Love-Lines

by Sheri Langer

  To that, Whitty offered a scowl the likes of which Fordham had never seen.

  “It was an accident, Aaron,” Whitty said, emphasizing his name.

  She slowly stomped out of the room. Fordham knew Whitty had wanted to punctuate the sentence with dipshit—one of her father’s favorites. Luckily, her daughter had held back, which—for better or worse—allowed the evening to continue.

  “I am so sorry, Aaron,” Fordham said. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”

  “Of course she didn’t mean it!” Dorie said, rushing to Whitty’s defense. “Now you got her all upset.” She left to check on Whitty.

  Although it seemed like an accident, Fordham wasn’t sure Whitty’s motives were entirely pure. Maybe she’d subconsciously knocked the wine in response to Aaron’s choice of apparel. But that was probably more Fordham’s issue than Whitty’s.

  “Come with me,” she said to Aaron. In seconds, they were in Fordham’s bedroom. “You know it was accident.” She opened her closet, immediately happy she’d organized it the other day.

  “Okay. She’s a kid. I get it,” Aaron said, calming down.

  “Yeah, and sometimes, because of her hip issue, she’s a bit more on the clunky side.”

  “You’re right. I’ll apologize. I’m not used to kids.”

  She went into her closet and pulled out a men’s jogging suit.

  “What the hell?” Aaron was flabbergasted as he stared at the outfit. The fabric was printed with hundred-dollar bills. “Is this some kind of bad joke?”

  “Yes! Actually, it was. Gloria—you remember, my mom’s friend—bought it for my ex as a gag gift. But he was as amused as you are and never wore it.”

  “I have newfound respect for him.”

  Fordham wasn’t even sure why she’d kept the damn thing, unless somewhere in back of her mind, she’d anticipated having a night like this.

  “You really want me to wear that thing?” Aaron asked. “It’s tacky as hell.”

  “Well, I hope you can’t fit into anything of mine.” She went through her closet for other possibilities but came up empty. Her last-ditch effort was a sweater box under her bed, but it yielded the same results. “Just put it on. It’s the best I can do.”

  “Okay, fine, but it’s on you to explain to your mother that I am not all about the Benjamins.”

  Fordham handed him the clothes. Although she was tidying up, she was able to catch a few peeks of his body while he was changing. There was no denying that the years had been more than kind in turning Aaron the kid into Aaron the man.

  When he was dressed, he followed her into the party with the angst of a man on death row. Dorie did a double take when Aaron entered, and Fordham offered a quick announcement to everyone, explaining the new outfit. No one gave her grief, which was surprising since it wasn’t her birthday.

  Whitty gave Aaron a once-over. “That’s my dad’s.”

  “Yeah, your mother told me,” Aaron said. “Listen, I’m sorry I got snippy before.”

  “Sure, whatever.” Whitty parked herself at the snack table.

  Fordham had drained a glass of wine and had a few chips with Aaron when a phone call took him into another room. She replenished her glass. Evie grabbed her arm and led her into the kitchen.

  “Are you having a hot flash or is that cabernet invading your cheeks?” Evie probed.

  “I can’t do this.” Fordham was hyperventilating.

  “Do what?”

  “Have a dinner party. Have Aaron here. Have a book to write and a daughter to raise and a mother to criticize me.”

  “But, Fordham, we’re women. This is what we do. We clutch life by the balls and scoff when it tries to come in our faces.”

  Fordham stayed silent.

  “Look around,” Evie said. “What do you see?”

  “A mess. I’m not even sure which dry cleaner is good enough for Aaron’s suit.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Honey, this is success.”

  “Thank you,” she said through a few stray tears. “And on top of everything else, there’s this.” She went into the cabinet, pulled out a sheet of paper, and handed it to Evie.

  “What is this?” Evie gave it a cursory review. “This is that submission you read to me from that guy. So?”

  “So I have a few copies of it stashed here and there to read when I need a lift. I pulled the one off my wall just in case Aaron might end up in my room. Which turned out to be an excellent call for unforeseen reasons. Anyway, I still read it every night before I go to bed. I don’t even know why. Aaron is great, and things seem to be working, so why do I feel this compulsive need to gush over it?” Fordham pressed her hands against her forehead.

  “Maybe it’s become your fairy tale. We’re all entitled to fantasies. Marv would kill me if he knew that sometimes I close my eyes and picture George Clooney. Stop thinking so much. Come on. Let’s have a party.”

  Evie’s phone rang, keeping her in the kitchen. Fordham went back to the family room to find Aaron still on his phone and Dorie and Whitty watching Back to the Future. This wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind for a dinner party, but she decided to make the best of it. She sat down with a bowl of pretzels and joined them.

  Aaron must have seen the expression on Fordham’s face and realized he was being antisocial, because he quickly finished his call. He motioned her to meet him in the kitchen, where they found Evie filling an ice bucket. Though part of Fordham wanted to want to be ensconced in Aaron’s sexy embrace, more of her was ready to call it a night and crawl into bed—alone.

  The doorbell rang. Fordham went to get it, but Evie stopped her with a wink and said she’d get it on her way to the guacamole. She seemed almost excited to be on Team Aaron, which was odd, since she was usually the first one to say that Fordham was moving too fast or reading too much into a smile or a kiss. Evie’s good sense seemed to have flown out the window just when Fordham needed her to be clearheaded and scrutinizing. Fordham certainly wasn’t going to share any of her concerns with Dorie. That would be like begging to be smacked on the head by a two-by-four repeatedly. No, she would have to work this out on her own.

  But Aaron didn’t appear to be questioning anything. He wrapped his arm around her while she finished plating hummus. He must have been happy they were finally alone because he kissed her as if there would be no other chance for the rest of the evening. It was a promising kiss that encouraged her to make the evening work and see what the future could hold.

  Aaron remembered something he needed from the car for a business call he was expecting. He promised to be right back and left through the side door. If Fordham hadn’t been so busy, she might have cared more, but she knew the only reason he was in town was because of work demands. She got the plate of hummus and set it on the table in the family room.

  Dorie said the pizza delivery guy had come with an order, but she’d told him it was a mistake unless Fordham had ordered backup pies because she didn’t trust her dinner menu, which would have really upset her. After assuring Dorie that she had the utmost faith in her pot roast, Fordham poured herself the last of a bottle of wine she wasn’t sure she had shared with anyone else. The doorbell rang again. Fordham, standing off to the side of the snacks while Evie was hovering around the cheese tray, was more than happy to let Dorie remain the official greeter. The door opened to Abe, who was all cheery though struggling to hold a majestic bouquet of flowers in one arm and a bottle of wine, paired with a gold box of candy, in the other.

  “Hi, I’m Abe. You must be Dorie. These are for you,” he said, handing her the flowers.

  “These are gorgeous. How did you know I love pink roses?”

  “Lucky guess. And for the little lady...” He handed Whitty the candy.

  “Salted caramels. These are awesome!” She rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek.

  Aaron came back into the family room, and Fordham led him to the door to greet Abe.

  “Fordham, for you,” Abe said, handing her the wine.


  “Perfect,” she whispered.

  “Hi, Abe.” Evie shook Abe’s hand. “Nice to see you again.” Before Abe could answer, Evie clutched her stomach and sprinted to the “powder room.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t bring anything for you, big guy,” he said to Aaron. “But you seem to be rolling in dough, so I don’t feel that bad.”

  Dorie giggled and said she’d tell him about the clothes later.

  “So you’ve met my mother,” Fordham said.

  “Yes, I have,” Abe said with a broad smile. “Sorry I’m a little late. Traffic.” He was trying to sound suave, but it was a wasted effort. “I’m lying. I stopped off to buy aftershave.”

  “Well, it was worth it.” Dorie said. “You smell...” Dorie’s face contorted. “Ugh—my pot roast!” She ran into the kitchen, clutching Abe’s flowers to her chest. Fordham considered following her, but since she already couldn’t take the heat, she needed to stay out of the kitchen.

  The family room had grown quiet, and Fordham noticed that Whitty had turned off the TV. She couldn’t normally get her to do that without a fight, but there she was with Abe, going through old CDs and giggling. Fordham was disappointed that none of that bonding was happening between Whitty and Aaron. Abe nuzzled the cat and handed Whitty a CD to play. Whitty obliged, and Abe led her onto the designated dance floor.

  “In honor of Whitty’s cat,” Abe proclaimed.

  They danced to Ella Fitzgerald singing, “All the Things You Are,” a song Fordham loved that her father used to sing to her in the car late at night when they were coming home from just about anywhere. Aaron asked her to dance. And in that warm memory of her dad, she not only danced, but she even managed to relax as well.

  It might have been the wine and music, or perhaps the way Aaron was holding her close to him, but something was telling Fordham that everything was going to work out the way it was supposed to. All she had to do was have faith that nothing in life ever happened in vain. If she would just let herself meld into the soft, simple steps of the moment, she believed she would always feel safe and the pain of the past would wither away as all things did when they went unfed.

  “Dinner will be ready very shortly,” Dorie announced as she reentered the family room.

  Their dance ended, and Fordham broke away from Aaron to talk to Dorie. “Mom, Aaron was just saying how well he remembers your delicious dinners. Isn’t that sweet?”

  Dorie gave her a curt smile. “Sweet.”

  “It smells great,” Abe said, dipping Whitty, who told him to finish the dance with Dorie so she could check out how the Yanks were doing.

  Abe took Dorie’s hand. “I can’t make pot roast. It’s either too dry or too stringy,” he said, leading her into a foxtrot.

  “Getting it right is tricky,” she said, comfortably accepting his lead.

  “I like tricky,” he said, dipping her.

  Fordham was enjoying the scene, but as perfect as some moments might seem, there were always others conspiring to keep the laws of balance in check. Yes, their kiss had been reminiscent of the passion they’d shared in the old days. The problem was this evening had presented no opportunities for her to promote Aaron. Between his cat allergy, his wardrobe malfunction—which had been her and Whitty’s fault—and his business calls, the party was turning out to be only an appetizer. She would have to find other ways to get Whitty and Dorie on Team Aaron.

  Evie finally emerged from the bathroom a little pale and seemingly ready to add lactose intolerance to her list of middle-age maladies. Despite the setbacks, dinner was going okay. Everyone was eating and drinking, and the conversation, though topical and bland, was civil and endurable. If no one asked any probing questions or challenged the status quo, Fordham believed the night could be considered relatively successful.

  “So, Aaron, how long are you expecting to be in town?” Dorie asked as if hoping to circle the end date on her calendar.

  Fordham braced herself like a referee at the US Open, sensing this question was just the first serve of the match. Both of them could be hotheads. Any exchange would most assuredly snowball into a volley, and she had no clue who the ultimate victor would be.

  “It depends. I’m researching a few offices, and we’ll see. It seems like New York is the hottest ticket in town for fertility, but expansion is the way to go. What about you, Dorie? Any plans to relocate somewhere to bask in the sun? I hear Brisbane is beautiful and brimming with retirees.”

  Fordham wondered if anyone heard her gasp.

  “Relocate?” Dorie uttered as if Aaron had stabbed her in the heart with his fork.

  “I think he meant like a vacation—somewhere to have fun for a little while,” Fordham offered as a bandage.

  “I think he said relocate,” Abe interjected, not realizing the incendiary implication.

  “Me too,” Whitty proclaimed with a big, telling smile that reeked of her agenda.

  “I didn’t hear him say anything because the almonds in these green beans are so incredibly crunchy and delicious that you can’t hear anything that’s not going on in your mouth,” Evie said, munching away. Like a true friend, she had taken a large dose of extra-strength gut medication.

  “Actually, I enjoy the seasons, Aaron. All of them. Always have. You know, we Price women have thick skin,” Dorie said so casually it was cutting.

  Aaron helped himself to more potatoes.

  “And heavy furs. Right, Mom?” Fordham added, trying to lighten things up.

  “I think it’s mean to wear fur,” Whitty said. “How would you feel if some mink was walking around in your skin right now?”

  “Relieved,” Fordham answered, sending her an accusatory look.

  “I hear the Yankees hired a new pitcher,” Evie said, taking a pickle.

  Fordham had no idea how to facilitate that conversation.

  “Mom-Mom, where is Brisbane?”

  “Australia,” Dorie said, glaring at Aaron.

  Aaron seemed oblivious to Dorie’s tone, which had Fordham quaking in her heels. “Mom, Aaron must remember that when we were kids, you told us you wanted to see the Sydney Opera House.”

  “I told you a lot of things when you were kids. Tastes change, dear. At least for some of us.”

  “You know, another place that’s booming for seniors is Tokyo.” Aaron continued eating. “You could corner the market on pot roast.”

  Fordham wished she could shut Aaron up without being too obvious.

  “I’d still be a little concerned about Fukushima,” Abe chimed in. “While the radiation risks are minimal at this point, why should a beautiful woman like Dorie expose herself unnecessarily?”

  Dorie looked at Abe the way Margo had looked at her banana split at their last lunch date.

  “When did Derek Jeter retire again?” Evie asked.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Aaron, but I’m not planning on going anywhere.” Dorie scanned the table. “Fordham, we need more water.”

  Worried that she might miss something crucial, Fordham ignored her mother’s request.

  “No prob,” Aaron said, getting up.

  A loud shriek informed them that Ella had been under Aaron’s chair until he stepped on her, which was precisely when he tripped and fell into Dorie’s lap. Dorie stared down at his face as the tip of his nose met her nipple head-on. They both looked mortified and jumped up at the same time. Evie had her hand over her mouth, and Fordham could almost see the laughter between her fingers.

  Aaron, white as a sheet, quickly apologized and sat down. Dorie rolled her eyes at Fordham and reclaimed her seat. It was a good time to get the water.

  Fordham went into the kitchen to clean up the tattered shreds of her dinner party. Whatever hope she’d had of everyone getting along had been dashed by the will of the universe. It was going to take a miracle to right this sinking ship. Just as she was ready to give up, the sound of laughter from the dining room sent her into the hall. Obscured from view, she decided to listen in.

 
“Well, I, for one, think New York is the only place to live if you want to stay young,” Abe exclaimed. “I have a friend who moved to Arizona. He came back to visit, and he looked downright coriaceous.”

  “What?” Dorie asked intently.

  “Coriaceous. You know, like leather. Sorry, I have a thing for words. My late wife gave me a dictionary a few years ago, and I’ve been reading it for fun ever since. I think that’s why Fordham and I get along so well. She’s into words too.”

  “Well, she was raised on crossword puzzles. Her father and I used to do the New York Times puzzle every Sunday, in ink,” Dorie said with a hint of cockiness.

  “That’s funny. My wife and I had the same routine. Usually over brunch.”

  “Lox—” Dorie said.

  “Eggs and onions,” Abe finished.

  “We lived the same Sundays,” Dorie said, forgetting everyone else in the room.

  “What did you do the rest of the week?” Abe asked.

  “I had Fordham and a lot of volunteer work to keep me busy. Were you always in publishing?”

  “Pretty much. I worked for a newspaper when I was a kid. I was never into numbers, but I’ve always been a logophile,” Abe said.

  “What’s a logophile?” Whitty asked. “Someone who likes commercials?”

  “Close,” Abe said.

  “A word lover,” Abe and Dorie said in unison.

  Last time Dorie had played Scrabble online with her archnemesis, she had left an l-o opened vertically on the game board. Her opponent completed it using his seven tiles to make l-o-g-o-p-h-i-l-e. The coincidence was uncanny.

  “Whitty, dear, is the music still on?” Dorie asked in an exaggerated tone. “I’d like to hear some...” She paused. “Zouk.”

  “Zouk? You mean, like, Caribbean dance music?” Abe sounded astonished. “I just had that word come to mind the other day when I was...” He rubbed his forehead. “This may sound ridiculous, but do you play Scrabble online?”

  “Yes!” Dorie roared. “Now that I gave up running and have no use for fartlek—you know, interval training!”