“Christine Spencer Sullivan, you have an Ivy League medical degree. Most people with those kinds of smarts figure out that stoves make things warm.”
As if she hadn’t ruined her fair share of Corningware. “Can I have my pie back?”
She lifted the plate out of my reach. “Are you going to be nicer?”
“You do a marginal job of cooking from time to time and your baked goods are excellent especially your tiramisu please give me my pie.”
She put the plate back in front of me. “Fine. Let me ask again. Does he challenge you?”
Was that what I needed? “He does.”
“Then why are you so reticent to talk about him? If he gives you as hard a time as I do, I’m sure I’ll love him.”
May as well lay it all out on the table. “He’s younger than me.”
“How is that an issue? I’m younger than Jack.”
“Yes, but you two have roughly the same maturity level.”
“I’m not entirely sure you mean that as a compliment.”
I was fairly certain I didn’t. “He’s younger than me,” I repeated.
“Yes, you said that. I’m not quite understanding why that’s so bothersome to you.”
I stared at her. It never took long for her brain to kick into gear. She quirked her head to the side. “Holy shit, he’s younger than me,” she said.
“By a lot.”
“How much?”
“He said he was forty-one. So, I think he’s forty-one.”
“You think? Was there some reason for him to lie? Chrissy, this is the type of situation where you gotta sneak a look at his driver’s license if you can’t be sure he’s being straight with you. And may I add, forty-one is not a lot younger than me. I’m insulted, I truly am. I’m starting to question your role in the sisterhood.”
“I don’t know, Punky. He looks even younger than that but I can’t judge age anymore. It’s hard to tell.”
“If it helps, you don’t look anywhere close to your age. I mean, you were looking a little rough when we first reunited in Canada, but you’re much better moisturized now.”
“Thank you, best friend of mine. You always know the right thing to say.”
She stuck her tongue out at me. “You know I’m kidding. You don’t look your age. At all.”
“Neither does he, or at least I don’t think so. He’s got some gray hair but a very… smooth face. I mean, not smooth per se since he’s got a bit of a scruff thing going on, but he doesn’t have any noticeable wrinkles. He’s pretty well put together, all things considered.”
“You just made these little moony eyes when you were talking about him. That’s adorable.” Caroline clasped her hands together. “That’s it, he’s coming over for dinner. I have to meet this man.”
I had to pull the emergency brake before the Punky Train left the station. “Let’s back up a little. I’ve only gone out with him once. Or, been with him once.”
“You had sex?”
“No!” I said. “I went over to his house for dinner. One date. A nice time. I want to see him again. I’m not sure the second date should be a foursome.”
“What’s wrong with me and Jack?” she asked sweetly.
“Caroline.” I sighed deeply. “I like this man.”
“I can tell.”
“He says he likes me but I don’t want to mess it up.”
“I understand.”
“I get all… mentally disorganized around him.”
“He throws you off your game. Even better.”
“I’m serious, Caroline. Can we talk about this for five minutes without making a joke out of it?”
She schooled her features and lowered her voice an octave. “Let’s be serious, then.”
“He liked me just fine the other night but maybe he’s changed his mind now that he’s reflected on it.”
“Why on earth would he do that? You’re awesome.”
I could play back the date like it was a videotape. Rewind, watch, watch in slo-mo, pause, rewind again. Lather, rinse, repeat. “I wasn’t myself.”
“Of course you were yourself. How were you not yourself?”
“I babbled.”
“Incoherently?”
Was there any other way to babble? “Not entirely.”
“Do you tend to babble a lot when I’m not around? Did you babble a lot when you were with—when you went out on dates when you were younger?”
I could tell she was trying to stay upbeat, but she couldn’t keep her face from falling while stumbling over the question. “You can say his name, Caroline.”
“I know.” She scissored her fingers. “But sometimes it hurts to say it, so I know it’s going to hurt you too, so I don’t.”
Maybe Susannah had a point about me erasing the past. “Tom always made me laugh. And he made me feel comfortable. I probably babbled a little when we first started dating, though.”
It was something I’d never really thought about. Not really. I hardly dated before Tom and I got married, and seldom prattled on because I was rarely interested. Most men failed to hold my attention for very long, because they always seemed more interested in having me as arm candy than in getting to know who I was as a person.
Tom cared about my mind more than my looks, probably because we’d initially been such effective study partners. But it had quickly become… more. And then we got married and I didn’t invest myself as deeply in conversations or contacts because none of my interactions carried the significance of the relationship I had with him. A psychiatrist would likely have a field day with that information, but I didn’t much care.
“Babbling is a good sign, then,” Caroline said.
“It doesn’t stop me from worrying about my, er, performance.”
“It was one date, Chrissy. One. I know it’s been a long time since you’ve had to jump through those tiring hoops but I think you’re obsessing too much.”
“Is there a healthy amount of obsession I should try to achieve?”
“As soon as I figure it out, I’ll let you know. Life is about balance.”
“Susannah thinks I have a shitty personality.”
Caroline blew out a breath. “Is that what all of this is really about? She’s your daughter. She can’t be objective. If you asked Mo and Feef, they’d probably say the same thing about me.”
Doubtful. “I don’t remember having to worry about all of these dynamics with Tom.”
“You were younger and less cynical. There weren’t as many factors to consider.” Caroline took a third slice of pie. “As I recall, Josh told me once that your likability index when you were POTUS was, like, super high.”
Because that was the standard I wanted to use for romance. “Too far. Now you’ve lost me.”
“I’m simply reminding you that it’s not all about looks. Or politics, even. Because I know how much you want men to appreciate your public policy acumen.”
“Caroline-”
“There’s a certain indescribable quality you have that is authentic as hell no matter how you want to downplay your congeniality. If this man, this—”
“Alexander.”
“Ooh, nice, sturdy name. Christine and Alexander. Alexander and Christine. Chrissy and Alex. It flows. Anyway, I’m sure Alexander will end up appreciating every aspect of your supposedly shitty personality as much as I do. Otherwise he would have never said yes when you asked him out.”
Dating was turning out to be much more convoluted than I had anticipated. I leaned my head back against the couch. “Can I meet the dog now?”
*****
“Mo doesn’t have classes on Tuesday and Thursdays,” Caroline said, as we walked toward Sophie’s bedroom. “She’s been coming home more often on those days. I’m not sure what to make of it.”
I put my arm around her. “Maybe she misses you.”
“Then why does she spend all her time with her sister?”
“She likes being in the same place as you, Caroline. You must b
e able to understand that.”
Her children had spent two years with me in a cramped three-bedroom apartment in Ottawa, in a converted mansion filled with American ex-pats. We had gotten a lot closer, the three of us, but Marguerite and Sophie were enormously grateful to have their parents back. Sometimes nearness mattered more than interaction, and I suspected that was why Marguerite came home so often. Because she could.
“I think she’s really coming home to see the dog.” Caroline knocked on Sophie’s door. “Aunt Chrissy wants to hug you!”
Two heads poked out of the doorway. “Not likely,” Marguerite said. “She doesn’t even like to hug you. Why would she want to hug us?”
“Did you tell her about the dog?” Sophie asked. “I hope she’s not allergic.”
“I’m right here,” I said. “You don’t have to talk about me in the third person.”
“But it sounds so regal,” Sophie said, coming out and wrapping me in a not even remotely sulky teenage embrace. “Do you want to meet the newest member of our family?”
Marguerite kissed me on the cheek. “Good to see you,” she said.
“How’s college?” I asked.
“I have to keep correcting my political science professor. It’s very annoying.”
“I thought you were majoring in civil engineering.”
“I’m leaning that direction, but figured I’d take my time and feel a few things out. It’s an elective.”
“One you elected yourself?” I asked.
“’The key to success in life is a well-rounded liberal arts education,’” she intoned, glancing at her mother.
“I told her that,” Caroline said.
So I gathered. “Sound advice. Where’s this dog I keep hearing about?”
Marguerite turned to Sophie. “Yes, Feef. Where is the dog?”
“She might have been misplaced,” her sister said.
“Misplaced?” Caroline frowned. “Like, in the attic misplaced or ran out the door into the backyard misplaced or sold to a freewheeling gang of meth-dealing bikers misplaced? I need more specifics before I decide whether to panic.”
Marguerite leaned against the doorjamb, disinterested. “She ran out of the room a while back and Feef just let her go.”
Caroline turned to me. “And they wonder why it took so long for me to let them get an animal. Now we have ten thousand square feet of potential hideout space.”
“No,” Marguerite said. “It’s fine. She does this all the time. Right, dear sister?”
Sophie wriggled past Marguerite into the hallway. “I’ll find her. Spence!” she called. She looked back at the three of us. “I don’t usually get afraid when she disappears, but now you’re making me nervous.”
“It’s been long enough that she’s probably left us a present somewhere,” Marguerite said.
Sophie jabbed her in the chest. “It’s your turn to clean it up.”
Marguerite ran into Sophie’s room and grabbed her backpack. She knew an out when she saw one. “Not if I’m not here. Oh wow, look at the time. Gotta get back to campus.” She gave me a hug. “Later, Aunt Chrissy. Be nice to mom. Have fun cleaning up puppy poo, Feef.”
“Spennnnnnnncer!” Sophie called again, before taking off down the hall.
Caroline grabbed Marguerite’s arm as the three of us walked down the stairs. “Isn’t there anything you want to say to me?”
“What?” she said, her voice all innocence, before wrapping her mother in the same hug I’d gotten earlier, punctuated by a kiss on the cheek and another, longer hug for good measure. “Love you. Stay out of trouble.”
I pressed two fingers to my forehead as Marguerite slammed the front door a wee bit too hard behind her. “Your daughters could run a power plant with their repartee.”
“It’s exhausting,” Caroline said. “Good thing you and I don’t have the same habit, eh? Did you notice they named the dog after you?”
I’d picked up on that, yes. “I did.”
“I wanted them to go big and bold and name her Christine, but Mo said”—Caroline made bunny ears with her fingers—“‘Aunt Chrissy will find that boorish.’ So, Spencer it is.”
“I’m touched,” I said, and I was. Although the girls and I had become much closer during our time in Canada, I always worried that some of their affection hadn’t been sincere, had been thrown onto me because I was a cheap substitute for their parents. As time passed, I was beginning to appreciate its genuineness. “I’m sure my grandson will appreciate it as well.”
“Oh, shit,” Caroline said. “I forgot about that. Do we need to get another dog and name it Desmond to even things out?”
Susannah’s outrageously cute twin toddlers didn’t need any more encouragement in the charm department. “It’s fine. I’ll keep Spencer’s visits with you to a minimum until he can form a healthy ego unaffected by the fact that he shares his name with a dog.”
“I dunno, though. Desmond is a good dog name. Almost as good as Spencer. I don’t want him to feel left out.”
“It’s fine. I promise.” I crossed my arms. “Let’s meet this extra special bit of canine wonderment.”
Caroline cupped her hands around her mouth and flexed her foot on the first step of the stairs. “Feef!” she yelled. “You find the dog yet?”
I heard a faint “no” in response.
“Dammit,” she said under her breath. “Why does it always come down to me? That kid better clean up any messes she finds.” She let out a whistle. “Spencer! Come here, girl!”
I expected a Bichon Frise. A graceful Cocker Spaniel, maybe. Caroline had insisted on a shelter dog so I knew it wouldn’t be purebred, but I certainly didn’t anticipate the giant mess of a thing sauntering—yes, sauntering—down the hall. Somehow the dog had managed to steal from the second floor to the first, from bedrooms to libraries to kitchens and beyond, all while furtively avoiding human detection. I blinked and looked at it again. All paws, a head, some golden fur… it appeared to be some sort of retriever mix but I’m not the AKC.
Caroline must have noticed my expression because she cooed at the lopsided puppy as it made its leisurely way toward us, sniffing and licking along the way. “Poor Spence. Chrissy expected a pretty dog, didn’t she? And here she is, stuck with a namesake butterball creampuff of a thing.” She patted her thighs and the dog bounded toward her, jumping into her arms. “I know, I know. Don’t worry, she’ll love you soon enough. Then you can give her all the kisses you want.”
Based on the dog’s propensity for face licking, it looked like Caroline had already contracted about fifteen animal-based diseases. “I’ll pass for now, thanks,” I said.
The familiar click of a walking stick on marble made me turn my head. “I see you’ve met the newest member of our family,” Jack said.
He had his manly pride, but I knew how hard it was for him to bridge distances on slippery floors on PT days. I met him halfway, slipping my arm through his. “Hi, Jack,” I said, giving him a kiss on the cheek and slowly going step for step with him into the living room.
He glanced over at the puppy, then back at me. “No kisses for the dog yet?”
“I haven’t had all my shots.”
“You’ll love her. We all love Caroline’s new dog.”
Caroline settled into the loveseat, Spencer comfortably cuddling in beside her. “She’s not my dog.”
Jack took a spot on the couch next to me. Maybe he wasn’t in as much puppy heaven as the rest of his family. “The first night we had her, she relieved herself on my wife to mark her territory.”
“You’re kidding,” I said.
“Nope.” He gave me a sly look. “Therefore, I consider her name rather apropos.”
A few years ago, his remark would have been tinged with a bitterness that belied the tension between the two of us. But that was long past. Now, the statement was meant in jest.
“How on earth did she manage to… do that to Caroline?” I asked.
Jack didn’t object when Spe
ncer jumped off the loveseat and padded over to lick his hand. “She was in our bed.”
Oh. Obviously. “And yet your daughters are under the impression she belongs to them.”
“She’s Caroline’s dog,” he said firmly.
Caroline threw her hands in the air. “For Christ’s sake, she is not my dog. We just get along super well.”
I reached for the pup but she turned around and instantly returned to Caroline. “That’s your dog, Punky.”
“Speaking of cute animals, Jack, Chrissy is a cougar now.”
That woman could change etymological course unlike anyone I’d ever met. “You’ve sometimes asked why I don’t come over more often,” I said. “This is why I don’t come over more often. Do you really have to call me that?”
“I’m reclaiming the language,” Caroline said. “It’s a ghastly term loaded with unnecessary shame and all sorts of damaging stereotypes about older women and their sexuality but by the same token, it makes for a perfect transition to a new topic.”
“There’s no comparable term for men,” I pointed out.
Caroline cocked her head toward her husband. “I’m not even touching that one.”
“Yes, yes. We all know about my past dalliances and how women have been oppressed for centuries. I see no need to discuss the connotation of troubling terminology any further,” Jack said.
“He’s been learning,” Caroline said. “I gave him some books.”
Jack coughed. “And might I add that two visits a week are enough anyway. You know how Caroline gets overstimulated by too much attention.”
“You’re both mean,” she said. “I’m going to stomp away to my office and draw really unflattering caricatures of you.”
“Don’t worry,” he told me in a stage whisper. “Her painting skills are improving but the only things she knows how to draw right now are pears and apples, so we’ll likely only be portrayed as misshapen bowls of fruit.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but Caroline cut me off. “Don’t encourage him.”
She’d barely let me get a word in edgewise since he came in the room, but… “I wasn’t.” I gave her the mildest look I could manage. “I was going to ask what night you wanted Alex and me to come over for dinner.”
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