My Life as a Doormat (in Three Acts)

by Rene Gutteridge

  I couldn’t. I wanted to. I felt . . . beautiful. But something kept me from enjoying the moment.

  Twirl. Yes, twirl, like when you were a child.

  So I did. I twirled. The bottom of the dress filled with air. I twirled again. And again. And finally I laughed.

  Pink was a good color for me. It made my cheeks flush and my eyes light up with excitement.

  Cinco had told me to wear something really nice, formal even. He enjoyed surprising me from day to day. I had originally put on my ever-reliable black knee-length dress, the sleeveless one with the turtleneck. I wasn’t a fan of showing off my shoulders, but I was usually willing to make the sacrifice to have my neck covered up. Splotching, though infrequent these days, was still a possibility.

  The pink dress, though, with its spaghetti straps and square neckline that showcased splotching, won me over. It was still as bold a move as I was capable of making. But I imagined myself sitting across from Cinco, and I trusted I would be as comfortable as if I were wearing my favorite sweater. He would make sure of that.

  He told me a car would be waiting for me at seven sharp. I looked out my window and there it was, waiting down below, a shiny black Cadillac. I grabbed my handbag, took one more look in the mirror, and went downstairs. The driver opened the door for me, and when I asked him where we were going he laughed and said, “He told me you would ask, and he told me not to tell you!”

  We rode in silence. I couldn’t imagine where we were headed, but I felt like Cinderella. Thirty minutes passed, and we drove into the South End district. The driver pulled up to a beautiful building, boasting a large sign that read “The Boston Center for the Arts” and below it, in curvy lettering, “Welcome to the Cyclorama.” Tons of people streamed up the stairs into the building, all dressed like they were going to a . . .

  The door clicked open and I gasped. The driver laughed. A man in a tuxedo was standing where the door had once been, and he reached out his hand. I couldn’t get myself to take it, even though I knew, attached to that tuxedo was Cinco. Finally he bent down so I could see his face.

  “Hi there,” he said. I took his hand, and he helped me out of the car. He shut the door and took a step back from me, examining the dress. “You look so . . .”

  I held my breath.

  “Perfect.”

  I exhaled, and Cinco took notice. “You okay?”

  I nodded. “I just don’t . . . dress up much. Occupational hazard. I live and work in sweats.”

  “Hey, I’m in radio. I’ve got the same problem. As long as my voice sounds good, who cares what I look like, right?”

  “You look really nice,” I said, returning the compliment. “You clean up well.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So . . . what are we doing here?”

  “Having fun and enjoying each other,” he said, taking my hand and leading me into line with all the other dressed-up people.

  “Well,” I said, not letting him off that easy, “we can do that without getting all dressed up.”

  “True.” He smiled. “But I don’t want you to grow bored with me.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  “Good,” he said. We entered the building, where a stunning display of red and blue lights hung from the ceiling, waiters greeted us with cocktails and appetizers, and important-looking people swarmed around one another like bees on a honeycomb.

  “Oh, my gosh,” I said. “Are we . . . Is this . . . This is! It’s the Boston Charity Gala!”

  He smiled. “You figured that out pretty quickly.”

  “My father used to come to this and then talk about it for days. It’s one of the biggest events in Boston!”

  “That’s right.”

  “And there’s always a ton of famous people here!”

  He laughed. “See? You’re already enjoying yourself.”

  Any hang-ups I’d had about wearing the pink dress vanished. Cinco led me to the dance floor, and as my guide, made me look like a professional. All I had to do was hold on to him, and I danced as gracefully as I could’ve imagined. Which still wasn’t that graceful, but I enjoyed myself.

  The evening had just begun, and already, I was completely enchanted. As we danced, a thought popped into my head. I still didn’t have a pet name.

  But I didn’t care.

  Dinner was served at 8:30 p.m., and the main course was lobster. I couldn’t believe it. We sat at a round table with six other people, several of whom Cinco knew and one lady who had worked in my father’s office in Washington. She went on and on about how nice Dad was, which made my heart ache a little. I missed him. I hadn’t told Cinco about the incident with Dad. This relationship was too precious to spoil with the news that our fathers were archenemies.

  I shook off the bleak thoughts. “My favorite!” I told Cinco as the waiter placed the lobster in front of me.

  “I know.” He smiled.

  “Really? I told you that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is there anything you don’t know about me?”

  “Probably, but I intend to find out everything.”

  “And how do you intend on doing that?”

  “The same way my grandparents did it.”

  “They had a secret way?” I asked, laughing.

  “My grandparents were married for seventy-five years and died within two weeks of each other.”

  “Wow. What a nice life.”

  “Yes. Their marriage survived my grandfather serving in two wars and my grandmother surviving cancer three times and losing a child at birth and another as an adult, just to name a few things.”

  “But it sounds like they were madly in love. How’d they meet?”

  “My grandfather saw my grandmother in a park one day. She was sitting under a tree, reading. He went over to introduce himself, and they started talking.”

  “That’s so sweet,” I said. “Sometimes I really long for the days when things were so much simpler.”

  “Two weeks after he met her in the park, he married her.”

  “Wow,” I said. “And they were married for seventy-five years.”

  Cinco leaned toward me, his mouth near my ear so I could hear him over the crowd. “I believe in that kind of love.”

  I looked into his eyes, completely forgetting about the lobster tail sitting in front of me.

  “I believe love is a choice, and that’s why their love worked. They didn’t know everything about the other person in two weeks’ time. But they chose to love each other no matter what. I don’t believe there’s such a thing as the perfect mate. I think there’s only perfect love. And it casts out all fear. And it’s patient and kind. It’s not jealous or rude or boastful or proud. It doesn’t demand its own way. It doesn’t get irritated or keep records of wrong. It hates injustice and rejoices when the truth prevails. Love is always hopeful, it never loses faith, it never gives up, and it endures through every conflict.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Every word set my heart into a spasm. His fingers touched mine, and he said, “I’m thirty-nine years old, and all my life I’ve been searching.”

  “For what?” I asked.

  “You.” He pulled a small pink velvet box out of his pocket, and his normally confident eyes betrayed him. He could hardly look at me. “I know it’s only been a few weeks, Leah, but I love you. And if you’ll let me, I want to love you for the rest of our lives.”

  All around us, the tables hushed, and when I looked back at Cinco, he was on one knee, taking my hand. “Will you let me? Will you marry me?”

  Every fear I’d ever had in my life was, in an instant, gone.

  Chapter 31

  [She unlatches the gate.]

  You’re shaking,” Cinco said. He took my hand in his. “Are you sure you want to do this? Now?”

  It was a beautiful, breezy day. The sun winked as clouds passed in front of it. But I couldn’t enjoy it. We sat in my car on the concrete circular driveway of my parents’ enormous home. Vis
iting my parents seemed like such a good idea at the time, but now that I was here, all I could hear was my father’s angry voice and hurt-filled eyes.

  “You don’t have to do this today,” Cinco said.

  I studied the ring on my finger. It looked stunning and felt warm.

  “I want to. You are the man I love, and I want Dad to know.” When Cinco proposed, I did not hesitate to say yes, and later on, as we were basking in the joy of the evening, I broke the news about our fathers. But Cinco already knew. He said he hadn’t given it a second thought and that his father would deal with it one way or the other.

  I turned to him. “Cinco, I don’t know if I can be like you. I want to be strong in every way possible, but I don’t think I am. I don’t think I can always stand up for the weak guy, you know? I am the weak guy.”

  Cinco chuckled and touched my face. “You’re not weak, Leah. You have a beautiful, sensitive heart. You feel deeply for people because that’s how God made you. Nothing can change that, especially when you know who you are. And now you know who you are. You are a woman in love with me!”

  I laughed. “That is true. So true. And I will do anything to protect that.” I looked up at the house and gathered my nerves. “You don’t mind waiting in the car for a few minutes?”

  “Not at all. Whatever you want.”

  “Okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I touched his hand. “It’s Dad’s heart condition. I don’t want to startle him.”

  Cinco laughed. “Don’t make excuses. Go do what you need to do. I’ll be here when you need me.”

  I got out of the car, clenching my hands in fists as I walked toward the house. Seeing some lawn bags near the fence, I realized Mother was probably in the back tending to the roses. I opened the gate, which was always unlocked, and followed the path around the house, glancing back at Cinco, who had unfolded a newspaper and was reading. I laughed. Was the man capable of being nervous about anything?

  I was still on a high, hardly able to believe that in just a few short weeks, the life that was in shambles at my feet had been resurrected in the most unexpected way. I tried not to let my urge to turn and run distract me from how great it felt to be engaged to a man I truly loved.

  Mother had her back to me while clipping roses, a big floppy hat perched on her head and white gloves dirtied only at the fingertips. Mother was rarely caught in pants, but she made an exception for gardening.

  “Mother,” I said.

  She startled and turned, dropping her clippers. “Leah,” she said, patting her heart. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “I know,” I said and hid my hand behind my back. “I wasn’t sure if my call would be answered.”

  “What brings you by?” she asked.

  With a deep breath in, I swung my arm around and placed my hand directly in front of her. Her face lit up. “Oh, how beautiful!”

  “Thank you,” I said, relieved she wasn’t throwing something.

  She looked at me. “It’s what I’ve been praying for.”

  “It is?”

  She nodded. “I always thought you and Edward were meant to be together.”

  I closed my eyes and wanted to kick something.

  “What?” Mother asked.

  “I’m not marrying Edward. I’m marrying Cinco Dublin.”

  Mother looked down at the ring again. “You are.”

  “Yes.”

  “I came to tell you and Dad. And . . . introduce you to him.”

  Mother’s eyes widened. “He’s . . . here?”

  “Waiting in the car.”

  “You brought him here?” Mother looked down at herself. “I’m a mess!”

  “Mother, you look fine. Take off the gloves, and you look like you’re on your way to a Cape Cod luncheon.”

  Mother relaxed a little. “Really?”

  I nodded, then looked toward the house. “Is Dad here?”

  “In his office,” she said.

  “I’m going to tell him. I’m sorry if that upsets you, Mother, but this is what I want, and I can’t pretend that it’s not. I can only pray that Dad will accept it.”

  “Poor follow-through.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “That’s what Mr. Dublin always used to say about your father. He would write about how many promises and threats your father would make, but how when push came to shove, he had poor follow-through.” Mother had pulled off her gloves and was looking at her own ring. “It’s true.”

  “It is?”

  “Sure. Everyone has their weaknesses, Leah. I know you think your father is near-perfect, and as fathers go, he’s certainly the cream of the crop. But as a senator, he was always trying to please everyone. He wanted to make everyone happy, but he just ended up making people unhappy. And the person he was most unhappy with was himself.” She straightened her posture and said very matter-of-factly, “So that’s what made him mad all these years. Mr. Dublin continued to point it out, and your father knew it was true. But,” she said, with the ring in her voice that indicated a mood change, “that can work to your advantage in this situation.”

  “How so?”

  “He’s a lot of bark, but little bite. He would never disown you, Leah. He hates Mr. Dublin, but he loves you more.”

  Tears streamed down my face. “Really?”

  “Of course. I’ve been furious with him for doing this. He’s acting like a child. So you march in there and give him a piece of your mind, do you hear me? Tell him to grow up. Tell him you’re a grown-up, for crying out loud, and you can marry who you want to!”

  My mouth fell open. Mother had never spoken to me like I had any sense. Now she was giving me permission to read Dad the riot act. “Mother, why haven’t you ever encouraged me to speak my mind before?” I hated to ruin a decent moment between us, but I had to know.

  “I never thought you were capable of it.” She took my hand in hers and looked at the ring. “It’s exquisite. Just exquisite. Now go on, go tell your father what’s on your mind. Tell him the news, and make sure that he understands it’s good news.” She smiled.

  Butterflies tickled my stomach as I looked up toward the house, toward Dad’s office window.

  “Leah,” Mother said, “love is worth the risk.”

  I nodded. “Okay. Can you . . . can you go bring Cinco inside? He’s out in the car, and—”

  “Oh! We can’t have guests sitting out in the car! I’m a complete mess, but I can invite him in and make some good Southern tea.”

  “Okay.” I walked up the steps toward the back patio. Every possible scenario rolled through my head, but I kept walking. Then I stopped and turned around.

  She was messing with her hat.

  “Hey,” I said, and she looked up at me.

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks. Mom.”

  I walked through the house to Dad’s study, which was a large room with two huge windows looking out over the gardens. Dad had his feet propped up on his desk and was watching a small television mounted in one of the bookcases.

  “Would you look at that!” he said, without turning around, as he gestured toward the television. “Bob Wolmat is an idiot! He has no television presence. None. He’s as dry as a bone, I tell you.”

  Dad liked to relive the glory days. He was a favorite on morning news shows and had a good rapport with the anchors. He still made appearances from time to time, which would make his month, especially when he was invited onto Meet the Press, which was his favorite.

  “Bob!” Dad shouted at the television. “Stop scowling! You’re trying to sell this thing, and you can’t even manage to look pleasant.” Dad laughed. “And to think this guy was going to be a VP candid—” He turned in his chair and saw me. “I thought you were . . . no matter. What are you doing here?”

  “I came to talk to you.”

  He put his battle face on, and with little expression pointed to the chair across his desk. He locked his fingers together and rocked slightly in his chair, saying nothing.


  “It’s about Cinco.”

  “What about him? Have you dumped the spawn of—”

  “Dad,” I said. “That’s not necessary.”

  Dad didn’t look pleased that I’d called him down. “Then why are you here?”

  “To tell you that Cinco has asked me to marry him and that I’ve accepted his proposal.”

  I expected rage. And shouting. And lots of insults using the word spawn. But instead, he seemed to freeze to his seat, and his eyes became like ice. “So you’ve come to tell me you’ve made your choice. You would rather be in his family than mine.”

  “I’d rather be in my family and have you act like the decent man I know you are.”

  Dad looked at me like I’d lost my mind. So I looked at him like he’d lost his. We stared at each other for a long time, and something flashed through my father’s eyes that I’d never seen before, at least when he was looking at me. I’d about convinced myself I hadn’t seen it when it flickered again.

  Respect. That’s what I saw. Respect.

  He held a good poker face, though. And then he sneered and said, “Old Dublin know his son’s a Democrat? That’s probably really got his goat.” Dad chuckled, like that might be the only good thing that could come out of the situation.

  “Cinco’s not a Democrat. He’s a Republican. And so am I. I have been for years.”

  I bit my lower lip, nearly chewed through it. I couldn’t believe I’d finally spilled the long and closely guarded secret. I’d set up my own guillotine and willingly placed my head in it. At least death would come quickly.

  But Dad stood, walked around the desk, and folded his arms like a math teacher about to spout off a pop quiz. “So this is what you want.”

  I nodded.

  Dad groaned and mumbled something about God having a sense of humor. Then he said, “Fine, Leah. Fine. If this is what you want. Don’t expect me to attend the wedding. I could never pretend to be cordial to Rupert Dublin, but his son, well . . . he’s welcome in my house.”

  I stood and gave Dad a gigantic hug. “That’s good! Because he’s out in the living room with Mom right now, waiting to meet you.”