I hoped for a quiet, even dull, evening with no shocking surprises. It was not to be.
Over dinner, Chris said, “Almost forgot. I talked to Grandma after school. She’s coming for her visit tomorrow.”
I dropped my spaghetti and fork on the floor.
“Would you please say that again?”
“Mom! It’s not that hard. Grandma. Is. Coming. To Visit.”
“When were you planning to share this with me?’
“I just did.” She eyed me warily. “Are you upset or something?”
“Well, Chris…” And I listed all the craziness going on in our lives, concluding with, “So you see why this is not the right time for a visit from Phyllis.” A more honest response would have been that no time was the right time.
“You’re always busy and stressed. And I am always busy and stressed, like any teen. But I want to see her and she is going to help some more with my project. Get this. She will come to school the day I present it in class. Like, living history.”
Did I catch a triumphant gleam in her eye? She’d said the magic words, and she knew it. And I knew it too. I hate when that happens
“Okay. Okay. Give me her travel plans. Is she flying? Alone? How will she get here?” One more thing to deal with in my crowded life. Like I needed this, I thought. She grinned.
“And here’s the good part. Grandpa volunteered to pick her up at the airport and bring her here, and keep her busy while we are out doing our things. So it’s all good.”
“I don’t get this new friendship between them. Do you?”
“I believe he’s trying to help me. It’s weird not to have more family, so he’s stepping up.” She looked right at me. “You don’t seem convinced.”
I could not say what was on my mind, not even part of it. I glanced up at the clock and snapped out, “Look at the time! I still have work to do and your homework can’t be done yet?”
“Not even close.” She saw my fraying patience and added, “See? Me. Going. Putting dishes in dishwasher. See me going upstairs.”
Should I go do my own homework? Not very tempting. Call my dad and pick a fight? Tempting, indeed, but the satisfaction would be momentary. Call Joe, who often appreciated Chris’ smart-aleck attitude more than I did? Very tempting. But no. I would not know what to say and could not face the results of saying it wrong. Whatever it was I might say.
I checked the back of the freezer for some forgotten ice cream. No luck.
“Chris, I’m going out for a walk,” I shouted up the stairs. “Maybe ice cream? You want any?”
“What? No? I’m in training. Remember?” A long pause. “Maybe some sorbet? Raspberry? No, lemon. No, I want orange. With chocolate sprinkles?”
“Got it. Back soon.”
I walked briskly through the chilly night. The ice cream store would not be crowded this time of year. I debated warming up with hot fudge sauce on mine.
It was exactly what I needed, sugar, cream, and chocolate in perfect proportions. Walking home, Chris’ sorbet in hand, I felt much better. I could handle Phyllis in my house at this point in my life. I wasn’t the insecure young bride, resentful at the way she rearranged my kitchen and foisted on me family china I didn’t want or like.
I stopped to consider buying a doughnut for tomorrow morning. I was standing in front of a small, old-fashioned luncheonette. And there were Joe and his sister at a table in the back, uneaten dinners in front of them.
They were having an intense conversation. I could tell by their body language, even though I could not hear a word.
She talked. He talked. He was serious, making points by counting them off on his fingers. She started to cry. He held her hand. She put her head on his shoulder and he put his arm around her. She took the handkerchief he offered, wiped her face, and gave him a shaky smile. She passed him a piece of paper from her purse and he read it, nodded, made notes. He looked at her and said something and she smiled with relief.
He fed her some fried chicken from her plate and she laughed and they both dug into their dinners.
I didn’t need sound. I could tell he was comforting her. I knew. He was saying it would be all right. He was saying I promise. I’m here for you. I always will be.
I felt as if I could cry myself. As if I had forgotten for a little while who he is, and now I was reminded. His troubled sister’s support. Chris’ designated uncle. My own best friend.
Chris’ melting sorbet, dripping through the bag, forced me to tear myself away from the window and hurry home. As I did I thought about my date with Dan Ramos. When I had tried to describe my excitement about work, he didn’t get it. Joe always got it. I work in a library, I research, I write. Joe works with his hands, supervises, builds, creates. We work in different worlds. But he always gets it, because he gets me.
My mind raced along with sudden clarity. With everyone else I am a mother, a student, an employee, a daughter. But Joe knows me, knows me not for who I am to him but me, my own self. Better than I know myself sometimes. Do I know him that way? Seeing him with his sister was seeing another part of him.
It felt like a shiny, brand new thought and yet like something so right, I had always known it.
I didn’t know how to reach out to him but I was full of the certainty that I had to find a path back to where we were. Or where we wanted to be.
I tossed Chris’ melted sorbet into the nearest trashcan and headed home, making up my apology to her as I went. I needed a way to say “sorry” without explaining what happened, and thereby opening myself to a discussion about Joe.
But I took care of something else first. There was a text from Ramos:
I closed my eyes and saw in my mind a very attractive man. Nice. Smart. A parent, like me, who understood what that meant. A public servant with a challenging job, like Jeff. And I had no interest whatever in going any further. And I knew this time, it wasn’t because Jeff still owned so much of my heart.
I took a deep breath and texted:
He replied:
I wrote:
I added a smiling face, then added:
His answer:
Chris’ door was closed, her voice was murmuring away. Not homework. Probably Jared. The light under her door stayed on, but she never came out. In the middle of the night, I thought I heard steps on the stairs, but I didn’t get up.
The reckoning came in the morning when she was rummaging in the freezer. “What happened to my sorbet?”
Deep breath. Mine. “It’s breakfast time. Sorbet is not breakfast food.” Changing the conversation seemed like a good move.
“Well, it’s orange. Full of vitamin D. Instead of juice, I thought.”
“Nice try.”
“I thought it was worth a shot.” I saw her reach for her healthy cereal.
“But did you forget it? I looked for it in the night.”
“My mind was on other things.” Inspiration came to me. “Like Phyllis’ visit.”
“You worry too much.” The doorbell rang. “That’s Mel. I’m off.”
The cereal was barely touched. I took a taste. Yes, still tasted like hay to me. I wondered, if I followed Chris and Mel, would I catch them at a bakery? But I did not have time for spying today. I had to get ready for a visit.
I cleaned the bathroom. Put out fresh towels, put fresh sheets on the second bed in Chris’ room. As thorough a dusting in Chris’ room as I could manage, working around her scattered possessions. A thorough cleaning of the kitchen. At least all the visible parts. No way Phyllis would overlook crumbs around the toaster and grease on the stove. Wiped up a spill in the refrigerator.
By the time I was done, I was exhausted and more than ready to tackle my real job for the morning.
Philomena despaired of convincing her family and set aside dreams of the white gown and veil and her nieces scattering flowers. She confided it all to her diary, since she didn’t dare tell even her closest friends. They would meet at City Hall. She had a nice suit she could wear and a new hat, carried in a shopping bag to avoid any questions. He would bring a corsage for her, the license, the ring, and his own camera. They thought someone there would be kind enough to take pictures.
She wrote, “I’ve saved most of my wages, and I could have paid for it, the gown and veil, a reception and all. But all that matters is HIS ring on MY hand, and I will have a great big smile in those pictures. And in my new Lily Daché hat…me in Lily Daché! I will be as stylish as a movie star.”
The next page told me everything and nothing. “He never came.” And on the page after, I learned the rest. “I waited and waited. I found a phone booth but I was terrified to go call in case I’d miss him if he came. I finally called the phone at his boardinghouse and his landlady said she hadn’t seen him. I am worried. I am hurt. Should I be scared for him or furious at him? I am so mixed up. And I keep crying.”
And later, “I forgot to write that when I was leaving the marriage office, Frankie showed up. He had some business downtown, he said, and he took me home in a taxi. He never even mentioned my hat or asked why I was there.”
She didn’t see what I did. What I suspected. There were other explanations but my money was on her brothers. How could I find out?
I went out to buy some groceries, so Phyllis could not think I was neglecting her granddaughter. As I walked there and back, I realized there was another way to go on Philomena’s mystery. Maybe Phyllis would have some ideas working from the family memory. Maybe I could imitate Lieutenant Ramos and urge her to search her memory.
I came home to an e-mail from my advisor, asking if there would a completed chapter by the end of next week. I recklessly wrote, “Sure” and hit Send. Why not? Maybe I would have it done by then. And if I didn’t? I did not have time to think about it now. My visitor would be here any minute and I had groceries to put away.
I’d finished just as my doorbell rang,
They came in with a flurry of hellos and kisses and bags to put down. She had an insulated carrier with contents for me to put away immediately.
“I brought a lemon ricotta pie, and some lasagna for you and Chris, to go in the freezer. I’m sure you don’t have time to make it yourself.”
I had an impulse to argue with her sneaky criticism but it was true. And her ricotta pie was nothing to turn down. I served coffee and some supermarket cookies.
Phyllis made a face and promised to bake biscotti while she was here. “You will like them better.” It was statement, not a question.
“So, honey, how are you doing? Are you and Chris moving ahead on birthday plans?”
I gave Dad a look that said, “Not now.” For once he got it and changed the subject.
“How’s your dissertation coming along? And that new advisor?”
How did he manage to pick the other topic I did not want to discuss? I answered with a dismissive, dishonest, “Fine.” and asked Phyllis how the trip went.
“Very nice, except for the long lines at the airport. Security was interested in the food I was carrying, though.” She shook her head and made a little clucking sound. “This world we are in. I finally had to ask the kid in uniform if he didn’t have a grandmother who cooked! But the flight was good, only an hour and a half, and the stewardess served up drinks and snacks. Here, for Chris, a bag of animal crackers. I told them I wanted it for my youngest granddaughter.” She winked. “Didn’t tell them how old she is.
“But here’s the funny thing. There were men serving too. And the stewardesses weren’t all young and pretty like they used to be.”
“How long has it been since you were on a plane, Phyllis?” My dad smiled at her.
“Not since 1982 when we went on Alitalia to Italy. Rome airport, don’t ask! Crowded as could be. Flying out of Buffalo is much easier, except for the security line.”
Then she fell asleep, suddenly, sitting up, exhausted from her long day.
I motioned my dad into the kitchen where we could talk without waking her.
“I have been too busy to think any more about this birthday party, Dad. I’ll get to it. You can be sure Chris won’t forget about it.”
“That wouldn’t be like our Chris. How about we—meaning Chrissie and me—we figure it all out and take it off you?” Before I could even protest, he added, “Remember, I’ll be paying for it.”
My dad, who knows nothing about restaurants that are not diners or decorating of any kind, planning a party? Partnered by a teenager with ideas we cannot afford? No way.
“I’ll get to it, Dad. I will, but not right now.”
He looked unconvinced. He stood up then, and muttered, “I’ve got to be going. Love to my girl.”
“She’ll be home from school soon. Do you want to stay?”
“I would like to, but I have things to do. Give her a hug for me.”