated. Your father didn’t feel appreciated. Things happen. You say things you can’t take back. You do things you—” She stopped herself, her gaze focusing as she realized what she was saying. “Well, things happen. But by then, it was too late.”
She looked at me carefully as her eyes began to close off once more. “Love isn’t everything, Chloe, it just isn’t. You didn’t want to marry Charles, and I accept that. But moving up here, starting this new business, it’s lik
e . . . it’s like I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
I took a deep breath, then held it, still not sure what I was going to say. I let it out in one long sigh as I stood up and began to shake out the blanket. “I know you don’t understand it, but it’s something I need to do right now, for me. I need something for myself. Just for me.”
“And working with these . . . dogs is what you want to do?” she asked, gesturing for the other end of the blanket.
“Yeah,” I said, handing it to her. “I really think it is.”
She was quiet. We worked in silence, folding the blanket toward the foot of the bed. Then she said, “Remember the Feldings? They lived down at the bottom of the hill?”
“Sure, the ones that handed out toothpaste on Halloween?”
“That’s because the father was an orthodontist.”
“They also got egged every Halloween.”
“Be that as it may, I ran into Mrs. Felding at the market the other day. Their son Stephen is going into practice with his father. He’s back from Cornell, and single as can be. She asked about you and—”
“Mother. Seriously,” I said, staring hard at the floor.
“Chloe. Seriously. Can’t you take a joke?” When I looked up her eyes were bright, but this time with mischief.
I rolled my eyes, but allowed a grin. “I’m going to go put some water on,” I said, walking past her on the way to the kitchen. “Maybe after your bath we could have some tea?”
“If you’d like,” she said, her voice controlled but delighted.
“I’d like.” I smiled, then pointed toward the bathroom. “Don’t forget you have to jiggle the handle to get the hot to mix with the cold.”
“For goodness’ sake, I’d forgotten all about that. Do you have any idea how many times I tried to get your father to hire a plumber? A real one, not just that caretaker.” She went on and on while she took out her bath products, and I just leaned in the doorway and listened to her.