Mom cleared the table, then brought out the cake, a chocolate cake from ShopRite with no words written on top, just six candles. The tiny flames were invisible in daylight.
There is nothing sadder, thought Caleb, than sitting in front of a store-bought cake while two people in delicate moods sing “Happy Birthday” at you. He blew out the candles without making a wish.
“Oh. Almost forgot,” said Mom. She left the room again. She returned with a gift-wrapped item shaped like a book. “Just a token.”
Caleb undid the paper. It was a book, one he’d seen in stores, an anthology titled Stupid Reviews, a collection of bad notices given to great novels and famous plays.
“I thought you’d get a kick out of it,” said Mom. “See? You’re in good company.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much.” He was stunned—not over the book but by the thinking behind the book, the awareness. He was surprised she had noticed. She could seem so oblivious, so lost in her own world. Then, in a gesture or question or gift, she’d reveal that she really did understand. In her fashion.
“I saw that awful man in the Times yesterday,” she said.
“What man?”
“The critic. The one who attacked your play.”
His mother never saw Chaos Theory, but she read the review.
“He’s there almost every day, Mom. He’s a regular.”
She clicked her tongue and bared her teeth. “Makes me angry just to see his name. What gives him the right to say such things? So high and mighty.”
“He’s a critic, Mom. It’s his job.”
“How do you know he wasn’t right?” said Jessie. “You never saw the play.”
She stared at her daughter. “I know your brother. He doesn’t write bad plays.” She studied Jessie, suspecting a trap. She shook her head. “Pffft. You two. You take everything I say so seriously. I should never have brought up that man. Why’re you defending him?”
“I’m not defending him,” said Jessie. “He’s an idiot. But I know that because I saw Cal’s play.”
Mom took another breath. “Jessica. You just want to contradict me. Let’s change the subject.”
They ate their cake: Click-click-click went the forks.
The trouble with their mother, thought Caleb, is she has no performing self, no social skin to put between herself and the world.
“I guess you’re looking forward to your party on Friday,” she said, starting over again. “That’ll be your real birthday.”
Caleb clenched his teeth. “This is just as real,” he muttered. He could use a thicker social skin himself.
“Will there be lots of people?”
“Tons,” said Jessie. “And famous people too.”
“Like who?”
“Oh, Cherry Jones. Kathy Chalfant. Victor Garber. Who else, Caleb?”
He knew this was futile. “Claire Wade said she might come.”
“Sorry. I don’t know any of these names.”
“Claire Wade!” cried Jessie. “She’s a movie star! She was in Cal’s play. Venus in Furs made her famous. Her name’s everywhere!”
“If they’re not on Rosie O’Donnell, how do you expect me to know them?” She looked both sheepish and annoyed. “But that name sounds familiar. If I saw her face, I’m sure I’d recognize it.”
“So come to the party,” said Caleb. “You can meet her and see if you recognize her. You can meet all these people.”
She became flustered. “Thank you, dear. But I can’t. I’ll feel out of place with so many famous people who I’ve never heard of.”
“Come to my party,” Caleb commanded. “I want you to. Please. Why can’t you?” He turned the invitation into a challenge, a dare. He was suddenly angry with his mother. He couldn’t understand why. There were so many reasons to be angry with her—but why now, why today? He tried to stuff his temper back in.
Jessie was staring at him. “Caleb. She hates the city. Remember? She won’t come to town. New York scares her.”
“It doesn’t scare me,” Mom declared. “I’m just not comfortable there. It’s big and noisy and—I don’t like the element it attracts. But I’m not scared of it.”
“Forget it,” said Caleb. “I just thought you might like to meet my friends. And see where I live.” She’d never even been to his Sheridan Square apartment.
He wolfed down his cake, cursing himself for giving in to her, just as he’d cursed himself a moment earlier for losing his temper.
“Do you still have Dad’s old revolver?” he suddenly asked.
“What? What’s your father have to do with this?”
“Not him. His revolver. His gun. A snub-nosed .38? You used to have it in the drawer by your bed.” That was another absurdity here: this timid woman owned a gun.
She quizzically tilted her head, wondering what he meant. Jessie was staring at him as if he’d gone nuts. Did she think he wanted to use it on himself?
“If you’re so afraid of the city,” he said, “you can visit us armed. It should fit in your purse. Or bring Mace. Or some pepper spray.”
“I get it. You’re being funny.” And she laughed lightly, without conviction. “I never understand your sense of humor. You’re being silly. But I’m not afraid of New York. It’s a young person’s town. I’m not young anymore. Since I don’t have any reason to go, I don’t.”
“I’m giving you a reason. Come to my party.”
“Jesus, Mom,” grumbled Jessie. “You’re so scared of the city that you’ve never even seen one of Caleb’s plays.”
“That’s not why. The timing just never worked out. I meant to go but didn’t want to go alone. My friends were always busy, and then the play was gone.”
“Venus ran for two years,” said Jessie. “Your friends were busy all that time?” Caleb and Jessie wondered how many friends their mother actually had.
She was flustered now, confused and angry. “Back off! Both of you! I can’t think with you ganging up on me.” She tapped two fingers against her mouth, like a memory of cigarettes. “Let me think about it. Can’t I think about it? Before I make any promises. Is that fair? Maybe I’ll come early, while it’s still light. Just for a little while. I would like to see Cal’s new apartment.”
“It’s not new anymore. He’s had it four years.”
Caleb jumped in before Jessie made things worse. “Yes, Mom. Do. Think about it. I want you to come. I’d love to see you there.”
He wanted to be kind now. He was ashamed of himself for opening up such a can of ugly worms. We all have our phobias. Hers was the city. He should not take it personally. He should let her enjoy what peace she had.
“I appreciate the invitation, dear. I do. I’ll think about it. More cake? Both of you. There’s plenty. I’m wrapping up what you don’t eat and you can take it with you. I don’t need cake around the house.”