by Ann M. Noser
“My mother met the real Jake.” I remember the pleased look on her face as she watched us dance at her Christmas Party.
“What happened with Jake?” Mike asks.
“Absolutely nothing,” I lie. “But make sure no one ever takes a picture of you.”
“Why?” Steve asks.
“Because it’s really you, not the body suit that shows.”
“Interesting.” Steve raises his eyebrows. “That’s a good thing to know. But you’re avoiding the subject. On purpose.”
Scowling, I stomp off to my room.
Steve’s laughter follows me like a mosquito, only louder and more annoying. I slam the door to drown him out.
If Steve wasn’t already dead, I think I’d have to kill him.
aturday evening, I grimace at the clock as I drive to my group project meeting. It’s seven o’clock. Claire and Dorothy should be getting home from their cruise about now. I sigh. If only I didn’t have this stupid meeting. Who wants to be a fake vegetarian in a steak house, surrounded by people whose idea of a good time is comparing their GPAs?
When I get to the restaurant, I find Greg sitting alone in a cozy booth. I plod toward him. His face brightens, and he pulls a folder from his shoulder bag.
“Where is everybody?” I wonder aloud.
“Oh, they couldn’t make it.” He smiles, as if he’s happy about this. “So sit down. Take off your coat and stay a while. Have I shown you my investment portfolio yet? Here―have a seat.”
He reaches out a hand and yanks me down on to the vinyl booth. Despite my great desire to leave, somehow I feel glued to the spot.
“You have an investment portfolio? But you’re only in college.” And I am in hell.
“It’s never too early to start. I have two on-campus jobs, and I’m already saving for retirement.” Greg gives me a significant look, apparently expecting me to be impressed.
I’m not. I keep glancing at the door, but when the waitress walks up, I hear myself ordering a stupid salad. How do I get myself into these awkward situations, anyway?
When our meals arrive, Greg attacks his dinner like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. “Have you applied for summer internships yet? You really should. I already have two big firms interested in me. It’ll be a hard decision, but either one will look great on my resume…” Blah. Blah. Blah. He never bothers closing his mouth while he masticates his rare steak into a fleshy pink pulp.
Disgusting! I promptly lose my appetite. Setting down my fork, I check my phone for messages.
Nothing. Darn it. Why didn’t I force Steve to call me with some fake emergency?
Greg leans toward me, his eyes bulging like a frog’s. “Did I tell you my GPA is 3.825?”
“That’s fantastic!” I back away with a forced smile. His GPA is lower than mine, a fact I choose not to mention.
I also choose not to tell him he has broccoli stuck in his teeth.
Every five minutes I peek at my phone, dismayed at how slowly time creeps along. Ten more minutes, and then I’ll tell him I have to leave. Ten more minutes―I can bear that. I just have to wait until he’s done eating.
After he swallows his last bite, Greg suggests a movie. Ironically, it’s one I want to see. Just not with him.
“I really need to get back―”
“Come on! Live a little!” He grabs my arm and yanks me out of the restaurant. “I’ll buy.”
“Oh, fine,” I grumble. As long as he’s paying, how bad can it be? At least I won’t have to listen to him brag for a while.
As the movie starts, Greg begins to sing.
Horrified, I turn to him.
“I have the soundtrack,” he says, grinning in delight.
He continues to sing along with every song in the movie.
And no, it isn’t a musical.
I sink in my seat. Where’s my Book of Shadows when I need it? I want to make this nimrod disappear.
drive home in a fury and screech into the parking lot. Please let Abby be home. I need to unload, and I don’t want the boys to tease me about this.
Unfortunately, Abby’s windows are dark. Disappointed, I trudge up the stairs. As I enter the apartment, I spot Abby sitting next to Mike on the couch. Both of them look miserable.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
Abby sighs. “I made the mistake of going to Walmart to pick up a few baby things. The store was filled with screeching children running down the aisles and their screaming parents racing after them. All the mothers looked fat, haggard, and disagreeable. I got so freaked out I started crying. Can you believe that? These hormones, I swear! So I ditched the cart and fled to my car.”
Abby laughs, hiccups, and pulls another tissue from the box in her lap. “I think I’m having some sort of Walmart-induced breakdown. I just don’t want to end up like one of those dreadful mothers. I mean, who am I fooling? I can’t raise this child on my own!”
Abby dabs her wet eyes. Then she blows her nose. “Emma, why are you home so early?”
“It was either that or strangle Greg with my bare hands.” I flop into a side chair.
“Ooh, tell me everything! What happened?” Suddenly, Abby seems much happier.
“We went to dinner and a movie, just me and him,” I reply in monotone. “Of course, I had to pretend I was a vegetarian.”
Mike blinks. “But you’re not vegetarian.”
“Yeah, I lied about that.”
He still looks confused, but I don’t feel like explaining myself any further. It’s too embarrassing.
“Where was everybody else?” Abby asks.
“That’s what I asked Greg. I guess everyone else was smart enough to cancel on him. And he’d already seen the movie, like, ten times before, plus he has the movie soundtrack at home.”
“I’m afraid to ask what that means.” Abby giggles, still dabbing her eyes.
“It means he sang the entire movie soundtrack to me. After the third song, which was apparently his favorite, I pretended I had food poisoning and had to go home that instant. After he made sure he’d be able to get back into the movie at no additional charge, he walked me out to my car.”
“How gallant of him,” Abby murmurs.
“When we got to my car, he leaned over to kiss me. Can you believe that?”
Mike smirks, and I want to hit him with a frying pan.
“What did you do?” Abby tries to hide her grin behind her tissues.
“I told him I felt like I was going to vomit.” I sigh. “That part was true.”
Abby laughs. “Thanks, Emma. You always know how to make me feel better.” She stands up, with some struggle. “Will you walk me downstairs?”
“Sure.”
Abby gathers her purse and shopping list. Once we are out the door, she leans close to whisper, “Sam was so nice to me tonight.”
I bite my lip. “Uh, Abby, you don’t still have a thing for my roommate, do you? I know you’ve been spending a lot of time together―”
“What? Are you kidding? I’m pregnant―I’ve got enough mood swings on my own. I don’t need to deal with anyone else’s, and that includes Sam, Jake, or whatever he wants to be called these days. I’ll admit he was rather sweet to me tonight, and I really appreciate all the dinners, but sometimes I think he must suffer from multiple personality disorder.”
“Ah.” How right you are.
She raises her eyebrows. “And anyways, sometimes I think he likes you.”
I shake my head. “No, he doesn’t.”
“Well, he didn’t seem to like the fact you were out on a date. He kept checking the time and asking me how well I knew Greg.”
I throw up my hands. “How many times do I have to tell you? It wasn’t a date!”
Abby grins. “Whatever you say, Emma.”
When I get back upstairs, I find Bernard pacing in the living room.
“Bernard, are you okay?”
“I’m just so worried about Claire,” he frets. “She should be home by now, and we have
n’t heard a thing.”
“It’s not like she’s going to call you,” I remind him.
“I know.” His shoulders slump.
“But I can call Gretta if you want.”
“Do it tomorrow.” Bernard sighs. “Tonight is probably too soon.”
“Okay―”
The ring of my phone startles me. Who could this be?
“Hello?”
I can hear meowing in the background. “Hi, Emma. It’s Gretta.”
“Hey, Gretta.” I raise my eyebrows at Bernard, who hangs on every word. “We were just talking about you―”
“Good news! Our project was a great success! Claire called tonight to thank me.”
Hmmm. “That’s nice.”
“Naturally, I told her I had help, and she wants to invite all of you over for supper.”
“When does she want us to come over for dinner?” I ask.
Bernard’s face lights up with a giant smile.
“Tomorrow―right after her sister Dorothy leaves town.”
“Dorothy’s leaving already?” That’s interesting.
Bernard’s delighted smile turns into a devilish grin.
“Yes, I heard they got into a tiff over the flowers or something,” Gretta clucks.
“She didn’t like the flowers much, eh?” I repeat. “That’s too bad.”
Bernard cackles.
I chat with Gretta for another few minutes, then hang up.
Bernard struts around the apartment, waving his arms like a conductor.
“Looks like you don’t have to break into your own house to see your wife after all,” I say.
“Yes! I have an invitation!” Bernard jumps around the room like a prematurely gray five-year-old.
I giggle. “She’s making chicken divan.”
Bernard stops bouncing around and turns to me. “Oh, I hope she’s making apple pie, too. That’s my favorite meal.”
arly the next night, Bernard wears a path in the floor between our kitchen and living room. “I haven’t been on a date in years!”
“This is not a date,” I argue. “Don’t forget that Abby and I are invited, too. And you have to promise to behave, or you’re not going.”
“Fine, I’ll behave.” Bernard glances at my jeans. “Why aren’t you wearing a dress?”
“No one said I had to wear a dress.” That I know. “Abby’s not wearing a dress.” That I don’t know.
“Yes, she is,” Steve interjects. “She was up here earlier. Bernard had Mike tell her to wear a dress.”
“Fine, I’ll go put on a dress.” I go into my room to change. I squeeze into a little black dress and rush back out into the living room.
“Wow.” Steve gives a low whistle. “Doesn’t Emma look nice, Mike?”
I want to strangle him, but it probably wouldn’t matter. He’s already dead.
“And doesn’t Mike look nice as well?” Steve sounds like a game show host.
“Yes, Steve, you look nice, Bernard looks nice, and Mike looks nice. You’re all dressed exactly the same in the clothes you bought special for tonight, so it’s safe to say you all look just spiffy.”
“Let’s go!” Bernard leads the way.
I grab his arm. “Remember, Bernard, we need Steve to be in charge tonight.”
“No, we don’t!” Steve objects.
“Okay then, Mike. I guess Abby knows his voice best, and Gretta’s half-deaf. Claire doesn’t know either of you, so Mike it is.”
We climb down the stairs and knock on Abby’s door.
Abby breezes into the hallway. “Hello, everyone.”
“You look pretty,” Mike says.
Why couldn’t he have said the same to me?
“Thanks.” Abby smiles and blushes. “I realize I can’t hide my pregnancy anymore, but hopefully, this maternity dress won’t make me look like a beached whale.”
We drive over to Claire’s house. Bernard’s nervousness shows through Mike’s fidgeting hands.
Gretta welcomes us at the side door. “I’m so excited for all of you to meet my good friend, Claire.”
After Gretta makes the introductions, Claire smiles. “So here are the lovely people who made my homecoming such a pleasant one. Please hand me your coats, and then help yourself to some champagne and hors d’oeuvres.”
“Champagne?” asks Gretta with a tinkling giggle.
“Yes. I feel like celebrating tonight.” Claire’s voice floats over her shoulder as she disappears down the bedroom hallway, carrying our coats over her arm. “The side door lock doesn’t stick, the toilet doesn’t run for hours, and there’s a new silverware divider in the utensil drawer. It’s like a dream come true around here.”
Mike stares wistfully after her, inspired by Bernard, no doubt. Neither one of them seems to detect the note of sarcasm in her words.
Claire returns, clasping her hands together. “The chicken divan will be ready in a matter of minutes. Shall we gather in the living room?”
As Claire leads the way, I watch her glance fondly at the same Christopher Plummer-esque picture I admired during our cleaning spree.
“Claire, I noticed that Bernie didn’t have any hairballs during your vacation,” Gretta says. “Is that normal for him, or does he usually eat them after he coughs them up?”
Abby blanches at this question, so I point at one of the mystery novels we picked up for Claire at the grocery store. “Did you like that book? I thought it looked good.”
“How did you know I loved Janet Evanovich?” Claire smirks as she sips champagne. “She sure is funny. I read the whole thing last night. You can borrow it if you want.”
“Thanks.” I scan the cover again. “I haven’t read a book for fun in a long time, because of school…and some other stuff.”
Claire watches me. “So were you in charge of books and music?”
“Yeah, but…uh…Jake tuned the piano. I don’t know how to do that.”
“Oh, did he?” Claire eyeballs him. “I’m surprised you could even find the tuning equipment in that mess of a basement. I really need to get rid of all that clutter. I can’t find anything down there. My husband said he had a special system of arranging things, but it doesn’t make any sense to me.”
Desperate to change the subject again, but now for a different reason, I grasp at the most obvious topic. “So, Claire, how was your trip?”
Ding!
“Oh, the chicken’s ready!” Claire pops out of her chair and hurries into the kitchen. Moments later, she calls from the dining room. “Dinner is served!”
Claire directs everyone into their seats. “Emma, please sit next to me, with Gretta on the other side. And Samuel Jacob and Abby may sit across from us.”
The way she hits on the name “Samuel Jacob” strikes me as odd.
“So, Emma, you asked about my trip?” Claire serves up the chicken divan.
“Yes.”
“It was just awful!” She laughs. “I never realized that spending a month with my sister would bother me so much. It was a relief to get back home, and then an even bigger relief when she left the next morning.”
“I’m sorry the trip wasn’t what you expected. By the way, this smells wonderful.” My mouth waters.
“Thank you. Actually, Dorothy had planned to stay another week, but she got disgusted with the contents of my pantry. We got into an argument over it, so she took off this morning.”
“Oh. Really?” I reach for my water glass to mask my discomfort.
“Yes, my sister just hates chunky peanut butter, raspberry jam with seeds, and won’t drink anything but tea.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t know―”
Claire pauses in serving to stare straight at me. “Of course you didn’t. But don’t worry. We were already fighting like cats and dogs before that. I’m glad she’s gone.”
“Are you really?” ask Mike.
“Oh, you’re surprised, are you?” Claire swings her gaze toward Mike. “I guess I finally understan
d why my husband, Bernard, couldn’t stand her.”
Mike lurches forward. “Well, maybe she’s a little bit spoiled, being the youngest and all.”
“Oh, did I mention that she was my little sister?” Claire dishes out more chicken divan and smiles in a knowing way.
Is she on to us? How could she be on to us?
I glare at Mike for allowing Bernard to speak through him.
Gretta points at a vase in the middle of the table. “I just love carnations, don’t you? It’s so lovely that these young people thought to get them for you. Fresh flowers always brighten up a room―as long as they’re not lilies, because I heard on TV that they’re toxic for cats.”
“Yes, the flowers are pretty.” Claire passes the buns and winks at Mike. “They made Dorothy sneeze. She’s allergic.”
Mike coughs into his napkin.
“I’m not allergic to anything,” boasts Gretta. “My doctor says I’m healthy as a horse.”
Claire places her napkin in her lap. “Now, everyone, please help yourselves.”
“This looks so good.” Abby picks up her fork. “Thanks so much for inviting me. Otherwise, I’d probably be eating noodles and cheese right now.”
“Yes, I know all about college students and food.” Claire smiles. “And if you don’t mind me asking, how far along are you?”
Abby rests a hand on her belly. “Only one month to go now.”
“Did you find out if the baby is a boy or a girl?”
“No, I didn’t want to know yet. I thought it would give me a good reason to push.”
“I got all my cats spayed and neutered just like Bob Barker told me to,” Gretta announces.
Is this a commentary on Abby’s lack of effective birth control? No, Gretta wouldn’t be that unkind.
“Bernard and I couldn’t have any children,” Claire murmurs, almost to herself. “Will this be your parents’ first grandchild?”
“Yes.” Abby seems to swallow the word.
“They must be excited.” Claire watches Abby.
I wonder if Gretta and Abby had a heart-to-heart while cleaning the kitchen, and if Claire already knows the answers to her questions.
“No, they aren’t,” Abby replies. “And, to be quite honest, lately I’ve been giving some serious thought to adoption.”