by Aliyat Lecky
“It’s turning me on.” Helen answered honestly.
“You prefer a woman’s kiss because we women kiss with their whole bodies. We attend to the entire body. We kiss to stimulate and express our own arousal. That’s your answer.”
NINE
THANKSGIVING WAS ALWAYS a busy time at the Dahl-Muir residence for Helen. Despite all the change to her personal life, that year was no different. The planning for the evening began, as always, with Helen and Richard sitting up in bed discussing the year’s events, and remarking on how quickly the holidays were upon them. As with most years, Richard would suggest a change in tradition, possibly a different venue. Perhaps they should all go to Angie’s for dinner. To which Helen would respond that it gave her great pleasure to have the family over. To which Richard would inevitably counter, that maybe it was Angie’s turn to do all the work. Helen would then suggest that maybe they could do so the next year, after all, changing at that point would be so unfair to Angie being mid-November already. The detail she would not mention to Richard was the promise she made to Angie years before that she would never have to cook Thanksgiving dinner. In the end, it was settled that Helen and Richard would host.
Helen began preparations long before the actual day. Decisions had to be made regarding the meal, place settings, theme music, the centerpiece, and of course, her personal ensemble. The dinner was formal. Her family had always celebrated Thanksgiving with a grand dinner in the formal dining room with hired servers, and ate from their best china—which of course required dressing for the dinner. Helen planned the menu with great care. Thanksgiving was her favorite holiday, mostly because it was the one experience which remained constant for the whole of her marriage. The celebration began with Helen, Richard, Angie, and Orlando the first year. Then other permanent additions to the meal came with the addition of the kids. On occasion, others joined the formal festivities—a great aunt, or Richard’s mom or dad, or a sibling. Every once in a while, one of Helen’s parents came, but never both at the same time. The core group remained the same.
Helen rushed about the kitchen, tending to last-minute details, basting the turkey or shoving heavy pans into the oven, while Angie sat on her usual stool, making cracks about Helen’s natural domestic talent while sipping Amaretto on ice, and not bothering to pretend to be as interested in the preparations as she was the meal.
“Mom, something smells good.” Helen patted thanks softly on the arms encircled around her midsection.
“David, you’re late.” In fact, he was early for David, who usually didn’t show until dinner was nearly on the table.
“Not late. Early for next year’s meal.” Angie raised a teasing finger. “My godson arrives precisely when he intends to.” Angie raised her chin to receive his kiss. “You smell good. Have you got a hot date tonight?”
“Nah, just thought I’d jazz up a bit, this being my last Thanksgiving in residence.” Even with her back to him, Helen was certain he did a mom check as he made the last comment. He was worried about her. David’s plans had been to be move out by the end of the summer, a move he delayed for the sake of his mother. He sensed a change in her. He just wasn’t sure what to make of it all.
Helen continued to prod at the potatoes simmering in their pot, her back to David and Angie.
“Well, sir, you look great for this, your last year in residence.” Angie raised and lowered her glass in salute to her godson. “Have you found a place yet?”
“Yes, I have. I’ve actually started moving stuff in. A few of the guys helped with a load today.”
Helen turned to face David. “Good. I’m excited for you.” She knew immediately she had overdone it. Her words seemed forced, her voice coppery and hollow. She didn’t want David to misinterpret her attempt to hide her eagerness for him to begin a new chapter in his life with a mother mourning the loss of her youngest child. Then he might believe his leave-taking would cause her grief, when in fact his moving out was a relief. She could feel less guilty about other stuff.
“Mom.” David placed the handful of olives back on to the relish platter. “Listen…if you would rather I waited—”
“David, don’t be silly.” Helen laughed, trying to sound cavalier. All she managed was a nervous chuckle, which once again belied her true intention to convey that she was quite all right with his decision to finally leave his childhood home. She looked at him earnestly, and then to Angie for assistance in assuring him she would be just fine when he moved out.
Angie was no help. She looked from mother to son as if she were an early bird. Helen and David were worms, each taking their turn to peek their heads cautiously above soft soil, which shifted more with each peek up, and exposing them to increasing peril. “Is dinner almost ready?” Angie strained to look behind them at the stove.
Helen looked back at her son. “Besides, it’s time, don’t you think? I’ve known this day was coming for a while. Ever since you ran away.” She turned again to tend to her potatoes. The tender moment was too much for Thanksgiving, a day already given to sentiment.
“Only to the garage.” Angie was too happy to point out.
Helen shook with laughter. David stood staring at her undulating back.
Angie broke the silence. “Hell, the way I remember it, he didn’t make it to the garage. He stopped in the kitchen for food stock, grabbed a snack, and left his suitcase full of toys for me to trip over.”
Helen and David exchanged conspirators’ looks. The memory of David’s first and last attempt at running away flashed before their eyes from different perspectives. When the memory had vanished and was once again stored in the past where it belonged, they stood facing one another with a silent agreement dawning. David would move out and enjoy his new independence. Helen would continue whatever it was she had begun that didn’t involve her family. She would continue with the secret she was keeping.
David glanced briefly at Angie. Helen was sure that, though the glance was fleeting, it was long enough for him to confirm that whatever was going on with his mother, his godmother, who had been her best friend for longer than he was alive, was a cohort, and would continue to protect her. Another signal that he was all clear to depart.
“Where’s Cynthia?” he asked, taking another fist full of olives.
“In the study with the rest.” Angie nodded toward a vague space to the left.
“Later, ladies. Behave.”
“Tell them dinner’s in about half an hour.” Helen pulled a large silver platter the size of Baltimore out of the cupboard.
“I love that tray. Why don’t you give it to me? You know how much I love it.”
“You gave this to me, you looney toon.” Helen laughed through feigned shock.
“I know, but I’d figured by now you would have given me one. Damn, Helen, you of all people know I give what I want to get.” She looked covetously at her own reflection in the beautifully etched silver salver as she read the swirling engraved devotion silently to herself, “Richard and Helen Muir.” She and Orlando had bestowed it upon them on their tenth anniversary.
Helen watched the words dissolve beneath the steam coming off the perfectly basted turkey. She looked up to see Angie watching the words disappear as well, and a sad look of grief flashed across Angie’s face. After a moment, it was gone. Angie took a hard look into Helen’s face, in search of her frame of mind. They had both been thinking the same.
“I love you, Helen, you know that.”
“But?” The “but” frightened Helen. Her stomach cinched around her heart, which had fallen into her lower abdomen. She had been dreading this conversation for months. She thought Angie had come to her senses, and was going to try to get her to do the same. She was sure Angie was going to tell her that she was her best friend, and it was her duty to tell her that she was making a fool of herself, and risking her family and her happiness for a silly whim and an attraction that promised nothing. Angie was going to tell her to cut it off with Noami before it went too far, before Ric
hard found out. Worst of all, Angie was going to tell her to be realistic and leave fantasy for the youth, that she was middle-aged and should know better.
Helen steeled herself for the inevitable.
“No ‘but’s, Helen. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Helen paused. She needed to prepare for what would come next. “And I’m scared, too.”
“I know.” Angie relinquished her seat on the stool for the first time since she planted herself there to watch the preparations. “Don’t be. Just be careful, huh. Be sure.”
Helen nodded. She had not once come out to explain her feelings for Noami to Angie. Nor had Angie requested any explanation. Angie had stood back watching, even supporting, Helen and Noami’s budding romance without even a raising a brow in judgment or condemnation. Angie had been with Helen throughout most of their maturing involvement and for Helen’s private exploration of the implications, present almost as if a protector, and never once offering a word of advice or admonishment.
Angie nodded in return, certain that her point was made. “Now, let’s get that bird on the table. Hell. I’m hungry. I plan to be as stuffed as that turkey.” Then she looked around the counter space, an odd look on her face. “That little bastard.” She scanned the counter once again in disbelief. A knowing grin lit across her face before she went running out of the kitchen, screaming, “David, you little drunk, bring me back my drink!”
***
AT PRECISELY EIGHT thirty-five, the occupants of the Dahl-Muir residence lounged around in various degrees of repose. The sight brought to mind a den of newly sated lions lying around the ruined carcass of a well-devoured prey. David and Cynthia, having discarded their formal outer garments—his tie and jacket, her dinner dress coat—lay perpendicular on the floor. Like cubs batting lazily at some discarded toy, they both secretly eyed the ice bobbing in Angie’s glass of Amaretto that chinked and teased noisily in her hand as she gesticulated slowly, making a point of little importance, which was nearly lost to all, as no one was listening.
Sydney lay contently, curled on Sidney’s lap, having just tucked their two little kittens in a spare bed until the time to depart. Sidney’s hand absently licked at her long mane, his fingers combing and separating the soft stands of her long hair, enjoying the familiar scent of family, intensified by wine and the promise of dessert.
Angie sat languid on the floor on a large, luxurious cushion at Orlando’s feet. So full of drink and feast was she that she simply purred gratefully toward Helen, who perched opposite her, occupying a second floor pillow. Unlike Angie’s slackened posture, Helen sat straight up, erect, an alert lioness, prepared for what might come from her pacing husband, who despite all his drinking, was far from tranquil.
Richard was not left intoxicated like the rest, by the drink and heavy meal. He was unaffected by the L-tryptophan-leaden turkey. Instead of lying about, getting on with the business of digesting dinner to make room for dessert, relaxed and unperturbed as the others were, Richard remained tense and pensive. His petulance was not lost on his companions. Yet, they rather hoped to sway his ill-temper with good food and chilled libation. Helen served him double helpings of his favorites. Orlando plied him with bourbon on ice, and tempted him with football—all to no avail. Richard’s mood, which had been building for weeks, could not be so easily disposed of by such inducement, and all those present were certain of that fact.
Sydney couldn’t stand to watch the tension build between her parents any longer. When her father paused briefly once more in front of her mother as if he wanted to make a comment, she sat up suddenly to speak. She wished to avoid the dike break. “I, we, have an announcement to make.”
All eyes turned to the Sidneys’, except, for Helen’s, whose gaze remained on Richard. Richard remained planted just in front of her, and had an air about him made her feel as if he were almost ready to pounce.
“Sidney and I have decided to have another baby.”
Helen’s stare joined the others on Sydney. Angie’s gaze transferred from Sydney to Helen. She understood Helen’s reaction. She and Helen’s conversations as of late had deepened greatly over the past season. They spent hours together talking about where they found themselves in their lives and how they both—particularly Helen—wished different for their children. Helen had spoken in hushed tones about her own personal sacrifices she made for her family, and to a life she had chosen for herself, to counter how she had been raised, and about sacrifices she did not wish her own children, particularly Sydney, to make. Though she didn’t believe that Sydney’s sacrifice was anything like her own—to abandon who she was, her true nature, in order to attain the dream—she worried that Sydney’s was great enough that she might also find that at midlife she would look back and regret her decisions.
Helen could tell without looking back that Angie’s eyes held warning. Helen’s eyes never left her daughter’s as she rose slowly from her seat, back erect, arms and legs tense, every muscle fiber in her body fired and readied for rapid motion. Helen circled around Richard slowly. In one graceful movement, she pounced on both the Sidneys’. Orlando, David, and Cynthia scattered, surprised by the sudden movement of a maternal stalker.
Helen remained focused, unaware of the escaping sounds of startled birdlike chatter of the others flapping around her.
“What are you talking about, Sydney? You aren’t serious. You said you planned to go to the University of Minnesota to complete your Masters and go back to teaching.” Helen’s remarks were made to the only Sydney that mattered at the moment. The son-in-law, Sidney, she completely ignored, despite his proximity to her daughter, or his stake in the matter. “You miss teaching. You want to go back to your students.” The last remark was declarative, not at all interrogative. “What happened to that? What’s going on, Sydney?” Helen didn’t give her the opportunity to answer. She reached over and snatched her daughter from her husband. “Come with me.” Helen looked around the room, her eyes flashing as she dared anyone, even Richard, and especially Sidney, to intervene.
“Sydney,” she began the second the door slammed shut. “You seem like a pretty happy person.” Helen halted her speech. She was too desperate to make her point. Desperate people chose bad options. She paused, eyes closed, index fingers poised over her lips, and forced out any distractions. She needed to focus. She needed to be clear. She needed not to project any of her own personal baggage onto her daughter. Sydney’s situation, though potentially disastrous, was clearly different.
“Sydney,” she began again. “Right now, you see your family as your universe. All of us. Your beautiful girls and Sidney.” She paused briefly, and her feelings of motherly love and concern registered easily on her face. Helen felt as if she would cry. “Honey, you see the potential of your marriage, your family, in your father’s and mine. I did the same when I was young. I looked at my parent’s marriage, what they didn’t have, or at least my perception of the life they shared, except I did the opposite. I saw their marriage as the opposite of what was normal, so I went after what I didn’t see. No one ever told me I had other options. So I didn’t see any other choices.” Helen nodded involuntarily along with her daughter. “I felt the same as you do now. But, baby, it’s all…it’s too much. You can’t give up yourself, your needs, and dreams, to make your marriage what you believe it ought to be.” Helen began to pace again. She was losing her point that had been so clear when she closed them in the room.
“Sydney, all my life, I had the idea in my head about what the good life was. I believed that I needed a husband and kids to be happy.” She sighed heavily as the truth bore down so suddenly, and with such weight, she was pressed to the floor. She remained there. Sydney joined her. “Sydney, I looked at my parent’s marriage, my life with them, and felt it was so wrong. I would look at other families, you see. I thought that other families were so beautiful, so perfect, that what they share had to be right for me, I thought…I watched what they had and knew it was perfect. Beautiful. Marriage.
A work of art. I wanted it so bad, the cost was irrelevant. That cost to me; your father, you, and David. In my attempt to build that lovely existence, I forfeited so much that I now want to recapture. What’s worse is that I allowed three you all to surrender contentment that you have yet to realize you’ve lost.”
“Mom,” Sydney said. She hadn’t seen her mother crying in years. Helen held her hand to stay her comments. Helen knew she had opened herself fully to Sydney, sitting on the floor, and crying as she was. Helen hoped her vulnerability would aid in her appeal to Sydney. She was also aware that her vulnerability could work against her. Helen realized that she was so desperate to keep her daughter from making the mistake she had made, that she was in danger of revealing her secret.
“Having another baby now, changing your career plans, won’t change a thing. The sacrifice you intend to make is unnecessary.” Helen took Sydney’s hands. She held them firmly, squeezing until she felt their blood pulsing in tandem. “Having a baby won’t change what is happening between you and Sidney. It won’t change what is happening between Dad and me. It can’t, Sydney.” Helen did not release her. “You need to focus on you. Find out what will make you happy, and do it. You have to be the focus of your own life. There is no good life. No magic formula for happiness. If there is, you’re not going to find it through self-sacrifice. You have to just be happy, Sydney.” Helen, sensing Sydney was about to deny her charges, plowed on. “You don’t want to have a baby. You don’t want to put off going back to work.” Here, she altered her voice to give it a gentler tone. “You don’t want to wake up one birthday to find that you’ve lived most of your life for other people.”