“Which is?”
“Getting through dinner without ripping Meg a new asshole.”
“Maybe you can arrange to stumble upon her in a dark alley.” I tried to laugh, but it didn’t fully materialize.
“Tempting.”
In the stairwell, I pulled her into my arms. “Your neurotic Lizzie side is adorable, by the way.” I added, “In small doses.”
She pressed her forehead to mine. “It’s exhausting, acting like you.”
“And vice versa.” I captured her lips in a kiss before she could say something I didn’t want to hear.
“Do you think she’ll actually come?” Allen stood shoulder to shoulder with me, while Dad conferred with the hostess. Helen and Sarah stood next to a massive flower arrangement. Helen was pointing to a tiger lily, confiding something in Sarah’s ear.
“I’m sorry, what?” I focused on Allen.
“Dr. Shaw—Meg. Will she come?”
“She’s been unreliable in the past.” I brushed a stray hair off my forehead.
“Quite true,” said a familiar voice from behind us. Meg had stealthily infiltrated our group like a KGB agent.
Allen’s face reddened.
I whirled around, taking a defensive stand. “Hey, there. Your biggest fan was concerned,” I said in hopes of alleviating the awkwardness. For Allen’s sake. Not that Meg looked out of her element, which I found extremely irksome.
Meg flashed a million-dollar smile at Allen. “I’m not used to the adoration.”
Yeah right. Before Meg’s drinking got out of hand, she was a rock star in academic circles. I used to look up to her.
Helen and Sarah gravitated to us as if sucked over by a strong vacuum vortex usually seen in sci-fi shows. Maybe it should be called the Meg Effect. Or was it due to the motherly instinct to circle the wagons? Had Sarah intimated to Helen that Meg wasn’t to be trusted?
“How do you two know each other?” Helen was all smiles, alleviating my fear that Sarah had blabbed.
Although, Sarah’s predatory stance made it clear Meg wasn’t wanted. I tugged on the back of her silk blouse to ease up a bit.
Meg said, “Oh, we dated.” Maybe Sarah’s I wish you’d die on the spot expression made Meg add, “Years ago.”
“I didn’t know that. Another history connection that’s practically in the family!” Allen crowed.
I needed to educate Allen about the protocol of leaving exes in the past, although the Maddie/Peter situation muddied the waters. Being a member in our family complicated knowing how normal people functioned.
From the displeasure and disapproval on Sarah’s face, I had a feeling she was on the same page. Maybe we should find Allen a book outlining how to navigate awkward social situations, like having dinner with an abusive ex who worked in the same profession, making it difficult to tell her to fuck off out of fear of retribution. Was that too heavy for chapter one?
“Our table is ready.” Dad put his arm out for Helen.
I did the same for Sarah, and Allen, taking our cue, crooked his elbow for Meg. I squeezed Sarah’s hand on my arm to reassure her. She offered a brave smile. Or was it a threat? To whom, though? Me? Meg? Was poor Allen in her crosshairs? He was still very much a boy—the one who’d invited my ex.
One dinner.
With Meg and my family.
What could possibly go wrong?
The hostess sat us at a round table in the back. Behind us was a blue and yellow tiled mosaic water fountain. The ceramic table sported the same colors and pattern. It was as if the designer was trying too hard to transport customers to the Mediterranean.
“Shall we order wine?” Helen shook out her napkin, placing it in her lap.
“No! I mean, I have to drive, and—” I managed to stop myself before inflicting more awkwardness on the situation. If there wasn’t a book on how to deal with certain situations, Sarah should write one. Maybe that could be her hobby. Helping me, the clueless wife, and my half brother who had been hidden away for years. The Brady Bunch had nothing on us.
“It’s okay, Lizzie.” Meg turned her attention to Helen. “I’m in AA, but please don’t feel inhibited.”
The first skeleton I’d hoped to keep in the closet sprung out into the open.
“That’s so cool!” Allen immediately pinched his eyes shut. It was a classic case of not knowing how stupid something sounded until spoken aloud with so much excitement. Another way Allen reminded me how alike we were.
Helen cleared her throat.
Allen added, “That you’re so open about it.”
“I find it’s easier to get it out there. Much easier than thinking of a million and one reasons for turning down a drink. People hate when you refuse a drink.” Meg seemed so relaxed. Confident. This was the Meg I’d met so many years ago. The one I’d fallen for. This was how she roped people into her life, to feed her need to be loved, and how she seized unrelenting control.
My hackles rose.
Sarah placed a hand on my thigh.
The waitress, with notepad in hand, asked, “Drinks?”
“Iced tea,” I said.
Allen dittoed.
“Mineral water,” Sarah said. Was she making a point that no one should tempt Meg, or was she afraid if she imbibed, terrible things would escape her lips?
Dad and Helen followed suit.
The waitress looked to Meg.
“Iced tea for me, Lizzie, and Allen”—she pointed both of us out—“and a bottle of pinot grigio for the people being too polite to order booze around the alky. Or would you prefer a red?” Meg directed her question to Sarah.
“White’s fine.” Sarah’s voice sounded as if she hadn’t had any liquids for more than seventy-two hours. Could a person last that long? The guy who had to cut off his own arm, how long had he lasted before he drank his own pee? I took a deep, but silent, breath to knock myself out of my head.
The waitress absconded.
Everyone buried their noses in their menus, which was typical in a restaurant, although everyone’s purposeful concentration, avoiding making eye contact with anyone, brought the awkwardness front and center.
“Whatcha getting, Allen?” I asked.
“Margarita pizza.” He set his menu on the table. “You?”
“Same.”
Sarah laughed, but it sounded forced. “You two are so alike sometimes it’s creepy.” Her eyes flittered to Meg and then to Allen.
Meg slyly studied Allen, then me, before her eyes casually slid to my father and his new wife of less than a year. Was she trying to determine if we all looked alike?
Helen, perceptive as ever, watched Sarah closely as if she were a weathervane, waiting to see how the wind blew.
“Did you two date during undergrad?” Allen asked.
I tried to keep my eyes from bugging out in frustration.
“We met in grad school. I was ahead of Lizzie in the program, but she finished before me.” Meg’s eyes traveled to Allen, appraising his gray and white striped polo with Ralphie’s logo on the left chest. “Are you attending CU?”
“Started this fall. History is my passion, like you and Lizzie.” It was evident that Allen’s desire to launch into Russian history bubbled under the surface, but his shyness and the weirdness at the table curtailed him somewhat. Not enough for my comfort level. But he was my youngest sibling, and didn’t I have a duty to help him out?
“He wants to specialize in the Russian revolution,” I said and added, “You might know a thing or two about it.”
She laughed. “Not more than three, though.”
Allen chortled. His willingness to gobble up everything Meg said worried me. Then again, Meg would never date my younger sibling. Would she? Yes, she’d slept with men for money to support her addiction, but Allen was just a kid, even if he was legally an adult. And, my brother. Did Meg have some boundaries? It wasn’t like we ever chatted about this possibility, but surely even Home-wrecker Meg wouldn’t stoop to that level.
“
How is it I haven’t met you before, Allen? Only Peter.” She lowered her voice. “He only cares about making a buck.”
“He has… some good qualities,” Allen came to Peter’s defense, but he didn’t put too much effort into the message.
“Peter and his wife recently had a baby girl,” I offered, hoping to sidetrack Meg from the second secret—Dad’s affair with Helen—I’d hope to keep out of the conversation.
“Demi.” Sarah reached for my hand under the table, turning her attention to Meg. “She’s such a sweetheart.”
I wanted to kiss her for coming to my aid.
“Nothing like Peter, then.” Meg laughed, Allen joining in.
Dad met my eye as if asking if Meg was for real. His protective gaze switched to Allen, although that was the only indication he wasn’t happy. Did I inherit this trait from him? Hide most everything under the surface so others couldn’t take advantage?
The waitress parceled out the iced teas, poured wine for everyone else, and set the bottle in the wine bucket at my dad’s elbow. “Are you ready to order?”
“Shall we get some tapas to start?” Helen picked up the menu. No one declined, so she proceeded to point to a handful.
I focused on taking deep breaths without looking like I was in the midst of a panic attack. Tapas. Main course. And then freedom.
Everyone placed their dinner order.
“Would you excuse me?” I rose.
It took effort not to dash for the exit instead of the bathroom.
At the sink, I doused my face with extra cold water.
The door opened, and I squinted with one eye to see who was coming.
A woman in black old lady shoes shuffled into the first stall.
I released a puff of air.
Sarah stood outside the door, keeping an eye on the table by craning her head around the corner.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Making sure everything’s okay.”
“Why are you here and not there, then?”
“I wanted to check on you. How are you doing?” She peeked at the table again.
I shrugged.
“Here’s the plan. Tapas. Dinner. Then we can politely vamoose for the drive home. Not that anyone would suggest the club I mentioned to Helen the other day. Not after Meg’s AA confession and Allen’s faux pas.”
“What club?”
“Oh, I read about a swanky jazz place that’s in a basement. It’s a bar reminiscent of the 1920s called Prohibition. I thought the historian in you would get a kick out of it.”
“That’s sweet. Rain check, though?”
“Of course.” She kissed my cheek.
I moved to rejoin the group, but Sarah didn’t budge. “Now what?”
“I’m going to call Mom. Make sure she picked up the twinks.”
“You mean check on Troy.” I squeezed her arm. “Don’t be too long. I need you.”
She already held her phone to her ear.
Dad raised an inquisitive eyebrow when I returned alone. He plucked a cheese-filled pepper from one of the plates of hors d’oeuvres that had arrived in my absence.
“Sarah’s checking on the twins.”
Helen’s eyes softened. “I remember those days. Wanting to get out of the house but then missing the kids. Not to mention worrying myself sick.”
“She’d excuse herself at least three times during every dinner.” Dad looked to his wife, the corner of his lips slightly askew.
Meg met my eyes again but didn’t press. Sober Meg had much more control. Or maybe AA Meg could only focus on one thing: not drinking.
Sarah retook her seat, hearing the last bit of Dad’s comment, clearly able to deduce the topic of conversation. “I keep having this dream something is wrong or I’m about to die, and I’m trying to call the twins but can’t dial.” Her face paled.
“That won’t happen. Not ever,” I said with absolute conviction.
“Which part? Dying or not being able to call?” Sarah eyed me in her curious way when she thought I was being cute.
“Both, because nothing is ever going to happen to you.”
“And the twinks don’t have phones,” Sarah joked, perhaps in an effort to ease the look of panic that surely was present in my entire being.
Meg said something that only I could understand, after I took a second to process it. Everyone turned their attention to the blonde, but only Sarah’s posture contained a threat.
It’d been years since I had to speak Russian, but I responded, “Without a doubt” to her “You really do love her” comment.
Allen’s eyes grew three sizes. “You speak Russian?”
Meg nodded.
His eyes questioned me, and I indicated a little with my hand.
Sarah pressed her foot on top of mine.
“What’d you say?” He looked eager for the answer.
Meg mimed zipping her lips. “One of the advantages of being able to speak a language most don’t is keeping certain things private. Like spies.”
“Surely you aren’t on the Russian payroll and my family is your target,” Sarah said with forced lightheartedness, followed by a tittering sound I’d never heard her emit before. Her nails digging into my thigh was testimony she was doing everything she could to keep from jumping over the table to punch Meg in the face.
Allen peered in my direction, but Meg laughed it off. “You have nothing to fear,” she said with a tinge of terseness. She pivoted to Allen. “Are you taking any language courses?”
He nodded but with a grave air. “French. Russian was full this semester.”
Helen said, “I imagine a lot of hopeful academics think learning Russian will be useful considering how much Russia has been in the news lately.”
“I’m so sick of hearing about it.” Dad plucked an olive from a tiny brown bowl.
I’d always assumed my father, given his stature in the business world, was Republican. But, politics, along with many other topics, had always been taboo between us.
Helen planted a hand on his arm. “Yes, but sticking one’s head in the sand isn’t going to help.”
He stared at her, giving the impression they’d gone rounds about the issue before. I wondered if Allen’s interest in Russian history played a significant role.
“If you’d like some lessons, I’d be more than happy to help,” Meg said to Allen, turning her face away from the couple at the end of the table.
“You’d do that?” He squeaked, adorably so, which made me worry even more about Meg getting her claws into my impressionable sibling.
Allen’s jubilation swayed me from interjecting an objection. He was an adult now, and he’d have to learn how to handle people like Meg. Maybe if I repeated this nonstop for an hour, I’d actually believe the words. Did we know each other well enough for me to play the Big Sister Card and tell him to stay away without having to proffer an explanation?
“I’m sure Meg has her hands full with finishing her PhD,” Sarah said.
“Actually, teaching Allen would help me brush up. It’s been some time since I’ve had a need to speak the language.” She turned to Allen, one of the stuffed peppers in her hand. “You can impress the ladies,” Meg teased, jouncing his shoulder with hers and popping one of the cheese filled peppers into her mouth.
Allen sat up straighter in his chair, in all probability imagining saying something clever to a girl as if he were James Bond in a tuxedo.
If she hadn’t been speaking the language much, why had the comment she’d made to me rolled off her lips?
“Are you staying in Boulder, then?” Sarah asked Meg with a warning in her tone.
“For the moment. I have some friends in the area, and I’m applying for a position at the university.” Meg sipped her iced tea and then casually said, “I’d love to meet your little ones. Honestly”—her eyes skimmed to me and then back to Sarah—“I never thought of Lizzie becoming a parent.”
Her casual way of chatting as if nothing had ever happened
between us vexed me more than I expected.
“She’s a different person now,” Sarah countered.
“I have no doubt. Teaching. Twins. And you. I have a feeling you’re the most important part of the equation.” Meg seemed to speak with earnestness, but I didn’t want to allow myself to trust her. When I shut the door on Meg, I promised I’d never let her back in. I had to build walls when it came to Meg, which was slightly confusing since I’d spent years in therapy tearing them down for the sake of my marriage.
“I would be lost without her.” I took Sarah’s hand in mine and lifted it to my lips, placing a gentle kiss on her fingertips. “So, stop having those dreams. It ain’t happening.”
“I can tell when you’re passionate about something. You start using words like ain’t.” Sarah pressed a finger against my nose.
“Do the twins take after Lizzie?” Meg asked. “Janice told me you used Lizzie’s eggs.”
The next time I saw Janice, I planned to give her a piece of my mind.
Helen rushed in with, “Freddie, does for sure. He’s the thinker of the two. And more sensitive.”
“And Ollie?”
Sarah recoiled, and it was as if I could see her replaying the conversation to pinpoint whether or not anyone mentioned our daughter’s name.
Again, Helen responded. “She’s going to make her moms go completely gray before she graduates from kindergarten.”
“Do you plan on having any more children? One of your own, Sarah? Although, it’s quite romantic—you having Lizzie’s babies.”
Thank God two waiters arrived with our main courses. While Sarah had mentioned having another child using her egg, I didn’t want to open that can of worms with Meg. Sarah had never insinuated that she wanted one of her own, as Meg had put it, and I never thought she felt that way. I still didn’t, no matter how much Meg hoped to get into my head.
Helen steered the conversation with Meg and everyone else in a masterful way, allowing me to relax to the point where I didn’t have to worry about having a heart attack.
Yet, I knew to stay vigilant. Meg was many things, tenacious most of all.
In the car, after dinner, Sarah sank into the passenger seat. “She’s nothing like what I expected.”
A Conflicted Woman Page 13