Lucas wouldn’t look at me.
“If you like cookies, and you want them to taste right, then you’ll listen to me,” I said, my voice rising.
“Why does it matter if the flour’s added slowly?”
“Because it’s hard to blend this way,” I insisted.
“It’s not hard for me. I’ll blend it.”
“How do you know it’s not hard to blend? You’ve never done it before!”
Lucas stepped off the stool and started to walk away from me, heading for the dining room with his powdered, sugary hands.
“Stop!” I commanded him.
Lucas kept walking.
I ran after him, grabbed the back of his shirt collar and turned him around. Furious at how defiant he was being! I took a deep breath, Lucas staring back at me with his chapped cheeks and giant brown eyes.
“Don’t leave the kitchen without washing your hands,” I said gently yet firmly.
Lucas went back to the sink, got on the stool, and washed silently, not using soap, which infuriated me all over again.
“How many times have I told you to use soap?” I demanded.
Lucas ignored me. I wrapped my arms around him and squirted the soap on his hands, then rubbed them together under the warm water. Feeling his thin body press against mine, breathing deeply and nuzzling his neck as I calmed down and asked, “Why don’t we try again?”
“I don’t like making cookies,” Lucas answered, starting to squirm.
“But you agreed you wanted to cook for the party,” I reminded him. Shocked by how changeable he was. Disturbed by his lack of focus.
“I want to make the meal for the party!” he whined.
“That’s not realistic,” I chided.
“Why not?” he said, stomping his foot on the stool and then turning to stare at me.
“Well, for starters, we’d have to cook on the day of the party and there won’t be enough time.”
“There’ll be enough time. Don’t worry.”
“And it has to be something special,” I said, trying to reason with him. Which I knew was idiotic. He was eight. Wasn’t I supposed to be the one in charge?
Lucas oblivious. Lucas saying, “I know something great!”
I closed my eyes and sucked in my breath.
“What?” I managed to ask.
“Noodles and butter. Everyone likes noodles and butter!”
I sighed and then said, “Let’s make noodles one night for dinner and if it goes well, maybe you can make it for the kids’ meal at the party.”
“I want to make it with toppings,” he said, smiling and jumping off the stool. “With sprinkles and maybe pieces of peanut butter.”
“Toppings like cheese could work,” I suggested, trying not to sound as frustrated as I felt.
“Tonight?” Lucas asked, hopping from foot to foot, thrilled that he’d gotten his way.
“Yes, okay, tonight,” I agreed, knowing I’d have to finish the sugar cookies on my own. Clean up the batter and the dishes and put up with another mess for Lucas’s dinner preparations. Disappointed and frustrated that this was who he was. Disappointed and frustrated that this was who I was! Someone weak and also bossy. Someone who didn’t have a handle on good parenting. Even though I sensed we were making progress, both of us finding our way.
* * *
Six weeks before the party, I decided to purchase a shimmery silver tablecloth to match my dining room décor, an idea that felt inspired and glamorous as soon as I thought of it. Even though I hated the mall. Even though I hated shopping for my house. Never able to shake the feeling that decorating was beneath my intelligence, despite the fact that I was bad at it. That it was challenging! The tablecloth proving to be no exception. Arriving at Crate & Barrel to discover that you needed to know the exact measurements of your table to get a proper fit. Realizing I had no clue how long my table was. Staring and standing and trying to venture a guess until I finally gave up and wandered over to the Mixmaster display. Certain that this was something I couldn’t mess up, even if I was shocked by how expensive they were. Deterred by how much space they took up. Jay talking me out of it for our wedding registry for the very same reasons. Lingering anyway, thinking about where I could put it, when my phone started to trill, my sister’s name flashing on the caller ID. Deciding after a calculated pause to answer it.
“I got you!” Penny said by way of greeting.
“Here I am,” I said, relieved to walk away from the appliances and out toward the lower-level atrium. Relieved not to have to make a decision about spending too much money on baking equipment.
“I have good news,” Penny told me, and then launched into a story about running into some girls she’d gone to college with who said online admission to Ohio State was super lenient and that she had nothing to worry about.
“Wait, aren’t you enrolled already?” I asked, wondering where the money I’d lent her for tuition had gone.
“I applied. I’m waiting to hear. I used your money for the deposit, don’t worry!” she said.
I was worried. How could she use half the tuition for a deposit if she hadn’t gotten in yet? Wasn’t she supposed to start next month?
“Nicole, it’s under control. I paid off some money I owed my old boss, and he got me some students so I’m not working at night, like you cautioned me about, and I’ll have plenty of money for the tuition.”
I rolled my eyes. I hoped this was true.
“Seriously, Nicole. I called the school and they said it’s a mere formality, the application. I should know for sure by the middle of the month.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. So she wasn’t manipulating me. She just had a complicated situation with a lot of different balls in the air. I understood. It was how I had lived before I’d married Jay. Working hard as a copywriter and still behind on credit card debt. Stretching for a bigger apartment and then getting in over my head on the rent. It was expensive to be single. And taxing. And here Penny was doing it for the first time in many years. As if reading my mind, Penny said, “I have a date.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, sort of. We’re calling it a date.”
“How’d you meet him?”
“I gained a little weight. Maybe you can lend me some old designer thing you’re not using?”
I paused, confused and slightly guilty. I did have a few designer things, but they would never fit my sister. Penny a size two. I was more like an eight pushing a ten.
“Who’s the date with?” I asked, ignoring the dress question.
“It’s more like a party than a date,” Penny said, starting to mumble.
“What does that mean?” I asked, suddenly wary.
“What do you mean, ‘What does that mean?’”
I held my breath, refusing to answer her.
“I’m hosting a get-together with Bob. At our old house. Okay? Happy?”
I was silent. Furious. How dare Bob waltz back in when I was helping my sister to get back on her feet? How dare Penny lie about it, or attempt to? Even though I knew how much she missed him. How much she wanted to believe he was the solution to her backlog of problems.
“Penny, I just want to say something about Bob,” I began, uncertain what I would say. That my sister was better than him? More intelligent and also harder working, if she could just kick the drinking? Aware the drinking was a part of her. My image of her at a piano recital in an embroidered white dress forever frozen in my mind, but not necessarily realistic. Not who she was. Not even relevant.
“Aren’t you having a holiday party this year?” my sister asked. Unaware of my musings. Or else well aware of them and not willing to go there.
“Yes,” I said, confused about how she knew about it. Had I told her about the leftovers party changing into something more formal? Immediately full of guilt about how much money I was spending. The silvery tablecloth just the tip of the iceberg.
“Thanks for inviting me,” she said, then hung up on me.
> I stared at my lap and then out at the bright lights of the stores. Suddenly sickened that I’d even considered spending $350 on a Mixmaster. To make cookies! Deciding to buy my sister a Chanukah card at the Papyrus shop instead. Writing her a check for $350 and slipping it inside.
* * *
A week before the party, Paige sent me a text. I’m looking forward to your party. I already bought and wrapped the presents!
The presents! I couldn’t believe it! She’d actually gone out and bought the kids presents again without even discussing it with us? But what could I do? Complain to Lorraine, who hated her presumption more than I did? Of course I couldn’t. Of course I didn’t. Instead I sent Paige a text in return. Can’t wait! Thanks for helping out! Let us know what we owe you. Hoping that my enthusiasm would make her feel welcome and that by feeling welcome she’d act normal. Or at least not paranoid and defensive about the past six months. Paige quickly texting me back a smiley face and a photo of her purchase: a miniature fir tree with beads around the branches and a gold star on top. It’s a Chanukas bush, Paige insisted. Which meant what, exactly? That those were stars of David on the tops?
The day before the party, Paige texted Do you mind if I bring my cousin? Honestly, you can say no. Which was ridiculous. Why would I mind? Did I expect her cousin to sit home? But how rude! Did Paige really not know her cousin was visiting until the night before my party? As it was, Drew was bringing his brother Malcolm, technically a white-collar felon. I doubted I’d have room at my table for the two extra guests. Even with two leaves and the ugly kitchen chairs as extras. But I told Paige to bring her cousin. I told Paige I’d love to meet her cousin!
Lorraine arrived first, at six o’clock on the dot. Not even with Jeffrey and the kids. By herself, in a navy sweater dress and pearls with a bottle of vodka in her hand, ready to talk to me. Why did she always do this? Show up early. Or at least not appropriately late. My hair was wet. The centerpieces not ready yet. Lorraine didn’t notice. Or she did notice but didn’t care. That my hair was wet. That she shouldn’t have come yet!
“You need anything?” she asked, setting down the vodka on my island, intent on unscrewing the lid.
“Want to make drinks?” I asked lightly, knowing that she would, knowing I was supposed to be grateful for it. Her bartending skills. Her coming on time to help me. But who came on time to a dinner party?
The doorbell rang again, Nela and Drew with Sophia, Sebastian, and Matias. Sophia’s hair in one long braid down her back, adorable and serious.
“We saw Lorraine walk over, so we figured it was time to come,” Nela said, her face smiling, more welcoming than I’d seen it. Handing me an expensive-looking gift bag. A first for Nela. To bring a hostess gift.
“It looked like something you’d like,” Nela said when I’d unwrapped the blown-glass platter. “I got it when I went to Portland on a business trip,” she added. Which surprised me more than the gift itself. That she’d bought it in advance.
Lorraine making everyone drinks while Nela and I complimented each other’s outfits. Me in my customary A-line dress, a sea green that accentuated my eyes and hid my waistline. Nela in gray slacks with a burgundy silk blouse. Which I thought showed a certain lack of imagination. To wear corporate attire to a Saturday-night holiday dinner. But at least she wasn’t in her usual fleece jacket and slippers!
And then, the doorbell ringing again. The sounds of people calling and converging. Drew on my front porch with his brother Malcolm trailing hesitantly behind him. Jeffrey shepherding Lorraine’s kids in the side door with Gene and Cameron right behind them. Cameron in an expensive striped button-down, the cuffs turned up to reveal a yellow checked pattern. Which was stylish and handsome, but also a tiny bit ridiculous. Cameron so much more dressed up than all the other kids in their sweatpants and T-shirts with logos on them. A few minutes later Paige calling, “Can I come in?” from my open front door and then, not waiting for an answer, emerging into my kitchen carrying a platter of bûche de Noël.
“My mom’s recipe,” she said, her pale face glowing.
“Wow!” I said, thrilled that she’d made the effort. Hopeful that this meant she was all better. Which was ridiculous and simplistic but also possible, in my mind.
Paige put the dessert on my granite counter and then introduced her cousin Anne, who had come in behind her. Anne a chubby blonde with crooked teeth, her crepe pants slightly wrinkled. Which was not what I would expect from a relative of Paige’s. But then, what did I know of her family, really? Paige hugging Anne’s shoulders, telling us that they were like sisters. Which was sweet. And reassuring. That Paige had someone like that she could turn to. Someone unassuming and unpretentious. Even if I had no way of knowing this about her cousin. I’d met her less than two minutes ago!
Jay shaking Anne’s hand, kissing Paige hello, offering drinks, taking coats. Both of us convincing everyone to move into the living room, the noise levels rising and falling as we made our way through the front hall, past the tall branches I’d arranged there. The children shouting and laughing in the basement as we passed, causing me to remember the thing I’d meant to ask when Cameron had first come in. Where was Winnie? Was she coming late? The question nagging at me as we settled ourselves around my cheese platters and hot hors d’oeuvres. Aware that I couldn’t ask it just yet or I’d risk ruining the festive mood. Joining Paige on the velvet sofa, Drew’s brother and Paige’s cousin on the adjacent couch, neither one talking to the other or to us, which was awkward. Which was something I needed to address as soon as possible.
“Can I get either of you a drink?” I asked Anne and Malcolm. Malcolm pointing to his scotch on the table, while Anne said, “Just a beer, if you have one.”
“I’ll get us both something,” Paige said, rising from my couch and going to the bar in the corner.
“Paige, I have wine,” I said, eager for her to have a drink, to loosen up.
“I’m fine,” she called over her shoulder, returning a few moments later with a ginger ale for herself and a bottle of Amstel Light for her cousin. Was Paige really not going to drink anything? She was uptight normally, no doubt even more so now from having to act normal after not seeing us for so long. And she wasn’t going to have one drink? Before I could fully contemplate this, Gene joined us near the couches, handsome in his blue dress shirt.
“What’s this?” he asked, pointing to my stuffed pumpernickel loaf.
“Artichoke spread,” I said, watching him move slightly away from it. He never ate anything exotic. Artichokes apparently falling into that category for him.
Paige said, “You always make the best spreads.” Even though I’d never made a spread before. But this was Paige in party mode. Complimentary bordering on obsequious. And nervous. If only she would have a drink! She looked gorgeous in her pink tweed jacket. Narrow white pants that only she could pull off.
“What’s in it?” Gene asked, still referring to the spread we both knew he wouldn’t eat.
“Artichokes,” I said, hoping for a laugh. He gave me a smirk instead. My comments somehow always offensive to him. His dislike or distrust just beneath the surface. Or maybe this was merely how I felt about him, the feeling bouncing back at me the way it can between two people who don’t say much. Gene cut himself some cheese, then joined the men, who were merging toward the bar in wordless agreement that group conversation was over. Drew in a narrow black dress shirt that was too tight on his tall, husky frame, leaning in to join them, even though I could tell he didn’t care about their conversation, something no doubt about money or business or how to improve their already stunning standard of living. Malcolm still on the sofa. Not eager, I suspected, to talk business, given that he’d been convicted of fraud, or was it embezzlement?
“I wish Winnie could have come,” Paige said to the rest of us, crossing one thin leg over the other, her raw silk capris flattering her small, delicate ankles.
“What happened?” Lorraine wanted to know, nonchalantly piling he
r cracker with artichoke dip as though she weren’t asking anything threatening.
“She had a stomachache. Poor thing,” Paige said.
Across the room Paige’s cousin nodded and said, “It’s common with adopted kids.” All of us smiling in her direction. Obviously she was here to help Paige. To offer moral support. Maybe insight. Which was reassuring, even if I doubted that she knew much of anything about adopted kids. Hadn’t Paige said she was a paralegal? Anne smiling blandly in our direction while next to her, Malcolm stared at the modern painting above my fireplace. Not joining the conversation, obviously nervous or possibly embarrassed that we knew the thing about him that we tried to pretend we didn’t. His criminal past. His current unemployment. Which was fine with us. His absence from the dialogue. We had our hands full with Paige. Eager not to let her take over the floor with a diatribe about Winnie, especially if she was going to be negative.
But already Paige seemed to have decided something, sitting up straighter on my couch and taking a deep breath as she said, “Winnie was all dressed tonight, standing with us in the foyer, ready to go out, when she says, ‘Mommy, I have accident,’ and guess what?” Paige said, her voice rising in faux humor. “She pooped in her pants!” Paige’s voice brittle and giddy as she described Winnie’s embarrassing accident. As if she were laughing at her. Which I suspected really wasn’t the case. Which I suspected was Paige’s attempt to appear festive instead of upset. I was a master of the dark story told for comic relief, but Paige wasn’t very good at it. The story making her appear unkind instead of vulnerable. Which I knew was how Nela was interpreting it. Nela staring at Paige with her smoothly blank look, the one she adopted when she was seething, or at least judging. Lorraine oblivious across from me, loading up another cracker with artichoke dip and asking, “So is she coming or not?” before popping it in her mouth. Lorraine mainly interested in the food and drink, which I had to admire about her.
“It’s too much stimulation for her,” Paige offered. “She’s not a good listener and she can’t regulate her food intake, so no,” she said. Clearly frustrated by Winnie’s limitations. Still not hitting the right note to elicit sympathy. Even though I could tell that was what she was going for. That we should feel sorry for her but not necessarily for Winnie. Which irritated me, but I tried to understand. Paige naive and not used to dealing with a child who had issues. I myself furious with Lucas half the time for being clumsy and argumentative. And I myself was clumsy and argumentative!
Good Neighbors Page 9