“What trouble? Just a small dinner. No time to make anything big, naturally.”
I grinned. No matter what ethnicity, a mama is a mama is a mama.
“This is just lovely, Mrs., uh, Mama.” I corrected myself when I saw the look in her eye.
“Papa took a plate to Mrs. Morton, and he’ll be back in a minute. Then we eat. She hasn’t been feeling well and couldn’t come over, even though I invited her.”
“Mrs. Morton is our across-the-yard neighbor,” Alek explained. “She is quite elderly. She and her late husband were sort of surrogate grandparents to us when we were kids.” Then he turned to his mother. “Mamushka, if it isn’t too late, Maisie and I will go visit after dinner.” He looked at me to ask, nonverbally, if that was okay.
“Good, good,” his mother nodded. His father entered the back door, clapping his hands together and embracing his eldest son.
“Now we eat!” He removed his cap, and the hair on his fully gray head fell into lines much like Alek’s. We all smooshed around the table on dining room chairs, kitchen chairs, even the piano bench, and Papa led the blessing over the food. Then the chaos of passing dishes and eating and laughter began. I felt truly at home.
“So, Maisie, how long have you and Sander been dating?” This was from Iva, who was, I think, the baby sister.
“Oh, no. We’re not—” I began, looking over at Alek, then back at his sister, who calmly forked a large bite of a pasta-cabbage dish that I know my brothers would have made short work of.
“Iva, please don’t make assumptions,” he said, with a look that assured her she was in for it after dinner.
“Maisie, tell us about your family,” deflected another female voice. She did not have the trademark Markovich black hair and gray eyes, so I knew she was a daughter-in-law. I smiled inwardly, thinking of my own sister-in-law, Lucy, who usually filled this role at our family dinners.
I took a breath and started my family saga, but was stopped by Alek’s brother Arron.
“Wait, your father is Sal Valenti and your brother is Anthony Valenti?”
I nodded.
“Arron is the family football fanatic,” explained Alek.
“Is now the time to tell him that Dante Hathaway is my godfather?” I asked.
“Are you kidding me!” Arron exclaimed. “Sander, you are dating sports royalty and didn’t bother to say anything?”
“Again, not dating—” began Alek.
“I wouldn’t say royalty—” I began at the same time.
“What? What does he mean?” asked Mrs. Markovich, confused.
“Mama, Maisie’s father is a famous football coach, and her brother was on the short list for the Heisman Trophy. Her other brothers are all elite athletes.”
Mrs. Markovich politely reacted. Obviously she was not a sports fanatic.
“Well, my oldest brother isn’t an athlete. He’s a priest.” I attempted to tone down Arron’s hero worship.
“A priest! Why, your mother must be proud!” The wattage of Mama’s smile exploded.
Laughter also exploded around the table, and she became bewildered.
“What?” she asked.
“Oh, Mama. Only you would be more excited to know we have the sister of a priest at the table rather than the sister of premier athletes.” Alek rose from his seat and moved to give her a sideways embrace and a giant buss on the cheek.
“Since you are up already, go to the kitchen and get more soup,” she responded. “No matter who she’s related to, this lovely girl needs to eat more. She is too thin!”
We laughed again, and I resumed discussion not of my family, but of my own schooling, how Alek and I met, and how we work together now.
“So,” I turned the conversation from me. “Tell me more about Sander and his childhood.”
His siblings were only too happy to contribute stories. I whooped and laughed through the main course, while it was being cleared, and even when the wonderful desserts appeared.
“You are a dead woman, Valenti,” he whispered to me at one point.
“Oh, no. This is delightful. What can you do about it?” I whispered back.
“Rest assured, I’ll dig for dirt when we have dinner with your family someday,” he smiled down into my eyes.
“Um. Yes. I guess so.” I jumped up to help clear the table, preoccupied in the thought of his confidence in meeting my family over dinner someday.
26
We were stuffed, dishes were washed and drying, and various young Markovich families had begun to disperse to their own homes when Alek reminded me that he was going to visit Mrs. Morton next door.
“You don’t have to go over if you don’t want to, Mais. I know it will delay us leaving, but you don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not. If you think you are going alone, you are crazy.”
I ducked into the small powder room off the kitchen to straighten my hair, and when I caught sight of my bright eyes and cheeks, I realized that I had just experienced such a delightful evening.
We crossed the lawn on a well-worn pathway.
“I guess you guys have gone back and forth from house to house for a lot of years,” I said, pointing to the path.
“Definitely. I can’t remember a time when she wasn’t at our house or we weren’t at hers. She’s been going downhill for a while now, though.”
We rapped on the back door of Mrs. Morton’s house before Alek opened it with a key that the Markoviches had been given as a safety measure.
“Nana? It’s Sander,” he called out softly.
“Oh! My darling. Come into the family room.”
We moved through the kitchen to a small room lit only by the blue, flickering light of the TV.
“Sander, come close. Let me see you.” A tiny, wizened woman bundled in a cozy pink housecoat, despite the warm evening, reached up for him. Her eyes were buglike with giant eyeglasses.
Alek kneeled next to her and embraced her.
“And what is this? Who have you brought me?” She gestured for me to come near.
“I’m Maisie,” I said, also kneeling.
“Lovely Maisie. Your name means ‘pearl of light.’ Did you know that?”
“My grandmother told me that. It was her name.”
“She must have been a lovely woman, as well, if your parents gave you her name.” Mrs. Morton nodded.
“She was. I’m proud to have her name.”
“So, my darling boy, to what do we owe the honor of a visit today?” She turned to Alek and placed her withered hand on his healthy cheek. He clasped it and pressed it tightly, then explained our broadcast of the Sterling Aggie baseball opening day.
“My! Lovely Maisie is a TV celebrity, and my Sander is responsible for broadcasting her to the world. What a great duo!”
Alek and I looked at each other and smiled.
“Do you like what you do, Maisie?”
“I love it. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do.”
“Good, good. It’s important to do what you are meant to do. Is she good at it, Sander?”
“She’s the best, Nana.” Alek looked over at me with a smile.
“And you, my Sander, do you still love to look at the world through the camera lens?”
“I do, Nana, I do.”
“When will I see a movie that you make? Remember how we sat here and you told me so often about your dream of making movies?”
What? I don’t think I ever heard Alek express that dream.
“Oh, Nana. Someday.” He avoided my eye.
The front doorbell rang.
“Are you expecting someone, Nana?” Alek asked.
“That home care worker that my son hired. Bah. She thinks I can’t take care of myself.”
“Well, you have taken care of so many people for so long, why not rest and let someone else help you?” Alek said.
“You stop trying to charm me, Sander. Is that how he caught you, Maisie?”
“He is a charmer, for sure.” I avoi
ded the topic of being caught.
Alek answered the door to greet a staunch woman of indeterminate age, anywhere from twenty-five to forty. One look and I knew she would brook no argument from those in her care, but she had kind eyes, so I knew she was a good choice for this exquisite woman.
“Nana, we are going to leave you with Corinne. She says it’s time to get ready for bed.”
“Bed.” Mrs. Morton waved her hand. “Why, in my youth this was hours before the time that we would even be getting ready to go out for the evening.”
“I bet it was,” Alek laughed.
“Tell me you youngsters are not such fuddy-duddies,” she pleaded. “Tell me you get dressed in beautiful dresses and tuxedos and go to wonderful parties and dances.”
“We do,” I assured her. And I knew both of us were thinking of last week’s gala where we were indeed in gown and tux, but the event was probably not what Mrs. Morton envisioned.
“Good, good. A young couple should take advantage of the music and the moonlight while they can.”
“All right now. Out with both of you,” Corinne admonished.
We each reached for an embrace and a kiss with Mrs. Morton. She held Alek’s hand for a moment longer. “Come back soon, my Sander. And bring this pearl of light with you.”
Alek gave her a courtly kiss on the back of her hand, and we exited through the kitchen, making sure to lock the door on the way out.
We were silent as we slowly crossed the lawn on the path, enjoying the beauty of the night. The sky was crystal clear, and we could see the moon and so many stars. In the distance, we could hear a train, but the only sounds nearby were the merry chirrups of crickets. The inviting light of his parents’ kitchen window beckoned us, and we were nearly at the house, when Alek stopped.
“What is it?” I asked.
He hesitated for only a moment, then took my hand and pulled me into the shadows under a massive oak tree.
“Alek … what on earth—?”
I didn’t have the chance to finish my sentence. He sweetly placed his hands on either side of my face, tilted my head up, and reached down to brush my lips with his. He pulled away and searched my face in the diffused light.
“Mais?” One word conveyed a thousand questions.
Swept into the mood of the moment, I could only answer with a nod, and he pulled me back tighter for a deeper kiss, moving his arms to clasp me while my own arms entwined around his neck. After a moment, we stopped, and he moved one hand to run it through my hair before pulling my head to his chest.
“Maisie, Maisie, Maisie,” he repeated in a whisper.
“Can’t you see me in the dark?” I attempted a lame quip as my heart beat faster—and louder, I was sure, than the crickets.
“Can’t you stop being a smart aleck even when a man is putting the moves on you?” he asked quietly.
I pulled back, running my hands down his strong arms, finally holding and keeping his hands in mine.
“So, are those your moves?” I teased and kissed each of his hands.
His countenance changed. He dropped his smile, pushed me against the tree, pinning my shoulders and kissing me soundly once again.
“No, but those are. Problem?” he asked as he pulled back breathlessly.
“No.” I reached up to push his floppy bangs from his forehead.
I thought I heard a distant radio playing Madonna’s “Vogue.” Wait. That wasn’t a radio. That was my phone, and it was Phyllis’s ringtone. By the time I shook loose and reached into my pocket, it had rung enough that it went to voicemail.
I shook my head.
“Markovich!” I said soberly as I moved away. “What are we doing?”
“Taking Nana’s advice and making use of the moonlight.” He attempted to pull me back to him.
“No. What are WE doing? As in you and me. We don’t do this!”
“Correction. We didn’t do this before. Apparently we do this now.” His arms were around me again, and he looked down with that irresistible crinkly smile that reached all the way to his eyes.
“But Alek. We’re friends. Remember?”
“What, are you telling me this isn’t friendly?” He pushed my hair back from my face and planted kisses on my forehead and cheeks and was slowly moving to the base of my throat.
I felt my resolve melt, but had to push him back. Had he forgotten about Copper Top?
“What about Calliope, Alek?”
“What about her?” he asked, distracted, as his hands trailed dangerously on either side of my waist.
“You and her. Her and you.”
Alek stopped and threw his head back and laughed.
“You thought? Calliope and me?”
“Well … yes. You worked on that project with her. You were her date for the gala.” This was starting to annoy me.
He saw that the mood had shifted and gave in. He sat on a well-worn bench at the base of the tree, patted the seat next to him, and, warily, I took it.
“I worked on her project as a favor to one of the other camera guys, remember? And that gala was anything but a date, as you might have noticed. She said her date canceled and asked if I would accompany her so that she wouldn’t have to show up alone. Come on, Maisie. You know I’m a stand-up guy who wouldn’t let a woman down.”
“Really? She could have found a thousand lackeys to fill in. Why did she pick you?”
“Okay, first of all. Wow. Lackey? Is that how you see me?”
Oops. Maybe I picked a bad phrase. By the tone of his next sentence, I obviously had.
“Did it occur to you that maybe she asked me because I’m an intelligent, interesting, fun person, Maisie?”
“No, that’s not it.” Drat! It just came out. How much worse was that statement? I couldn’t really see, but I knew Alek’s whole body stiffened.
“Are you saying I’m not interesting, intelligent, or fun? Which is it?” he asked tightly.
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Actually, I don’t know anything, Maisie. Maybe you do think I’m a lackey.”
“You know that’s not what I mean,” I repeated.
“Well, just what do you mean, then? Explain it to me, since I obviously don’t know.” He stood abruptly. “And while we’re on the subject of dating choices, what’s up with you and that plastic talking head, Campbell Casey? What possessed him to ask you out, princess?”
“What?”
“Yeah. Couldn’t he find a ‘lackey’? Why did he pick you?”
Ouch. It hurt to have my own words thrown back at me.
“That’s not fair.”
“Oh really? How does it feel when the shoe is on the other foot?”
I stood toe-to-toe with him.
“Maybe he chose me because I’M intelligent, interesting, and fun. And not that it’s any of your business, but he and I aren’t dating. He’s not my type.”
“Really? Well, just what is your type, Maisie? Remember, I spent four years at university listening to you whine about what wasn’t your type. Then after not seeing each other for years, you’re still not sure. How could you possibly not have figured out just what is your type after all this time, because I’m sure I probably could build a spreadsheet on that topic by now.”
“Hey! I thought you were my friend. I thought—”
“That’s the problem, Maisie. You have only ever looked at me as a friend. You never could be bothered to take half a minute to look at me as anything else. Why did you even kiss me just now?”
“I didn’t! You kissed me!”
“Well, you kissed back!”
It is so difficult to carry on an argument in whispers. I looked over at the kitchen window and door, hoping that his parents weren’t listening to us bicker. I took a breath and counted to ten.
“Look, Alek, this was a mistake. I think we should leave.” I attempted to lower my voice even further.
He only hesitated for a moment, then started to stomp across the lawn and turned when h
e saw I wasn’t following.
“Well, come on. We have to say good-bye to my parents before we drive back to Denver.”
That’s right. Hours in the van. This would be the biggest challenge in my life so far.
27
“Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.” I repeated for the zillionth time, smacking my pillow with each word.
Phyllis brought a quart of mint chocolate chip ice cream with two spoons and sat on my bed with legs crossed.
“Oh, I don’t think he is,” she soothed jokingly.
I stared at her.
“You know I mean me.”
She handed me one of the spoons and calmly dipped herself a bite with the other as she shrugged.
“Phyl, you just wouldn’t believe it,” I said, dipping a giant bite myself.
“Oh, I would. I’ve known you a long time. I just find it harder to believe that you both rode back in that van for three hours from Ogallala to Denver without speaking.”
“Brule. From Brule to Denver.”
“Tomato, To-mah-to.” She waved her spoon.
“But, yes, it was icy. We could have transported meat in the van. I put my headphones in and pretended to be asleep.”
“If I know you, you weren’t.”
“Of course not.”
By the time I finally walked into the apartment after the excruciatingly long drive, Phyllis knew that the trip had evolved into a tragedy. Well, she only knew a bit of it because I had sent her a brief text from the road when we stopped for gas. I didn’t have enough cell coverage to send her much more than that. She had sent me directly to my bedroom, with the promise of ice cream, and directed me to put on my pajamas.
Now, as we sat and rehashed all the pertinent events, I was glad to have her with me.
“Idiot. Idiot. Idiot,” I repeated for the zillion and first time.
“Look, Maisie. I think you can do damage control here.”
“Are you insane? And more importantly, is there more ice cream?”
We moved to the kitchen to forage for more comfort food. We sat down at the cafe table and rotated among (and occasionally mixed and matched) Oreos, peanut butter on toast, and raw frozen chocolate chip cookie dough.
“I feel like we’re back in college,” I crunched.
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