Silenced

by Alicia Renee Kline

  “You don’t have to impress her,” Matthew chided from across the concrete island as he watched me flit about with nervous energy.

  “Why do I get the feeling that no one impresses Patricia Barrett Snyder?” I mumbled. “Including you, with whatever you’ve got going on over there.”

  Matthew looked down at himself, not catching my drift. I’d made it very clear that I preferred his more unkempt look, but the moment his mother was invited to the house, he felt the need to shave and pop in his contacts. In all seriousness, I had fallen for this very man this very way the first moment I met him in Blake’s driveway. But that was before I knew what he looked like in glasses and a day or two of stubble.

  He moved around the counter space, checking himself out in the door of the microwave. His hand combed through his blond hair, considering. “I think I look fine.”

  “No,” I stated, removing the steaming pan of enchiladas from the top of our double ovens. “You look perfect.” I slammed the door shut to punctuate my observation, resting the food more violently than necessary upon the waiting cooling rack.

  “What’s wrong with perfect?”

  “Nothing, if you’re good with being fake.”

  Blue eyes stared at me, unobstructed by frames or lenses. There wasn’t anger behind them, just confusion, so I continued.

  “This is what your mother expects to see. The son that walked out of her door over a decade ago, Mr. Clean Cut American Boy Next Door. But you were never really that, you never lived up to her high expectations, and that became your downfall. You are who you are because of your struggles, and reverting back to who you never were isn’t authentic. If she is serious about getting to know you, to becoming a part of your life, shouldn’t she embrace you warts and all?”

  “I shaved, Lauren. You’re reading too much into this.” A flicker of emotion crossed his face, betraying those words. Instead, I took that to mean that he knew exactly what I meant. “Besides, aren’t you being hypocritical? You don’t exactly wear a skirt and heels every Saturday afternoon while you make me lunch.”

  A blush crept across my cheeks as I took in my own appearance. He had a point.

  “It’s okay,” he confirmed, placing a hand on my shoulder. “This is a weird situation. It’s a trial basis. If it goes any further than this, eventually she’ll see us as we really are and it won’t matter.”

  Somehow, I couldn’t envision a day ever coming where I dared face his mother in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, but that was just me. Nothing about Patricia screamed casual family get-together. I doubted I’d ever be comfortable enough in her presence, not like Matthew was with my dad.

  “If you really want me to, I’ll go put on my glasses.”

  “No, it’s all good.”

  I understood what we were both doing, putting forward our plastic selves to avoid as much hurt as possible if this thing turned ugly. If she couldn’t accept us at our very best, there was no way that we’d reveal anything less. Also why I’d purposefully set her time of arrival to when Sadie was down for a nap. That way, if the visit went downhill fast, she’d never see our daughter. Not like Sadie would know the difference; she was still too small to know what was going on. That had been done solely out of spite. And maybe a little self-preservation. If Patricia wanted the true prize - to see her granddaughter in the flesh - she’d have to prove she could behave.

  “I hope so,” Matthew mused.

  It was odd to see him with his guard down, the charisma that normally overrode his personality stripped away. This was a man who could charm the hardest of hearts, who could sell ice cubes to a snowman, and he was nervous. The phenomenon only happened on very rare occasions, like a shooting star or an asteroid strike.

  The doorbell rang, and I grabbed his hand with a reassuring squeeze as he brushed past me to answer it. I stayed behind in the kitchen, busying myself with gathering plates and cutlery and carting them to the massive wood table housed in the formal dining room. The set up was way too expansive for a party of three, but here we were keeping up appearances. I didn’t think Patricia the type to grab a stool at the island and eat there, like Matthew and I normally did.

  Even being in the dining room was a sobering experience, recalling when the table had last been used and all of the seats occupied. A family affair, plus Gracie. Me and Matthew, Blake and Chris, my dad. No Will at that point, but having to add him to the picture in the future was not my stumbling block. Chris was expendable enough, even with our tentative white flag waving, but Blake being removed hurt.

  Sometimes this still felt more like her home than mine, and I’d pushed her away from it.

  I heard Matthew and Patricia speaking in hushed voices, likely because he’d warned her that Sadie was asleep. Giving myself a moment to stop feeling sorry for myself, I bit my lip, pasted on a smile, and went out to join them.

  “Lauren,” Patricia greeted warmly, probably not because she was honestly happy to see me, but because that’s what socialites did, “so nice to see you.”

  I wondered what proper decorum was in this situation. I’d not been raised in the same social circles as the Snyders and only had business experience to draw from. Somehow, a firm handshake did not seem appropriate. Did people curtsy any more?

  “I’m glad you could make it,” I settled on, accompanying the sentiment with what I hoped was a genuine smile. If it wasn’t, I’m sure Matthew would have looked at me strangely. Instead, I seemed to pass his muster. Good.

  “I told Mom that Sadie was napping, so we’d eat lunch first. Then we can go on the grand tour. Hopefully she’ll be up by then.”

  “Sounds great,” I chirped. “If you want to show her to the dining room, I’ll bring in lunch.”

  Jesus Christ, I sounded like his maid or something. But he had thrown me for a loop by calling her Mom. Whatever I expected him to refer to her as, I wasn’t sure, but that wasn’t it. Yet the word had passed from his lips with seemingly little effort. Either he was a damn fine actor, or he was trying really hard to make this work.

  I watched their backs as they retreated to the dining room. As expected, my attire was on point, matching Patricia’s to the letter. It’s like the woman lived in skirts and dresses, slipping on pumps like most people did tennis shoes or sandals.

  Part of me wanted to text Gracie, to invite her over so she could experience this for herself because I knew my telling of this tale was not going to do it justice, but I realized the two women were like oil and water. They would not mix. But another person on my side would have been handy, someone with little skin in the game without a filter who could provide her own blunt commentary on the situation. That way, I could laugh about all this when it was over. I still might, to keep from hysterically sobbing.

  I grabbed the glass casserole dish from the cooling rack, nearly forgetting to pick up a towel first and almost burning myself in the process. Because a trip to the emergency room would have been a fitting beginning to the visit, I supposed. Crisis averted, I took a calming breath and proceeded into the dining room.

  Matthew had taken my lead and seated his mother at the end of the table closest to the kitchen, across from our place settings. They’d grown quiet in my brief absence, and I couldn’t tell if the silence was awkward or not.

  “Lauren’s a wonderful cook,” Matthew praised as I set the enchiladas between them.

  “It certainly looks good,” Patricia agreed.

  Meanwhile, I had visions of enchilada sauce spilling all over her designer outfit, and I wanted to smack myself for putting something like that on the menu. Instead of serving her as I’d planned to do, I left the dish in the middle of the table and decided to go family style. I would not be the one to ruin this.

  “Thank you,” I said, a delayed reaction as I took my seat.

  Matthew grasped my hand under the table as soon as I settled in. I wasn’t entirely certain if he was trying to calm me down, or if he was attempting to smooth his own rattled nerves. I squeezed back in
a show of support either way.

  “Go ahead, help yourself,” I urged.

  She reached over and dished out a more sizable portion than I would have expected, but waited to pick up her fork until Matthew and I had filled our plates. It seemed we were all on edge, and it gave me a surge of pleasure that she was just as uncomfortable as her son and I were.

  Deciding to take charge, I dug in, only then to consider the possibility of her religious convictions. Though neither Matthew nor Blake were practicing anythings, that didn’t mean their mother wasn’t. My stomach dropped at the thought of committing a faux pas of the most horrible order. But as both Matthew and Patricia followed my lead, it regained its proper position. All was well, at least for now.

  Growing up, meal time had been an opportunity for my dad and me to discuss anything and everything. It wasn’t like we always had heart to hearts, but the conversation never really stopped flowing. We’d speak about his work, my school day, whatever entered our minds.

  Apparently at the Snyder household, the same philosophy did not apply. I couldn’t say that I was surprised, but I found it quite odd that in this setting, where his mother was trying to make amends, that Patricia kept her eyes fixed intently on the plate in front of her. Matthew returned the favor. Meanwhile, I bit my tongue.

  At least with no one talking, lunch itself didn’t last very long. The next fifteen or so minutes were nothing more than forks and knives scraping against my stoneware plates, the sounds of glasses being returned to the tabletop, the sinking feeling of a happy ending getting further and further away.

  I sprang up from my seat as soon as we’d all finished, gathering everyone’s plates and silverware and hightailing it to the kitchen to load the dishwasher. Patricia didn’t make a move to leave her chair to help, which I didn’t expect her to because number one, this was Patricia we were talking about, and number two, she was my guest. But Matthew trailed behind me.

  “Are we bombing out there, or is this just normal operating procedure?” I whispered into his neck as he bent down to kiss me.

  I felt him shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine. But at least no one is screaming or crying yet.”

  I backed away from him, a smirk playing about my lips. He was picking now to be filled with optimism?

  Not wanting to make her wait any longer than necessary, I hurried through clean up with Matthew’s assistance. Ours was an easy silence, unlike the one we’d just come from. All too quickly, it was over and time to again face the music.

  Patricia had risen from her chair and was now at the window, admiring the view of our inground pool. She spun around when she heard us enter, her blond hair falling perfectly back into place.

  “You have a lovely home,” she stated.

  Though it seemed like a genuine compliment, I was still taken aback. After all, this was the woman who lived in a mini-mansion in what was one of Fort Wayne’s most exclusive neighborhoods. Granted, I’d never been inside of it, but I’d witnessed it from the confines of Gracie’s car. And I doubted that the Snyder residence was any less grand on the interior. They did not seem the type to decorate with bargain basement lawn furniture.

  “Thanks,” I breathed, jolting back into reality.

  “Blake did a great job of making this place habitable. It was less than spectacular when I bought it.”

  I stiffened at Matthew’s mention of his sister. My head snapped around to meet his eyes. They were filled with regret, though at what I was unsure. That she wasn’t here, or that he’d brought the uncomfortable subject up in the first place?

  I turned back to Patricia to gauge her reaction. It was a virtual tennis match, the ball now in her court. When she’d approached me, Patricia had made it clear that she wished to see both of her children. The siblings were a package deal, one that I’d not been able to deliver. Did she know this? Did it matter?

  “I should have known,” she said, not yet showing her hand. “Not that I doubt you can make a beautiful home yourself, Lauren-”

  “No offense taken,” I interrupted.

  The unintentional insult was the least of my worries. And to skirt around the touchy subject, my rudeness had emerged. But the delay was only temporary, and everyone in the room knew it.

  “Blake always had an eye for design elements. I’m glad to see that she stuck with it and is using her degree.”

  “This house was her baby, more or less,” Matthew confirmed.

  An odd selection of words, considering. But the thing that seemed to out their strained relationship to his mother the most was the use of the past tense. Of course, she had no idea about the miscarriage. Or that it happened here. At least I didn’t think so.

  “I would have argued that you were her project once,” Patricia mused. “It appears she did a fine job with that as well.”

  She stepped away from the window, sensing that this wasn’t a conversation to have while standing, hovering around a gigantic table. She was right. Things were about to get heavy really quickly, and it was best if we all sat down.

  House tour on hold, Matthew led us into the living room. Once a contemporary show of bachelorhood, the black, white and red color scheme remained, but traces of Sadie were interspersed. A baby swing and playpen graced the corner of the room now, reminding us that all changes that had come about were not negative.

  Matthew took a seat on the couch, grabbing my arm and pulling me down beside him. We were sitting so close to one another it was almost indecent. But I repressed my urge to scoot away from him a fraction. It was our home, and if she didn’t like it, too bad. He was clearly telling me he needed me, and if mounting him wasn’t an option, then this was the next best thing.

  Patricia took her cue and settled into the chair sitting perpendicular from us. Her posture was impeccable, gleaned no doubt from years of living in high society circles. I wondered if she’d been born and bred in that tax bracket, or if it was a result of her union with Alan. Either way, the demeanor fit her like a glove.

  And even though it wasn’t the appropriate moment to do so, my eyes slid down her very poised leg, crossed at the knee so that I could clearly see the red sole on the dead sexy heel that dangled in the air tempting me. That damn pair of shoes had likely cost more than three of my car payments. I’d be hard pressed to convince myself they weren’t worth every single penny.

  I forced my eyes shut, clearing my head of the inconsequential and trying to root myself back into the completely sober moment. I was the only one who had strayed, but interestingly enough, both of them had seemed to have paused midstream in their thoughts to allow me to catch back up with them.

  “I don’t think I’d be where I am today if it weren’t for Blake,” Matthew admitted quietly.

  I knew this to be true. And I also felt the underlying current of pain behind those words. Not because of what had happened in the past, but because of the present. Because even though I was his support system now, his sister’s absence left a gaping hole in his life that I would never begin to fill.

  “It seems I have a lot to thank her for,” Patricia said. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t appear to be possible today.”

  Her words didn’t sound like an accusation, merely a statement of fact. But Matthew still bristled beside me. He cleared his throat, debating how much to reveal.

  “It doesn’t appear to be possible anytime soon,” he admitted. So honesty was the best policy.

  One of Patricia’s expertly arched brows raised a fraction of an inch as she considered that newsflash. Her question was clear: why?

  Matthew spoke not to his mother, but rather to his hands, which were folded in his lap. I latched on to them with my own, hoping he could feed off of some of my waning strength.

  “Blake and I aren’t on speaking terms any more.”

  His mother nodded. It was clear that she understood this development had come about because of her. Whether this bothered her was difficult to tell. Disappointment flitted across the features that could change, but
her stoic, slightly bored visage returned within a split second.

  A tense hush fell over the room, broken only by the sounds of a waking Sadie coming from down the hall. I popped up from my seat, half expecting Matthew to follow me to the nursery to escape the scene. But I was on my own as I went to retrieve our daughter.

  “Hey there, sleepyhead,” I cooed, scooping her up into my arms. “There’s someone here that wants to see you.”

  I’d dressed her in one of my personal favorite outfits for the occasion, ironically a dress purchased by her aunt. Blake not only chose couches, curtains and wedding dresses with ease, but also knew a thing or two about infant fashion. And for the first months of her niece’s life, she’d doted upon her, filling her closet and dressers with almost an entire wardrobe.

  Before she made her debut, Sadie needed a new diaper, and as I positioned her on the changing table, I couldn’t stop my lashes from moistening with evidence of my regret. I had thought I was making things better, but all I’d really done was exchange one Snyder female relative for another in my daughter’s life. I wasn’t certain that Patricia was the proper number one selection, especially not since her devotion to the cause was still in question.

  What was more set in stone was that I’d singlehandedly made sure that Blake had slipped away. Though her spirit was everywhere in this room, less than a year into Sadie’s life, the real Blake was only a memory. One that Sadie wouldn’t have a chance of remembering.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered to her smiling baby face. Thankfully, she didn’t notice the tears and only focused on the smile I returned. As far as she was concerned, everything was just fine. If only I could convince myself.

  With a deep breath for composure, I lifted her to my shoulder and we made our trek back to the living room. Once I was within earshot, I gathered that Matthew and Patricia were discussing his father. Good. That same question had lingered in my brain ever since her reaching out to us: did Alan know? And if not, what in the world would he do if and when he found out?

  “He’s at the office today,” Patricia was saying when I came into view. From what I gathered, his working on the weekend was not uncommon at all. So her sneaking away for a few hours wouldn’t draw attention, simply because he was perpetually absent.