by Mae Wood
“Amy tell you about her turkey?” asked her dad, who asked me to call him Roger, but I was sticking with simply not using his name. Roger felt wrong, like we knew each other or were friends, and Dr. Graden wasn’t any better.
“You cooked a turkey?” I asked her. She’d sworn up and down to me that she didn’t cook. The pie was a nice surprise, so I wondered what other tricks were up her sleeves.
“I always cook a turkey,” she said, smoothing curls back from her face and tucking her hair behind her ears. Her small emerald earrings shone, but didn’t hold a candle to her eyes.
“And we always eat sandwiches,” said Grady, his own green eyes dancing happily as he clearly enjoyed teasing his mom.
“That sounds good actually,” I said, winking at Amy. “I always like a nice turkey sandwich the day after Thanksgiving for lunch.”
“Get it year ‘round,” said her dad. “Make sure to ask for the nice Boar’s Head variety at the deli counter.”
I looked at Amy for explanation and noticed her cheeks pinking. “Fine,” she said to her dad and Grady before turning to me with a shrug. “I always cook a turkey and ruin it. And that’s why we have sandwiches with deli turkey.”
“Makes sense,” I said, passing her my empty dessert plate. “The great deli turkey sandwich Thanksgiving tradition,” I said. “More original than my Thanksgivings, which are dinner, nap, and movie.”
I looked at my watch, and realized this was going to be the first Thanksgiving in more than two decades that I wasn’t going to the movies. I’d tried to talk Cassie into joining me for an early evening show, even offering to go to a rom com about a fake fiancée and a family vacation, but she turned me down flat in favor of going out dancing. The upshot to her new-found Memphis social network was that maybe she’d come see me more often, so I hadn’t pushed her to go to the movies with me. But I was a little grumbly that this tradition was coming to an end.
“Oh, we got the naps in. I had to wake this one up,” she said, thumbing at her dad.
“And we watch movies,” said her dad. Dr. Graden’s eyes landed on mine, over Grady’s head as Grady hunched down and tapped away on his phone. “But perhaps you two should go out,” her dad offered. “It’s what? Not even ten yet? You could catch a late show.”
“Amy? What about it?” I asked, definitely not looking a gift horse in the mouth. With her dad and son in her house, getting lucky was going to mean getting to peck her on the cheek on the front porch and I wanted more than that.
“Dad, are you sure?”
“Sure as sure can be, Amy love.”
“Grady,” she asked. He didn’t respond. “Grady,” she repeated raising her voice.
His head shot up from his phone. “Uh, yeah, Mom?”
Amy pursed her lips and slightly shook her head in response. “Thomas and I are talking about going out to a movie.”
“Cool. I’m going to my room. Night,” he said, leaving his dish on the island and walking down the hall, his face once again glued to his phone.
I picked up his plate and fork and passed it to Amy. “So, movies, then. Let’s head out.”
“That was pretty good,” she said, as we left the theater hand-in-hand. “I mean, it was schmaltzy at times, with the crescendoing orchestration each time they looked longingly at each other, but it’s what I expect for anything that’s clearly designed to get that starlet an Oscar nomination.”
“I completely agree.” I pulled our hands up and kissed the back of hers. “Glass of wine or if I keep you out any later, will we find your dad or Grady sitting on the front porch with a shotgun when I drop you off?”
“Probably just Grady. My dad likes you.”
“Sure about that?”
“When you find a copy of A Knife in the Water delivered to your office next week, ask me again. He likes you.”
“I’d like you to meet Cassie,” I said in response, knowing that however this went down, there was no smooth, easy way to approach it.
Her eyebrows shot up in reply.
“Yeah, so she flies back Sunday mid-morning. What about lunch on Saturday?”
“Like the three of us?” she asked as we continued walking to my car, the worry constricting her throat and making her voice tight.
“Like the four of us. You and Grady, me and Cassie. We’ll all be in Utah in less than a month and this way we can get a sneak peek at either how bad or tolerable things will be.”
“Bad or tolerable? You really think it’s going to be that awesome?” That smile I loved was back.
“Amy,” I said, opening the car door for her but wrapping her up in my arms before she could slip into her seat. “It’s going to be great. And as far as our kids go, fuck ’em. Well, not really, but this isn’t about them. Tolerable with them is fine with me because this,” I said, looking straight into her green eyes, “this is awesome.”
“Morning, Cassie Lassie,” I sang. “Or should I say ‘mid-morning, Cassie Lassie’?”
“Dad, it’s only ten thirty,” she yawned, wrapped in a robe in the middle of my greige kitchen.
“Coffee? Breakfast?”
“Coffee,” she answered. I reached to grab milk from the fridge, knowing she liked her morning cup sweet and creamy. “I drink it black, now,” she said with a yawn.
“Really?” I closed the fridge. “Given up that sweet tooth, too?”
“Nah.” She reached into the pantry and pulled out a handful of the soft caramels she’d asked me to pick up from the grocery. Setting them on the island she unwrapped a few and then dropped them into the steaming mug I passed her. “It’s genetic.”
A few quiet moments passed as I reminded myself to appreciate this moment with her before I rushed headlong into the future.
“Cassie?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you be willing to have lunch with Amy and her son tomorrow?” Her sleepy eyes flew open. Big and blue.
“I get to be the consiglieri?” she spat out in excitement. “I just assumed it would be Miller. Since he’s mini-you.”
Cassie always surprised me, starting from the moment we found out that Laurie had two buns in the oven. I was prepared for the hard fight, for coaxing and cajoling her into lunch. I would say that I was relieved, if I hadn’t been so damn shocked.
“Yes, well, bonus of being the only one who came to see your dear old dad for Thanksgiving. Eggs? Toast? Pancakes?”
“A scrambled egg and one piece of toast would be great.”
“Order coming up,” I said and spun to the fridge to pull out ingredients. And while I cooked for her and she ate, we chatted, but Amy or lunch tomorrow wasn’t mentioned.
“Dad,” she said, her voice softer than it had been a moment before when we’d been talking about her statistics exam she was dreading, it was required for her marketing major and she suffered through every moment of it.
“Yeah, honey,” I answered, taking her empty coffee mug and loading it into the dishwasher.
“Why is the pool painting down here now?” Before I could gently press her to tell me what exactly she was asking, she told me. “Did you move it down here because of your girlfriend?”
I wiped my hands on a dish towel and wished it were afternoon so I could at least pretend I had justification for reaching for a Scotch. I knew her agreeing to lunch had been too easy.
“I moved it down here so I could see it more often,” I said, giving her the most palatable answer first.
“It was in your bedroom,” she persisted, giving me a glimpse of the grown Casandra that she was on her way to being.
“Where I am with my eyes closed for all but a few minutes a day. Here, in the kitchen, I’m in here much longer. And, despite your belief that I don’t wake up until my second cup of coffee, I am generally awake.”
I hadn’t answered her question and I knew it.
“But yes, I also moved it because of Amy. Look,” I said, slicing my hand through the air. “She didn’t ask me to and I didn’t do it to make
her happy. I won’t go into details—”
I heard the ‘Thank God” exhaled from her lips, but I continued without acknowledging that particular elephant.
“But it’s my house. And I want Amy in my house and I want that painting in my house and I want you here and Claire and Miller, too.” I paused for a beat, scanning her eyes for a clue about her mental state. Whether I’d crossed a line by setting it all out there in too stark of terms. But I couldn’t tell, so I trundled on. “And her son Grady, too. If he wants to be here, I want him here, too.”
I could see her chin begin to quiver, a sure sign that tears were about to spring from her eyes. “I love you,” I said, rounding the island and hugging her. “I love you and your brother and your sister and your mother.”
“And Amy?” There goes my Cassie, not pulling any punches.
“Yeah, I do.” I dropped a kiss on her head and hoped for the best. “I love Amy, too.”
39
Amy
“Hi, I’m Amy,” I said, extending my hand over the wooden table to greet Cassie. We were at Corky’s for a barbeque lunch at Grady’s suggestion, but I knew we were there for the onion loaf. The restaurant wouldn’t serve it to-go but every time I called in a dinner order for me and him, I always asked anyway.
Cassie was prettier than the pictures I’d seen around the house and on Thomas’s phone. Caramel blond hair with a thin figure and a perfectly made up face, all done to draw attraction to her big blue eyes. Thomas’s eyes. As she went to shake my hand, I noticed her perfectly manicured plum fingernails. Based on the magazines in my waiting room that I shamelessly flipped through while I ate lunch and wasn’t looking at cat videos, she was perfectly on-trend for the winter.
“Hi,” she sang in a warm greeting. “I’m Cassie.” Thomas had been right—Cassie was rainbows and sunshine. “That sweater is great on you. The color is so flattering,” she said as she retook her seat.
“Thanks,” I replied.
“You must be Grady,” she continued. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same. Welcome to Memphis.” He held out his hand and they shook. Probably a tad formal for the situation, but to be honest, I didn’t know what the protocol was.
I slid into the booth across from the Popovs with Grady sitting beside me. Cassie’s warmth and kind words made feel like the new girl at school and the head cheerleader had just complimented my sweater. I was so happy about such a little thing.
I had spent more time figuring out what to wear to lunch to meet Cassie than I had for any date with Thomas. I wanted to be cool. To be as fashionable as appropriate for barbeque. To be pretty. To not be slutty. I wanted her approval. I’d ended up in a dark pink cashmere sweater, the most expensive jeans I owned, brown Prada boots that had been a holiday gift from Bert’s sisters a few years ago, and of course the necklace Thomas had given me for my birthday. I liked it and wore it a ton, and I knew I needed to wear it to lunch to show Cassie that I liked it. That I appreciated her.
“The necklace really finishes off the outfit well,” Cassie said with a nod. I high-fived myself in my head.
“Thank you,” I said, clutching it in my hand. “I wear it all the time. It goes with everything. Thank you so much for it.”
She shrugged. “My dad bought it,” she said.
“I may have bought it, Cassie Lassie, but you picked it out,” Thomas replied with a wink at her. The server stopped by, we ordered lunch, and we were off to the races.
Cassie, Thomas, and I carried the conversation, mainly about her school, the friends she made the past few days in Memphis, her upcoming exams, and her plans for next summer. Her internship with Neiman Marcus had gone well, and she had been invited back, but she had her sights set on New York next summer and based upon Thomas’s redirection of the conversation each time she mentioned it, that was going to be a throw down that I wanted nothing to do with.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Grady demolish a whole onion loaf, a rack of ribs, and several tamales. I looked for meaning in his every action, but he gave away nothing.
“Grady’s going to Duke next year,” I offered, trying to draw him into the conversation, to get some sort of temperature check on this lunch.
“Do you know Marcus Studdard?” Cassie asked, her happy voice getting even perkier. “I met him at a party the other night. He’s at Duke.”
“Yeah,” said Grady, trying to be cool. “Marcus is two years ahead of me. Same high school though. I hung out with him and some other Memphis guys at Duke this fall.”
“He seems like a cool guy,” replied Cassie. And I knew what was going on there. She was fishing for more information about Marcus.
A “yeah, he’s cool” was all Grady gave her and I smirked. I caught Thomas’s eye and wished we could somehow talk about our kids in front of them without them knowing. Like before they could read and you could spell words out. I wanted something like that to tell Thomas that this wasn’t Grady upset. This was just how Grady was. A little aloof until he was sure of a new acquaintance, which is why he hadn’t talked much with Thomas Thanksgiving night. I was hoping he was going to warm up soon or our ski vacation was going to be really trying.
“What are you going to major in?” asked Cassie. And I thanked her in my head, praising her as she forced Grady into a conversation. After a few minutes, Cassie made a little joke about being a twin and Grady laughed. And I could breathe again. I looked at Thomas and caught his eye. Biting my lower lip and giving him a quick nod of my head, I tried to tell him that I thought things were turning around. That maybe this trip would be more than just tolerable. Maybe it’d be downright pleasant.
The server dropped the check on the table and Thomas snatched it up. I noticed Cassie examining me, trying to figure me out and likely figure out what she was going to say to her siblings on the phone in a matter of minutes. And that new girl at school nervousness crept back into my thirty-nine-year-old body.
There were a million things I wanted to say to her—That I knew how it felt to lose your mom. That I knew what it was like to be a teenage girl with only a dad as a parent. That I didn’t want to be her mom. That we didn’t need to be friends, but I hoped we could be friendly. That I wasn’t averse to fashion help. That her black sweater was gorgeous and I’d never think to put a funky gold necklace on top of it. That I was a huge nerd and not-so-secretly loved my statistics class. That drunk sex could change your life forever. That I had been twenty-one when I became a mother. That my ex’s baby sister had a ton of connections in the fashion world. I didn’t know how to say any of them.
But the one that stuck in my throat and then burned the tip of my tongue was simpler and much more complex. That I loved her father.
Grady drove us home from lunch while I texted Thomas.
Me: Tolerable, verging on pleasant.
Thomas Popov: Things are looking up. Sunday as usual?
Me: Absolutely.
Thomas Popov: Purple lace bra. Please wear it again.
How did he know? I felt heat rise in my cheeks. I looked down at my sweater and didn’t see a big gaping hole. Did I have a wardrobe malfunction in front of his daughter? Did no one tell me? How did he know about my bra?
Thomas Popov: You reached for your tea and I got a peek down your sweater.
Thomas Popov: If I said you have a beautiful body would you hold it against me?
Thomas Popov: It’s an old country song.
Me: Never heard it.
Thomas Popov: Didn’t answer my question.
Me: I’m a sure thing. See you tomorrow.
“So,” I said, dropping my phone in my lap and swiveling toward Grady. I’d learned early on that my teenager, like most others, was like a wild animal. If you let him smell your fear, he knew how to wound you. I plastered on my confident face as I asked if everything was good.
“Yeah, Mom,” he replied, switching on the blinker for a left turn.
“I think we’ll have a good time in Utah.”
“So
you say,” he said, adopting perfect driving posture and keeping his eyes directed out the windshield.
There it was. That was the tell I’d been looking for. He was uncomfortable.
“If you don’t want to go, we can go to the beach like normal. And if somehow your dad already has other plans, we can always go see Pop and maybe get in a day on Mount Mohawk.”
“No, Utah will be cool. Can you believe that I’ve only skied on the east coast?”
I stifled a laugh. My poor, deprived child. Bert had pushed the Boy Scout thing pretty hard with the idea that it would give Grady some direction and life-perspective. I’d gone along with it because Grady was cute in his uniform and it was a great way for him to learn about knots and boatmanship. I thought he was still cute in his uniform. And now he was an expert paddler and competent on Floss. I hoped that Bert was right and even though he might not appreciate his lucky lot in life, that he had developed a sense of self-worth that wasn’t tied to his bank account.
“Yeah, it should be fun,” I responded without answering.
As he turned the car into our neighborhood, he spoke again. “And that other thing? That thing we talked about at lunch on the Duke visit? I’m still okay with that.”
I didn’t need mine and Thomas’s Brady Bunch experiment anymore. I had Grady’s blessing. A tolerable Christmas would be welcome.
40
Thomas
Lunch hadn’t been a debacle. No crying. No gnashing of teeth. Nothing was thrown, including any punches by Grady at me. I was ready to declare victory, but it was a bit early.
Back in my house, I watched Cassie as she parked herself in my favorite reading chair and stuck her nose in her phone, tapping away at the screen. I could have given her space, but I was too damn curious about the verdict.