Better Than Your Dreams

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Better Than Your Dreams Page 18

by Dee Ernst


  My sister drove from Oregon, leaving on Sunday and taking the southern route to avoid any snowstorms in the Midwest. She arrived early Thursday morning. Very early. In fact, I was still asleep, and only woke at all because Fred shot off the bed, barking like a mad thing, alerting me to the fact that someone was knocking on my front door at 6:23 a.m.

  I stumbled downstairs, pulling on my robe. I knew it was Grace, of course. She had called the night before, telling me they were driving the last leg straight through because of a predicted snowstorm Thursday evening. And I’m sure I heard “sometime after six,” but I probably went to sleep in a state of denial.

  I had not seen her in almost six years. When I opened the door, she looked so much like our mother that it was a shock. But she hugged me hard, picking me up off my feet and swinging me around in my foyer.

  “Mona, you look the same. How did that happen?” she cried.

  “And you look just like Mom!”

  She laughed as she shrugged off her coat. Shadow came in behind her, carrying two pieces of luggage. He smiled crookedly at me.

  “Mona.”

  “Shadow, your hair!” I cried, hugging him. “What happened?”

  Shadow had maintained his waist-length ponytail since the seventies. Now he was completely bald, his beautifully shaped skull gleaming under the hall light.

  He shrugged. “Started losing hair. Friar Tuck with a ponytail. Looked all kinds of stupid.”

  I laughed and hugged Grace again. “Come on in, you two. I’ll make coffee. And eggs? Toast? I have fruit salad.” I had no idea what they were eating these days. They had already cycled through vegetarianism, no red meat, homegrown only, organic homegrown only, commercial organic, no wheat, and no dairy. The last time Grace and I talked food, she was making a Tofurky for Christmas, with gluten-free cheesecake. I had no idea where they currently fell in the food pyramid, so I just hoped for the best.

  “Coffee sounds great. And eggs, please. Scrambled’s fine. Can I help?”

  “No, sit. Tell me, how was the trip?”

  She made a face.

  My sister had always favored my mother—pale skin, strawberry-blond hair, and freckles. People didn’t believe we were sisters, as I had the dark hair and eyes of our father, not to mention a slightly olive complexion. We were even built differently—I was short waisted with boobs and no butt. She was much taller and willowy—reed like, although this morning she looked more treelike. Her waist had noticeably thickened. Her hair was cut short, in a simple bob, and it was turning white, lightening her hair color to almost…pink?

  Shadow, on the other hand, must have had a pretty bad-looking portrait stashed away somewhere, because his face was unlined, his teeth flashed, and he was still thin as a rail. He was wearing what he had always worn—jeans, a denim shirt, and cowboy boots. The same outfit he’d worn on his wedding day. Grace was in a long gray skirt of a thickish material—hemp?—and a woolen dark green obviously hand-knitted sweater. And I mean obviously in a not-so-good sort of way.

  The coffeemaker started making noise, and Grace was looking around the kitchen. “Beautiful, Mona. What a pleasure it must be to cook in a kitchen like this.”

  Her own kitchen, I knew, was a low-ceilinged room with only one window, a stove that ran on propane, an icebox—with ice—and running water that depended on solar power to heat. Living in Oregon, she took a lot of cold showers, I knew, and washed her dishes by hand in water heated on the stove.

  “Yes, well, the evils of modern capitalism. There is an upside.”

  Grace never minded my having money, because I was a writer. Brian, as a greedy corporate drone, had a paycheck stained with the blood of the proletariat, but I earned my money honestly, through my own effort and imagination.

  I scrambled eggs and started making toast. Shadow went off to use the bathroom. Grace rummaged through my drawers and set the table. When Shadow returned we were sitting down, eating. I was almost awake.

  “How are the wedding plans?” Grace asked, turning over the toast to see if side A was as evenly browned as side B.

  I shrugged. “Running perfectly. Lily engaged a wedding planner, and I must admit the woman has been a marvel.”

  “And who is the lucky young man again?” she asked. “Did you tell me he’s the son of your boyfriend?” Toast was approved. She took a bite.

  I chewed my toast a little slower. “Yes. I mean, no. That is, Ben and I are taking a break.”

  Her brown eyes were as shrewd as ever beneath her pale brows. “I’m sorry. You two had been together awhile, yes?”

  I nodded.

  “So what happened?”

  “We had a disagreement.”

  “Are you kidding? A disagreement? Shadow and I have a disagreement at least once a week.”

  Shadow, his mouth full of breakfast, nodded.

  “Yes, well, this was a kind of big disagreement. About love and marriage, and what it takes for two people to spend the rest of their lives together.”

  Grace nodded and sighed. She ate a few bites. “I’m sorry, Mona. I’m sure he was a lovely man. And Lily’s wedding? The last name of her fiancée sounded familiar, so I had Sinclair Google it.” All of Grace’s sons were named after authors who, in Grace’s opinion, were game changers in the writing world. They were, in no particular order, Sinclair, Harper, Fyodor, Edgar, and Raymond. For all her deep thoughts and feelings, she had a soft spot for the hard-boiled detective novel.

  “Really?” Oh, this was going to be good.

  “Did you know that there was a very notorious crime family with that very same name?”

  “No!”

  “Yes. From Brooklyn.” She arched her eyebrows. “No relation, I’m sure, but interesting.”

  Now, what were the chances that she would drive out for the second time in just a few months—after avoiding Westfield, New Jersey, like the plague ever since I’d lived here—to attend Lily’s wedding? And if she did attend, would she notice all those black Town Cars? And young men with sidearm bulges under their dark suits? And the machine gun nests in the oak trees?

  “Vinnie is retired,” I told her.

  “From what?”

  “Selling shoes.”

  Shadow frowned. “Same family.”

  “Yep.”

  Grace leaned back in her chair and glanced over at Shadow, who shrugged. “How could you allow that to happen, Mona?”

  Ah, yes. And here it came. “How could I allow what, Grace? How could I allow a grown woman with a life of her own—and some very strong opinions on how to run that life—how could I allow her to meet someone and decide to marry him?”

  “She was living in your house.”

  “While I was out in California. Even if I wasn’t, she was never on a leash. She’s been running rampant for years, and you know it. You try talking her out of something once she’s decided on it.”

  Grace shook her head sadly. “Mona, I must admit I’m rather disappointed that you couldn’t handle something like this."

  Of course she was disappointed. She always was. Which is why we got along so much better when we were living on opposite sides of the country.

  Shadow, always a man of very few words, said, “Mph.” Profound as ever.

  Something that I recognized as her martyr face appeared. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “And say what? Aunt Lily, even though you’re a fairly sane, financially independent, and thoroughly emancipated woman, I forbid you to marry that man?”

  “Well, obviously you never said anything to dissuade her.”

  Oh, my God. “No, I didn’t. If she’s happy, I’m happy for her. And now, if I ever want anybody knocked off, I have a guy I can call. More coffee?”

  Grace nodded. I poured. Shadow shrugged and finished eating in silence.

  “I assume there will be some sort of bachelor party?” Grace asked. “Not that Shadow would go, but I’m curious.”

  “No bachelor party. Or bachelorette. We all went on a sunset cruise las
t weekend and blew off lots of steam. Food, drink, dancing—it was great fun.” Except for the part where my world caved in, of course. I was still getting used to the idea that Ben and I were no longer a couple. It was like trying to get used to breathing rock.

  “What a wonderful idea.”

  “David is a wonderful young man. I always thought so, even before he decided to marry my daughter.”

  “And what does he do?”

  Oh, blast. “He’s in finance,” I tried to bury my last word behind a slurp of coffee, but she caught it anyway.

  “How sad. Couldn’t your poor daughter find a man with a more worthwhile occupation?”

  “No. And she started work at a bank.”

  Grace closed her eyes as a shudder ran through her body. “Oh.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  Shadow got up to put his plate and coffee mug in the sink. “Show me?”

  I nodded, and he followed me up the stairs, then up to Lily’s now empty suite. He dropped the suitcases with a thump. “Nice.”

  “This was where Lily stayed. You and Grace should be very comfortable. How long are you staying?”

  He half smiled. “As long as the two of you can stand to be around each other,” he answered.

  It was the longest sentence I had heard come out of his mouth since 1983.

  I never had a very good relationship with my sister, and it looked like it was beyond repair at this point. She was smug and condescending, criticizing everything from my shallow, materialistic lifestyle to the total lack of social responsibility in my children, obviously a result of my poor parenting. I reacted badly to all of that of course—she was not my mother, therapist, or priest, so where did she come off passing judgment? Whenever we were in the same room together, I reverted back to my snotty thirteen-year-old self.

  It got ugly.

  But Grace and my daughters? Well, that was another story. Miranda, growing up, was not at all curious about her West Coast family, and her few visits out to Oregon remained memorable in her mind more for the airplane rides and any occasion that required new clothes. The last time the twins had spent time with Grace, they actually looked like twins. As they had grown older, Miranda grew more detached, but Jessica had become more fascinated. She had once asked to fly out to stay with Grace, while Lauren barely remembered her existence.

  Grace, for her part, was torn. Jess, with her tattoos, piercings, and longtime record of wreaking havoc as a matter of course, was a natural fit for Grace. However, attending a liberal private college? As a math major? Now, if Jessica were looking forward to teaching mathematics to struggling inner-city school kids, Grace might have had a different attitude. But people with degrees from private colleges rarely landed on the inner-city side of anything. More likely Jess would end up working for a large corporation, a think tank, or—gasp—the government. So, what was a dyed-in-the-wool liberal near-anarchist to do with a rebellious niece obviously heading toward life in the establishment lane?

  Jessica arrived home Friday by noon. It had snowed the night before, as predicted, almost six inches, but by midday the roads were clear, and the temperature was rising, melting pretty much everything. Grace and I had spent a fairly peaceful twenty-four hours together. Shadow had slept almost continuously. The only obvious conflict came when Grace lit up a joint at the dinner table, and I had to inform her that no smoking—of any kind—was allowed in my home, but she was more than welcome to sit out on the back deck. She made a face. Shadow took the joint and braved the cold, snow, and wind alone, came back inside, and went immediately back to sleep.

  Jessica came into the kitchen and sniffed. Her face lit up. “Aunt Gracie smokes?”

  I hugged her. “Yes. Can we not spread it around? So far, don’t ask, don’t tell has worked pretty well around here.”

  She shrugged out of her jacket and dumped her backpack on the counter. “When is Miranda due in?”

  I glanced at the clock. “Now. The snow was a bit thicker up there, but she and David were leaving early. Lauren is taking a later train, but should be here by three. Can you pick her up?”

  She nodded. I noticed that her nose ring had been replaced by a tiny gold stud, and all the hoops in her left ear matched. Her left ear, by the way, was more visible than her right ear, because she had shaved a graceful arc on the left side of her head back in September, and it had not grown back in.

  “Where’s Aunt Grace?” she asked.

  “Walking back from town. They wanted to see Westfield. They’re bringing something for lunch.”

  She sat. “How is it going?”

  “My sister thinks I’ve failed as a responsible relative because I did not prevent Lily from finding Vinnie.”

  “Oh. So, how is it your older sister never met Aunt Lily?”

  I laughed. “I know. You’d think she’d remember something about Lily, but no, she’d rather assume this was a preventable disaster that I sat back and watched.”

  She was watching me carefully. “That boat thing last weekend was great.”

  I nodded. “Yes, it was. A terrific idea. I think everyone enjoyed themselves very much.”

  “Except for you. What happened?”

  I looked at Jessica. She and Lauren both had my father’s eyes. In Lauren, I always found comfort looking into them. With Jessica, I always found that pressing, probing need-to-know look that was the other side of my gentle, loving father. “Ben is leaving for Maine right after the wedding. He has a big job up there. We’re sort of broken up.”

  Her jaw dropped. “But I like Ben! Mom, this sucks. Why don’t you just marry him? I bet he’d cancel Maine if you said yes.”

  “No, honey, he wouldn’t. This is his career, and it’s a big step. Just like I wouldn’t have canceled LA.”

  “You’re not Ben.”

  “I would not ask him to do that. It means a great deal to him.” And it did. And knowing that, I would have followed him up there as a loyal camp follower if he’d asked.

  “So do you. You mean everything to him. I know that Dad really sucked as a husband, but Ben is a very different kind of man. He wouldn’t make you miserable. In fact, you’d probably like being married to him.”

  I walked over to her and put my arms around her. “When did you get so smart?”

  “Third grade. Where have you been?”

  I started to laugh. Grace and Shadow came through the kitchen door, and Jessica jumped up in delight. There was a spurt of activity, and by the end of lunch—roasted veggies on gluten-free artisanal rolls, with quinoa salad—alliances had been forged. The three of them announced another walk, and I could imagine all my neighbors looking out their windows and seeing my daughter sharing a joint with her aunt and uncle. I tried blocking out the visual by going upstairs and finding something to wear to the rehearsal dinner.

  Miranda arrived. David came in with her carrying three suitcases.

  “Honey, your dress is here. Your shoes and veil are here. Your going-away dress is here. You’re spending one night at the Pierre before going back to Boston. Why do you need three suitcases?”

  Because Miranda had been at her new job less than two weeks, she did not ask for time off for her honeymoon. She had negotiated a leave in May, when she and David would fly to Paris, on my dime, for ten days. But it looked like she’d packed way early.

  “Rehearsal dinner, remember?”

  “The Highlawn Pavilion is fancy, but you don’t need a formal gown and train.”

  David just grinned and carried her luggage upstairs, then drove off to Ben’s.

  I sat with her as she dragged clothes out of her suitcases and hung them in her now-empty closet. She had taken the last of her clothes with her after the shower, and I had occasionally come up here just to gaze in wonder at the empty space. But in five minutes she managed to replace eighty percent of the clutter.

  She talked nonstop—her job, the drive down, David’s boss—before she threw herself down on the bed and gave a long sigh.

&nb
sp; “I’m getting married tomorrow.”

  “I know, baby. How does it feel?”

  “Amazing. How does it feel for you?”

  Tears came in such a fierce rush I surprised myself. Miranda was getting married. A handsome young man had swept her off her feet, and tomorrow they were going to announce in front of the world their love and commitment to each other. How did this happen? Last week she was still a baby.

  “Mom, are you crying? You’re supposed to be happy for me. I really hoped by now you’d have changed your mind.”

  Tears were in her eyes as well, and I grabbed her and hugged her tightly.

  “I am happy for you, Miranda. I know how much you and David love each other, and that’s so important. It’s just…this is such a huge step. You don’t even know. And I want you to have a good marriage. I just wish I could tell you how to do that.”

  She nodded against my shoulder. “I know. But don’t worry, okay? David knows.”

  I pulled away and looked hard at her.

  “He does?”

  She shrugged. “It’s fine, Mom. Growing up in this house I learned what it meant to be a hardworking, independent woman. You showed me everything I needed to know about going it alone. Not so much about what a good marriage was all about. I know—Dad was the jerk. But—you let him be the jerk.”

  Oh. “Miranda, I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize, Mom. If I hadn’t met David, I probably would have been the most successful single person of my entire generation, thanks to you.”

  “So, where did David learn about what a good marriage is?”

  “From Ben, of course.”

  Of course.

  There were noises downstairs. Jess was back. Fred was barking. I gave Miranda another hug.

  “You’re going to be an amazing wife.”

  “Yeah. I think so too.”

  The Highlawn Pavilion holds a special place in my heart. Not just because it’s a fabulous restaurant with incredible food, impeccable service, and a view to die for, but it’s also where Patricia and I had our first martini together. Patricia ate there on a regular basis, and I often met her there on a weekday afternoon, just for another perfectly made vodka martini.

 

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