Strawberries for Dessert

by Marie Sexton

  Now that I had his attention, I realized I didn’t actually know what to say. “You can’t bribe my father with use of your condo in Paris.”

  “Whyever not?”

  My dad made a snorting sound—I was pretty sure he was trying not to laugh—and ended up covering it by coughing.

  “Because,” I stuttered, “it’s not appropriate.”

  Cole pretended to be surprised—I knew him well enough to tell that he was faking—and turned back to my father with his “I’m innocent” face on. “Paris is out, love. Sorry. Jonny seems to think it’s terribly pretentious of me to even offer it. How about the Hamptons? I have a house there too. And with summer on the way, it might be the better choice anyway. The pool will be ready any day now, I suspect, and my lawn is beautiful. Flowers everywhere. And my gardener—”

  “Cole!” I said again. He didn’t answer, but he reached over and gripped my wrist in his slender hand. He squeezed just a bit, giving me a quick look out of the corner of his eye as he continued to talk, and I had a feeling it was his way of telling me to shut the hell up.

  “—well honey, I’m pretty sure you won’t find him as intriguing as I do, but there is a lovely widow who lives next door. I think her name is Martha, but don’t quote me on that. She finds me horrifying— it’s actually rather amusing. Sometimes I think about dressing in drag just to see her run screaming back into her house. But you? I have a feeling she’ll like you just fine. She’s not much of a cook—at least that’s what Margaret tells me—but she does make fabulous lemon meringue pies.” My father was smiling now, looking a little less stunned, but obviously unsure how seriously he should take Cole. “Do you golf?”

  “Not really.”

  “Thank goodness. I don’t even know where the nearest course is.

  Do you fish?”

  “Why?” my dad asked, and he really was smiling now. “Do you?”

  “Heavens no,” Cole said. “Just look at me, honey. Do I look like a fisherman to you? Can you even imagine me trying to bait a hook?” He gave a dramatic shudder and—

  My dad laughed. Not like the nervous chuckles from earlier. It was a true, from the stomach laugh. I looked at Cole, worried that he would be offended, but Cole was laughing too.

  And I realized then what an idiot I was.

  At our first dinner together, I had been so worried that my father would laugh at Cole and that Cole would be offended, or that Cole would embarrass himself in front of my father. I spent the entire meal wondering why Cole was being so over-the-top and trying to shelter each of them from the other’s derision. I saw now that Cole did not need my help in any way. Not only that, he didn’t want it. He had his own way of putting my father at ease, and if it involved my father laughing at him, he didn’t care in the least. My clumsy attempts to interfere had only made things worse.

  “—and it’s a bit of a drive, but honey, they have the best lobster bisque I have ever tasted—”

  And at that moment, I loved him so much, I wondered how he and my father couldn’t feel it pouring out of me. He was still talking, and I leaned over and kissed him. He didn’t cooperate at all—he didn’t even stop talking, and my kiss landed somewhere around his left temple, but I didn’t mind. My dad blushed a little, but he was laughing at something else Cole had said, and he didn’t look away.

  “He skis,” I said in Cole’s ear, and this time the surprised look he gave me was genuine.

  “Oh good lord, Jonny, you’re only telling me this now?” he asked, pushing me playfully away. “You could have saved me a great deal of time by stating that up front, you know. George, honey, I have to tell you, you did a terrible job raising Jonny. Now listen, I have a condo in Vail—”

  I got up and went in the kitchen to get the dishes we would need for dinner, leaving them to talk—or, to be honest, leaving Cole to talk my father’s ear off. Cole followed me in a few minutes later, and I grabbed him as soon as he walked by. “I’m sorry about last time.”

  “You’re forgiven.”

  “I was so worried he would offend you, or you would offend him—”

  “I’m not that easily offended. And if people can’t laugh, they can’t relax, love. He can think I’m foolish all he wants if it means he’s comfortable with you and I being together.” He stopped short at that, and his eyes started to get that sad look again.

  “You’re amazing.”

  He smiled a little. “I really am, love. The annoying thing is you’re only now figuring it out.”

  “I think I lov—”

  He stopped me again with his fingers on my lips and a hint of panic in his eyes. “Don’t say it,” he whispered, shaking his head. And then he kissed me. He wrapped one arm tight around my waist and the other around my neck, pulling me hard up against him. It was a more aggressive kiss than I was used to from him, and it was unbelievably arousing. It was deep and passionate. It was the kind of kiss that would normally have led us straight to the bedroom. That is, it would have if my dad hadn’t been there. And if he hadn’t chosen that very moment to walk into the kitchen.

  “Hey Jon, do you—Oh shit!” He turned around and walked right back out, and Cole let go of me, laughing.

  “It’s okay, George,” he called out as he turned back to the pot on the stove. “You can come in now. I promise to wait until you’re gone to rip Jonny’s clothes off.”

  I was surprised, once the food was on the table, to see that it was not a meal he had ever made for me before. It was beef stroganoff with egg noodles. My dad was oddly quiet as he put the food on his plate.

  Cole didn’t seem to notice. He was standing next to my dad’s chair, opening another bottle of wine. I took a bite, and it was so wonderfully familiar. It hit me all at once.

  “This is my mother’s recipe,” I said, and Cole smiled at me.

  “It is,” he said, and I could tell he was pleased that I had made the connection.

  It was such a simple thing, and yet I couldn’t believe how one small bite brought back the memory of my mom. And of countless family dinners, all of us at the table together. It felt like suddenly she was there with us again, in spirit at least. “It’s perfect,” I said. “Dad, did you—” But I stopped short when I looked at him. He was still staring at the food on his plate, and there were tears on his cheeks.

  “Dad—” I started to say again, but Cole had turned to look at my dad at exactly the same time.

  “Oh George,” he said in dismay. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry!”

  And looking at Cole, I could see how horrified he was at having caused my father to cry. “It was a terrible idea! I don’t know what I was thinking! I should have realized. I should never have surprised you like that. Let’s go out instead,” he said, reaching to take my father’s plate away. “We can go to that new place down the street—”

  Before he could finish, my dad stood up. He turned to Cole.

  “George,” Cole said again, “I’m so sorry.”

  My dad reached out and grabbed the front of Cole’s shirt.

  I stood up from the table, thinking my dad might actually be about to punch him but knowing I would never get to the other side of the table in time.

  And then—he pulled Cole toward him and wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tight. “Thank you,” I heard him say hoarsely.

  If it weren’t for the fact that my dad was crying, the whole thing might have been funny. Cole was completely stiff in my father’s arms, and the look on his face was bordering on absolute terror. He seemed to be looking at me for help. One of his arms was pinned to his side by my father, but his other arm was loose, and he was waving his hand frantically in my direction, like I might be able to rewind the whole incident and play it back without the awkward hug at the end. It was all I could do not to laugh at his obvious distress.

  My father finally let go of him. He stepped back to his chair and sat down, as if nothing strange had happened at all. “Originally,” my dad said as he dried his eyes with a napkin, “
this was my mother’s recipe. But Carol did something different to it.”

  Cole still looked a little bit shaken, but he managed to say, “She added sherry to it.”

  My dad looked up at him in surprise. “Is that all?” Cole nodded.

  My dad laughed, shaking his head. “My mother never forgave her for that.” Whatever emotions had overtaken him momentarily, he was back to being himself and was digging in to his plate of stroganoff enthusiastically.

  Cole looked at me, obviously still a little upset, with a mute question in his eyes. “It’s really good,” I told him, and he relaxed again, if only a little.

  “I wanted to surprise you. I should have realized—”

  “It’s fine,” I told him.

  “Okay,” he said shakily. “I’ll just… I’ll get us some butter,” he said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

  We didn’t need butter. I knew he just wanted a minute to get his bearings back. “He didn’t mean to upset you,” I said to my dad. “He’s looked through the box a lot. You wouldn’t believe how much he learned about Mom from reading her recipes.”

  “I think it’s great, Jon,” he said. “And she would have thought it was great too. I think she would have liked him.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I’m sure of it, actually,” he said. He gave me a smart-ass grin.

  “Your mother’s the only person I’ve ever known who actually enjoyed fruitcake.”

  Date: May 9

  From: Cole

  To: Jared

  I fear that what I’m doing is wrong. I think, just possibly, it’s even cruel. I’m living a lie, and I hate myself for it. I’m allowing Jonathan to think this can last, when I know that it can’t. It was never my intention to deceive him. It’s only that things were so good in New York, and when we got home, it was terribly easy to allow it to continue. It felt so natural to keep seeing him, even though I feared I was only delaying the inevitable.

  I’ve never been in one place for this long, and that petulant child inside of me is starting to get restless. He is demanding, as he always does, that I go somewhere—anywhere—and I know from experience that I cannot deny him, no matter how much I may wish to. He has always been in control, and it’s only a matter of time before I must heed him.

  I know that when I leave, it will be the beginning of the end. I know it with every fiber of my being. I know Jonathan senses that something is wrong, too. I could try to explain it to him, but in the end, it won’t make any difference. He won’t understand. He won’t believe me. We’ll spend our last days together arguing. He will swear that we will make it work. He will promise me the moon. He’ll even try to give it to me, I’m sure. But it won’t matter. It will end as it always does, with him tiring of my restlessness, and moving on.

  So I choose to keep quiet. I choose to allow us both to be happy for as long I can. Is it wrong for me to do that? Is it wrong for me to stay until that terrible voice in my head becomes so loud I can no longer ignore it? Is it wrong for me to let him love me?

  Don’t answer that.

  The truth is, I can do nothing else. I love him too much.

  IT WAS a Wednesday morning when I arrived at the office to find a note saying that Marcus wanted to see me right away. Now that I wasn’t traveling, I didn’t have reason to meet with him as often as before, but it still wasn’t unheard of, and I didn’t think much about it as I made my way upstairs to his corner office. I knew something was wrong though, when I walked in the door and saw his face. His normal joviality was gone, replaced by a solemnity that made me nervous.

  “Thanks for coming so quickly, Jon. Close the door behind you.”

  That wasn’t an unusual request either, and I tried to tell myself not to worry. I did as he asked and sat down in my usual seat, across from him.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  He wasn’t even looking at me. He was looking at some point over my head. He stared at it for a moment, and I made myself count to five.

  And five again. And finally, he took a deep breath, and looked at me.

  “Jon, we’re letting you go.”

  The room spun. My world collapsed. I had to remember to breathe. It was like one of those carnival rides where the floor falls out beneath you. There was a roaring in my ears. I felt a terrifying sense of vertigo. “You’re what?”

  “The company is struggling, Jon. We’re barely in the black.

  Moving the Senior Liaison Account Directors out of state helped, but not enough.”

  “You told me that nobody would lose their jobs! You told me—”

  “I know what I told you, Jon,” he said, “and I thought it was the truth. I had no reason to suspect otherwise.”

  “What happened?”

  “Monty’s trying to cut costs. The board only decided on Monday.”

  “Why me?”

  “It’s not just you. It’s all of the Junior Liaisons. Ten of you total.”

  He sighed, looking down at his desk and rubbing his head. “I was the one person on the board who didn’t vote to downsize. But it’s my department, so I’m the sucker who has to tell ten people today that they’re out of work.” I put my head in my hands and tried to breathe.

  Tried to stay calm. This wasn’t Marcus’s fault. I truly believed that. He had never been my enemy. But I couldn’t fight the rage that was welling up inside of me. “I’m telling you first, Jon, because you have seniority. We’re prepared to offer you one month’s severance—”

  “One month? I’ve been here for nine years!”

  “Jon,” he said firmly, and there was a bit of an edge to his voice now, “I’m sorry. None of this is my decision. You have to know that.”

  I took a deep breath and made myself say, “Fine.”

  He sighed again. “One month’s severance, plus any unused vacation time.” That helped, actually. I had quite a lot of that.

  I stood up. “I assume this is effective immediately.”

  He went back to looking at his desk, rubbing his forehead. “Yes.

  The personnel department has all of your paperwork ready. You can stop there first.” I got his door open, but he stopped me before I walked through. “Jon, I have nine of your colleagues coming behind you.” I knew what he was trying to tell me—nobody wanted to hear about being laid off through the grapevine. He was asking me to be low key about it.

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  He stood up and came out from behind his desk. “I’m sorry, Jon,” he said, shaking my hand. “I really am.”

  All I could say was, “I am too.”

  I cleaned out my desk. I started out trying to be subtle, but one at a time, my co-workers were returning from their own meetings with Marcus. By the time five of us were cleaning out our desks, the rest could pretty much guess what was coming. Some were despondent.

  Some were angry. One actually seemed relieved. And me? More than anything, I felt betrayed.

  It was two o’clock when I got home, and my house was empty. I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or relieved to not have to tell Cole yet what had happened. I threw my tie and jacket on the floor. I kicked off my shoes. Then I lay down on the couch and stared at nothing.

  How could this possibly happen? That was the one thought that kept circling in my brain, over and over again. How could this happen?

  I had worked my ass off for that company for nine years. In that time, I had never said no. I had hardly taken a day of vacation. I had been the model employee. And this was how they repaid me? With one month’s severance pay, a handshake, and an apology?

  Would it have been better if I had never accepted the demotion? I would be in Vegas or Utah, but I would still have a job. My gut reaction was to think yes, it would have been better to move. But then I thought about the last few months with Cole, and I knew I had made the right choice. I would not have traded my time with him for anything.

  Which brought me back to my original question. I had done what was right. So how
could this happen? I chased it around in my brain, over and over and over, and I got nowhere. I was by turns completely furious and terribly despondent.

  I had no idea how much time had passed. I only knew that I was starting to get hungry. More than hungry, actually. I was starving. I hadn’t eaten lunch. A glance at my watch showed me that it was almost four. I wasn’t sure if I should call Cole or if I should just get shit-faced drunk.

  I was still trying to decide when he found me.

  I hadn’t moved from my position on the couch, and the door was behind me, so I couldn’t see him. But I heard his key in the lock, and I heard him come in. I heard the crinkling of paper which told me had been at the store. “Hey, love,” he said. “Why are you home so early?

  Are you sick?” I didn’t answer at first. He came into view, looking down at me in concern, with a brown paper bag in one arm.

  The words came easier than I expected. “I lost my job.”

  “Oh no!” He dropped the bag of groceries on the coffee table and sat down on the edge of the couch next to me. “What happened?”

  I couldn’t look at him. The sympathy in his eyes was painful, and I kept my eyes on the ceiling. “They’re downsizing. They cut my whole department.”

  “Jonny, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He took my hand, holding it between his. “I don’t know what else to say that won’t sound trite.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Tell me what you want me to do, love.”

  “Just….” I wasn’t even sure myself until the words came out of my mouth. “Leave me alone for a bit.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence, and then he said, “Okay.

  I can go home.” He stood up, but I gripped his hand tight, so that he looked back down at me. I was able to meet his eyes this time.

  “No. Not for that long. Just give me a few more minutes.”

  “Okay.” He sat back down, looking concerned, still holding my hand. “I was planning to make dinner. Should I still—”

  “That would be great.”

  “It’s Cornish hens with scallio—”