by Dee Ernst
“But what about Daddy?” she said, her voice cracking a little.
I scooped the last of the grape tomatoes into the salad bowl. “This isn’t some kind of contest. Jake broke my heart. Your father married me, and we were together most of my adult life. What else do you want me to say?”
She whipped around and marched back into the dining room. Her righteous indignation would probably have played out better if she had a door to slam behind her. Just marching through an open archway was not nearly as effective.
Cheryl caught my eye and mouthed, I’m sorry. I shrugged and put the pasta on.
Laura came over and stood very close to me in front of the stove.
“So, what are you going to do about Jake?” she whispered.
Jeff had sneaked up behind us both. “Is that his name?” He was whispering as well. “Jake?”
I stirred the steaming pasta. If you’re standing over a pot of boiling water and you have a hot flash, does it even count?
“Stop it,” I hissed. “I’m not doing anything.”
Cheryl was nudging me on the other side. “Laura,” she whispered loudly, “did you know this guy?”
Laura nodded and sighed. “Most beautiful man I’d ever seen.”
Bobby’s voice rose up from behind us. “You all having some sort of conference over there?”
Laura leaned over to Cheryl, forcing me to take a step back. “He totally broke her heart,” she hissed.
“Trying to cook here,” I said loudly.
Jeff leaned in. “When was all this?”
I wiped sweat off my forehead. “College. Can I get in here? Please?”
Cheryl gently pushed my head forward, directly over the boiling water, so she could lean behind me toward Laura. “Those are the ones you never forget,” she murmured.
Jeff sniffed. “I had one of those. Jason. He was a Swede. A Nordic god.”
“Mom?” Regan called. “Do you really need that much help to stir the pasta?”
“She needs to see him again,” Laura said.
“No, she doesn’t,” Cheryl shot back.
“See who again?” Regan asked.
I turned around. Laura, Cheryl, and both of my children were huddled around the stove, and there, at the far end of the kitchen, Bobby stood, frowning.
“People,” I said loudly, “I’m in the middle of a hot flash and you all need to step back now!”
They all backed away, and cool air hit me like a wave. I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. When that didn’t help, I grabbed the lid to the soup pot from off the counter and used it as a fan. In a few seconds I felt much better. I looked at all the waiting faces.
“I am not going to see Jake Windom,” I said loudly. “In case any of you were interested. And dinner will be ready in four minutes. So can we all finish setting the table?”
Regan swept the salad bowl off the counter and headed into the dining room. Jeff grabbed wine bottles and his glass and followed her. Laura turned and started slicing up the bread. Cheryl tilted her head at me and smiled.
“Good,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“Do you mean it?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
But then I thought, Well, probably.
There are some people who are born to move furniture. My son was born to invent a robot to move the furniture for him. So when he told me that he and Alisa would be moving their own stuff in, I was skeptical. But they showed up bright and early with his battered Corolla and a U-Haul, along with three other young men I would have never mistaken for professional movers. All three of them were short, wore glasses, and had a vaguely nerdish air about them. They tumbled out of the Corolla like clowns out of a VW Bug, and then stood around for ten minutes while Sam and Alisa argued about where they would be living.
I had invited them to use my second floor. It had two empty bedrooms, a bathroom, and a large, open loft area that overlooked the living room. It even had its own tiny balcony. When I described it to them, they seemed happy. But when Sam walked into the house and saw the basement, he wondered aloud why they should cart all their stuff up two flights of stairs when it would be so much easier to slide everything through the garage into the basement.
Now, granted, my basement looked pretty good. It was a long, L-shaped room with double sliding glass doors that opened onto a small cement patio, and it looked directly into the woods. The bathroom downstairs was pretty big, with double sinks and a walk-in shower. The carpet was new and the paint was fresh and clean.
“But it’s one room,” Alisa pointed out.
“Yeah, but we could put the bed into this little alcove, the desks by the stairs, and have a little seating area right there by the sliders. It would be cool.”
“Our bedroom in the little alcove would mean that your mother would have to pass our bed every time she walked to the laundry room to do clothes.”
“She wouldn’t mind. Besides, look at all the sunshine coming in.”
“There’s plenty of sunshine coming in upstairs, Sam. We could put the desks in the smaller bedroom, and use the loft like a living room. So when you’re working, you could shut the door for privacy, and I could sit and read without bothering you.”
“Alisa, you never bother me.”
“Okay, then how about this? I can sit and read without hearing you yell at the computer and mutter about the idiots you have to work with.”
“I don’t mutter.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Alisa…”
“Or what if I want to surprise you by buying sexy underwear, and be stretched out in the bed when you come home from work? Your mother might mind doing laundry then.”
I had been standing next to an Asian American young man in skinny jeans and what looked like an old bowling shirt. When Alisa said that, he made a loud, rather rude noise. Sam glanced around.
“We’ll be right back out, guys,” he announced, then led Alisa into the house.
“Too bad,” I said. “I was about to bring out the lawn chairs and a cooler of beer.”
He grinned and stuck out his hand. “I’m Tim. Yeah, they can really put on a show.”
I shook his hand. “Kate. How did my son rope you into this?”
Tim shrugged. “We’ve known each other a long time. We started out as partners in the computer lab. I introduced him to Alisa, so I feel a certain obligation to the relationship.”
“Well, you do good work. But I didn’t think they were the arguing type.”
“Alisa usually isn’t, but Sam can get a real bug up his ass sometimes, and I think she fights back just to put him in his place. She can be pretty tough.”
“I see that. Any woman who uses sexy underwear in an argument is a force to be reckoned with. But Sam’s right. It would be easier to just put everything in the basement.”
Tim shook his head. “The stairs are the challenge. Hai built this planking system that he thinks will get everything up there with only one person exerting force, and Sam says it’s a crock.”
I looked over, and another Asian American man, a very tiny one, waved at me.
“Only one person? Really? But those desks looked pretty big.”
“Exactly,” Hai said excitedly. He started to explain how it would all work. His English was not very good, and I think he was talking about thrust versus resistance, or maybe he was reciting the Pledge of Allegiance in Korean or Vietnamese, but then Sam and Alisa came out of the house and Sam called out that they were all going up to the second floor.
I never did find out the name of the third young man. I don’t think he actually spoke a word all morning. He helped Hai take out a series of slender planks made of a stiff black material, and Sam asked me very politely to stay out of their way for a while. So I called for Boone and took a long, leisurely walk around the complex. I stopped and chatted with the golf pro, and set up an appointment for a lesson the next week. I also found out that the pool would be open in less than two weeks, and
that there was a block-long garage sale planned for the first week in July. I had so much to look forward to.
When I returned home, all the furniture was up on the second floor. Hai was looking smug. I helped walk up a few boxes, but they really didn’t have too much: the bed and dresser in one room, the desks and their computers and printers in the smaller room. The furniture Jeff had loved so much looked very nice in the loft. The fake palm trees screened the area, and Alisa was filling a bookcase with books when I came upstairs.
“Everything looks great,” I said.
She smiled. “Yes. And thank you again, Kate. This is so much nicer than our apartment, and I promise we won’t be in the way.”
I waved it off. “No worries. You guys can hang out up here, I’ll be downstairs, we’ll meet at mealtimes, and everything will be fine.”
“Yes. I think so, too.” She glanced at Sam, who was coming out of the bedroom. “Right, honey?”
Sam frowned. “Right what? What did I do now?”
“Nothing, sweetie,” I said. “We were just saying how we should all get along fine.”
“Sure.”
“And we need to talk to your mom about rent.”
Sam looked at her. I looked at her. We both said, at the same time, “Rent?”
Alisa nodded. “Of course. We’re two adults, Sam, and we need to be paying our way.”
“But she’s my mom.”
“Yes. But she is also a person in her own right who should not be taken advantage of.”
“But,” Sam argued, “this place is paid for. It’s not like she needs to pay a mortgage or anything.”
“That’s not a reason, Sam. There are still expenses. If nothing else, I know how much you eat, and that’s worth several hundred dollars a month alone,” Alisa said.
I hadn’t thought about charging them rent, because I am a total pushover when it comes to my kids, but the girl was making a lot of sense.
“I don’t know, Sam,” I broke in. “Alisa is right. You were willing to pay almost two thousand dollars a month for a shoe box. And feeding you has always been a very expensive proposition. I’m not working right now, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t charge you a little something.”
Sam looked stricken. “Mom?”
“What? It’s not unreasonable. In fact, I read somewhere that it’s a good idea to charge rent when children return home. If you are my tenant instead of just my son, then I’m less likely to treat you like a fifteen-year-old with a bunch of rules and restrictions. Like when you need to turn the computer off, or how loud you can play your music.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. Those had been two of the many running battles of his high school years. “That makes sense,” he said slowly.
“Of course it does,” said Alisa. “I think two thousand a month is good.”
“What!” Sam yelped.
She stared at him, and he visibly wilted. “Sam, I’ve been online and I know what it would cost to rent an apartment down the street. We essentially have a two-bedroom with a garage and private balcony with easy access to the train station. Two grand is about right.”
Even I thought that was excessive, but I was not about to get in the middle of this.
“Alisa, this is my mother. Can’t we at least get the friends-and-family discount?”
They both looked at me. I straightened my shoulders. “Okay, you two. I agree about the rent. But you are my son, Sam. So, one thousand a month. Payable the first of every month. We’re adults here, so I’m sure loud noise and other inconsiderate behavior will not be an issue. I’ll be happy to do the shopping, so any food in the fridge belongs to all of us. If you have any requests, write them on a list.”
Sam looked a bit sulky, but Alisa seemed relieved. “Good,” she said. “I’m glad this is settled. I’ve always had to pay my own way. I’m much more comfortable now.” She gave Sam a hug and a kiss on the mouth. “Now, that wasn’t too bad, was it?”
He kissed her back. “Alisa, whatever you say. Listen, I need some more cable, and then I have to run the guys back to the city and return the van. I’ll bring Tim back to help set up the office. Can you pick me up at the train station?”
She nodded, and he bounced down the stairs. We heard him yelling to his friends, the door slammed, and we were alone.
“Well,” she said.
“Yes. Well. Why don’t you do what you have to do up here, then come on down and have some tea. And I made a coconut cream pie. It’s Sam’s favorite, but I don’t think we need to wait for him.”
She nodded, and I went back downstairs. I put some water on to boil and took the pie out of the refrigerator.
Alisa came down a few minutes later. I poured tea in silence, and cut two slices of pie. She took a bite, then closed her eyes.
“This is heaven,” she said when she finally stopped chewing.
I smiled. “Yes. Best recipe I ever found. You’re not a vegetarian or anything?”
She frowned and shook her head. “No. And I’m a lousy cook. Sam usually cooks, and I’ll eat anything he wants to make.”
I was surprised. “Sam cooks? Since when? The boy never made so much as a peanut butter sandwich when he lived at home.”
She swallowed and sipped tea. “Yes, he told me. But he taught himself last year, when we started dating, and he realized that unless he wanted to eat every meal out, he’d better learn, ’cause I sure wasn’t any kind of meal ticket.” She glanced at me. “He says you’re a great cook.”
I looked modest. “I have moments of greatness.”
“He also says you’re brilliant, funny, beautiful, the perfect mother, and all-around best person ever.”
I was a little surprised. Sam had never been one to gush about anything involving human beings. “Well, I am his mother.”
“True. But he usually only gets excited about theoretical things.”
“He obviously got excited over you,” I said.
She blushed. “Well, only after I chased him all over campus and threw myself at him repeatedly. For a brainiac, he’s very dense about things.”
“I know.” I finished my pie and leaned back, then sat up again. I could feel a hot flash coming like a slow-moving train.
“I finally got his attention when I dressed as an elf at a Lord of the Rings mixer the CompSci department threw. If it weren’t for Galadriel, I’d be dating a law student right now.”
I was trying to look interested, but was too busy fighting the urge to pull off my shirt and fan myself with a pizza pan. “Really?”
She had finished her pie and was watching me closely. “Are you all right?”
She probably noticed the beads of sweat on my temples. “Hot flash,” I said shortly.
She nodded. “My grandma used to get those all the time,” she said.
Oh, why, thanks so much!
“Are you really dating again?”
I looked at my tea, thinking I’d rather die than put anything hot anywhere near my body. “I’m trying. I’m not exactly sure how it will all turn out.”
“I think it’s great,” she said. “I mean, Sam is the love of my life, but if anything ever happened between us, I’d want to try again, you know, to find another person to share my life with. There are all kinds of ways to love a person. You should never give up on finding love.”
I looked at her in surprise. “That’s a very wise thing to say.” I decided to take a chance. “And a really funny thing has happened. The man who was the love of my life—back in college, I mean—is on the same dating site I am. And he wants to get together.”
Her jaw dropped. “Oh, Kate, how romantic. Did you answer him? Have you seen him?”
“I haven’t decided what to do yet. He broke up with me. I was pretty crushed.”
She leaned forward. “Kate, aren’t you dying to know what he wants to say to you?”
I shrugged. “Yes, I guess, but he can’t say anything to me until I wave back at him.”
“So, do you know what he’s been doi
ng all these years?”
I shook my head. “Just what’s on his dating profile.”
Alisa jumped up. “Let’s Google him,” she said, and ran off.
I stared after her. Google him? Why hadn’t I thought of that?
She was back in the kitchen, laptop open.
“Okay. Spell his name?”
I did, and went around to look over her shoulder. My mouth felt dry. My heart was starting to beat a little faster.
What would the Google gods reveal?
It appeared that Jake Windom was a fairly important guy. He was, for one thing, the CEO of a very successful company, Nesco, with corporate headquarters down on Wall Street. There was mention of his divorce. One bio said that he met his ex-wife at Penn State. It looked like he’d married the woman he left me for. Was I grateful that, at least, he had broken my heart for something akin to true love, instead of some casual fling? No, I don’t think I felt grateful at all. After all, he had divorced her in the end.
He also had a charity that he was involved with, was on the board of directors of a handful of nonprofit organizations, and had recently bid thirty-five thousand dollars on a Dalí sketch at Sotheby’s.
Alisa sighed. “You have to talk to him, Kate. He’s reached out to you, even though he must know how much he hurt you. Maybe he’s regretted it every single day of his life. Maybe he tried to find you again, right after it happened, to beg you to take him back, but couldn’t. How do you know that he hasn’t been searching for you all these years, just to beg your forgiveness?”
I stared at her. “I know because I don’t live in a Nora Roberts trilogy,” I said. I couldn’t believe I’d found another believer in fairy tales. I was surrounded by happily-ever-after groupies. I needed to change the subject, and fast. “Have any idea what you’ll be doing all summer?”
She closed the laptop and shrugged. “I’d like to get a job somewhere. I know it’s a little late to be applying anywhere. And other than neuroscience, I have very limited job skills.”
I gave up on the tea, got up, and cleared the table. Anything to create a cool breeze. “I’ll be looking for a job as well. Maybe we can tag-team. We’re both pretty much only qualified to do only one thing, so that narrows our options quite a bit, but still.”