“Well, Wilson, when you’re done playing Crazy Eight with the boys…”
“Hey, Mom, what am I?” Camille griped. “Besides, the game we’re playing is Eight Ball. It’s a good thing you’re not on our team,” Camille mumbled before she gave Frank a high five.
“Well, just the same, I think the energy you all keep putting into this game of eight something-or-others is crazy.”
Man, I loved her. If I could’ve just found a way to snatch a little piece of her and put it in my pocket, I would have. I wanted to grow in her love and shine with her acceptance. She oozed such sophistication and yet was down-to-earth enough to make me want to stand in her shadow.
“Max, did your brother say anything about coming home?” Nancy asked as she brushed her hands against her waist, flattening the edge of her sweater. She didn’t look at Max; she didn’t even wait for him to mumble something back before she occupied her thoughts with other people in the house. “Camille—ring, sweetheart.” Nancy pointed to the drink her daughter had set down on the dark mahogany end table without a coaster.
I felt the atmosphere thicken with the mention of Calvin. Frank stiffened and focused on reapplying some blue chalk to the tip of his pool stick. Camille picked up her drink, her eyes wide, as she looked to Max to calm the waters.
“Ahhh no, Ma. Cal didn’t mention coming out. I figured I would give him a day or two before I called,” Max answered as if these were the hardest words he’d ever had to utter.
“Oh. Well, then—I guess we’ll wait to see what he wants to do.” Nancy snatched up Camille’s drink and took it to the kitchen.
We stood silently as we all processed her disappointment, oozing and filling the room. Frank huffed something about Calvin’s selfish, immature manner before he broke for the kitchen. I just watched; there was nothing else I could do. No matter how much I wanted to run to her, I couldn’t. It wasn’t my place. So I did the only thing I knew I could—I turned to Max and let all my feelings swirl in the tears that welled in my eyes.
Max pulled me into a hug before he lowered his mouth to my ear and whispered, “I’m sorry, Calvin does this to her. I’ll be right back.” His arms tightened around me before he let me go and traced the same path his parents had just treaded.
“This is nothing new, Wilson,” offered Camille. “Calvin has always created chaos in the family. If he would take some responsibility and stop being so lackadaisical, he’d be working with my father instead of bouncing around from place to place and job to job.” She set her cue stick on the pool table before she took a deep, extended breath.
I didn’t know what to say. When I sat with Calvin a couple of nights before, he’d told me about Frank’s contemptuous comments. Words like lazy, pathetic, loser, and bum, rolled off his tongue. These were words I couldn’t imagine Frank using to belittle his youngest son.
“That’s one thing you’ll have to learn about my family,” Camille continued, “you’ll see only what they want you to see.” She made sure to make eye contact with me.
What does that mean? Am I dating Houdini’s son? What wool did they pull over my eyes? What grand escapes do I have to look out for? Because right now, I truly feel them. But then again, who’s to say I’m the best judge of character?
“Huh?” I said, coming back to the conversation with Camille.
“I said it won’t take you long to find out how important it is to make everything appear peachy.” Camille turned to go to the kitchen.
“So am I failing Goldstein Family Life 101?” The words shot from my lips.
“I wouldn’t say that. But now that you and my brother are a recognizable item, be prepared for the dinner inquisition.” And with those words, Camille left.
I stood in the great room, alone, and now completely scared of whose lion’s den I’d stepped foot in. Visions of Nancy and Frank fluttered across my thoughts—their noses turned up in the air, their hair wild, eyes devilishly red and acidly wicked as their long fingers pointed at me. Their words, soft at first, ricocheted hard against the bones in my head, with phrases painted in murky gray, accusing me of lying to win their hearts and steal their son from their family. My heart shuddered rapidly in my chest; my stomach ached as their judgments flooded my body. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t get my lungs to cooperate so I could catch my breath.
I hurried to the bathroom, hoping that if I splashed some water on my face it would stop the self-induced panic attack that accosted me and held me captive. As I pushed into the bathroom, the aroma of fresh, green apple hung in the air, and a crisp chill stroked across my exposed skin. I wasn’t comfortable anymore.
Chapter Ten
No matter how much water I splashed across my cheeks I couldn’t stop my stomach from twisting. My mouth was watering and I was straining to keep from throwing up. I dabbed my face dry with the gazillion thread count, white, Egyptian cotton hand towel, and I cleared the stagnant air from my lungs with a couple of deep breaths. Then of course, I caught my expression in the colossal mirror above the sink.
My hair was drab and drenched from the puddles of water I’d just splashed across my face, and my waterproof mascara bled down below my eyelashes, accentuating the bags that puffed under my eyes. I looked like I’d gotten in a pretty bad tussle and lost. Granted, I was pretty tired, and that could’ve been why Camille’s words had felt worse than running the edges of my cuticles across a cheese grater.
Any way I looked at it, I needed to pull myself together and let go of the fear of that night’s dinner. Besides, it was my birthday, and I knew Max wouldn’t let anything or anyone ruin it. I combed my fingers through my hair, breaking the tangles that didn’t cooperate, and dabbed away the “waterproof” mascara from beneath my eyes as best I could with toilet paper.
Waterproof my ass, what a frickin’ mess. Waterproof is waterproof, right? Okay, so thrusting puddles of water at my face might have been a little excessive. But if they claim their product is waterproof, then I should be able to plunge my entire head underwater and still come out looking perfect. Instead, you might as well toss me into a group of raccoons.
Once I felt together enough to join the Goldsteins again, I went to hang up the fancy, white hand towel I’d used to dry my face. Of course, with the type of day I was having, I should have known my mascara would’ve ended up all over it.
Shit—what the hell am I going to do now? I can’t hang it back up. Nancy is already upset about Calvin. Now here I go screwing up her trillion thread count, Egyptian cotton hand towel. And what the hell am I going to do about the dinner inquisition? Oh my God, I think I’m going to be sick.
I grabbed the hand towel and held it to my lips. Well if I already messed it up with black mascara, I might as well finish it off with a Lemon Fizzie.
“Wilson? Where are you, sweetheart?” Max called out.
Chills rippled throughout my body, and in an instant, I felt saved. Max wouldn’t dangle the shame of ruining Nancy’s towel in front of me, and he’d rescue me from the dinner inquisition. He’d find a way to make it okay because, after all, he loves me. But still, the doubting voice in my head was screaming to be heard.
What if he leaves me alone with his family during dinner? What if his parents find out I’m his student? What if he sees what I did to Nancy’s towel and decides I’m completely too immature for him? Because who in their right mind would dry their mascara-ridden face with a white towel? Face it. Wilson, you’ve screwed this one up big time.
As Max tapped on the bathroom door, my heart thrashed unrelentingly against my sternum. “Wilson, you in there?”
I froze. Maybe if I didn’t move he wouldn’t know I was trying to figure out what to do with the towel I’d ruined. I turned to look at the door and knocked the copper trashcan against the toilet with my foot. The clang echoed throughout the massive bathroom. He tapped again on the door. “Wilson, you okay?”
I pulled the towel away from my mouth. “Yeah, be out in a minute,” my voice wavered; he noticed.
> “You sure?” he asked. I heard his hand slide across the door.
Uh-oh, here we go again—another bathroom moment.
“I’m fine.”
Clearly he wasn’t aware of the towel I’d ruined or the words Camille had flung at me about the upcoming inquisition. I heard his body press against the door. I stepped closer.
“Wilson, I can’t wait to be alone with you,” his words filled the space between us. I leaned against the door. I swear, I could feel his weight.
I heard him exhale slowly, and with that, what I’d done to the towel and my feelings about Camille’s warning melted away. He had such a way with me. Every silly moment of insecurity seemed to vanish with his words.
“Me too,” I whispered as I unlocked the door and pulled it open.
“Hi. I’m sorry about leaving you alone with my sister.” He wore a frown as his eyes tangled me in his apology.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” I swallowed as I decided to keep Camille’s warning to myself.
“Yeah, well when Calvin decides to stay away, it affects everyone and I am the one the family leans on to fix it. It tends to be a thankless job.”
“Yeah, but an important one,” I answered.
“One family job I don’t remember signing up for,” he responded.
“I bet your mom is thankful,” I said before I watched his radiant, green eyes widen and the muscles in his face become stoic. I had an answer for every excuse he gave for his family responsibility, and he noticed.
“Yeah, she is.” He wrapped his arms around me. His hug was a sorry he didn’t have to speak. I knew he was grateful for his family; he just needed to vent, and I needed to remind him how lucky he was.
“By the way, I kinda got makeup on your mom’s towel.” The words felt juvenile and stupid as I said them. I made sure I clung tightly to his embrace.
“Well now, what are we going to do about that?” he teased before he leaned back to look in my eyes. “Maybe she needs to send you to my room after dinner,” he smiled gingerly.
Dinner was a whole different story. It was going to be my penance for falling in love with him. Hmmm, maybe I could be sent up to his room before dinner?
“I really messed it up,” I said as I snatched the towel from the counter and held up the incriminating evidence.
“There is nothing more important than being together on your birthday.” Max yanked the towel out of my grip and tossed it aside. He pulled me by the hip with one hand while his other hand pushed my hair away from my neck. “She isn’t going to care about a dirty…filthy…makeup-caked…Wilson-ruined…hand towel.” He kissed the bend between my collarbone and neck as he breathed each word describing the ruined towel. He was so good at changing the subject.
But then he stopped kissing me. A silent, cool air replaced his lips, pulling me from the trance he’d just inspired. I opened my eyes, he was staring at me intensely.
“Your hair’s wet.”
“I splashed water on my face.”
“That explains the hand towel,” he smirked
“Hey, that’s not funny,” I snapped. The moment sagged leadenly between us.
“You’re really upset about a towel?” he asked.
“I don’t want to disappoint your parents.”
“You’re not disappointing anyone,” he said as he held my chin. Our eyes met. “You haven’t been crying on your birthday, have you?”
“No, I just wanted to splash some water on my face, that’s all.” I felt a thick wall of self-preservation build up between us as I shut down his questions.
“Wilson, Max…hello…are we going to finish this game? Or are you guys going to forfeit?” Frank hollered from the great room. His words provided the perfect excuse to U-turn off the road we were about to head down. I looked at Max, waiting for him to answer his father’s call. When he kept staring at me, I took the lead.
“Yeah, Frank, we’re coming. There’s no way we are forfeiting on my birthday!” I scooped up the hand towel and stepped past Max before I brought my hand down to his. “Come on, let’s kick some ass.”
He smiled before he snatched the towel from me. “I’ve got it. Meet you there.” He bent close and kissed me delicately on the cheek.
Funny. I was the greatest at changing the subject, and he was the best at moving away from my issues. He knew I didn’t want to dwell on anything that would change or ruin my time with him and his family. I watched him run through the kitchen before I stepped into the great room where we were going to make Goldstein history with Max and me beating his dad and sister at pool.
“Ah, there you are, where’s your worse half?” Frank teased. His eyes glistened like Max’s, his smile warm.
“Come on, Dad, we all know he couldn’t compete, so he sent Wilson in here to surrender.” Camille swung her hand in the air with her invisible white flag.
“Actually, I sent Wilson here to finish the game.” Max came strutting from the kitchen. “Right, sweetheart? It’s time for some new blood to rule the pool table.” He snatched his cue from the holder on the wall before swooping in for a winning kiss.
“Ahhh…sure,” I answered.
“Well then, whose turn was it before we stopped?” Frank humbled himself.
“That would be Wilson. She knocked the nine-ball into the right corner pocket before the Lemon Fizzies fiasco,” Camille piped up.
“Yeah, I bonked the yellow ball into that pocket.” I pointed to the corner where the ball dropped in.
“Okay, Wilson, so it’s your turn. And no help this time, Bucko.” Frank turned to Max.
“Hey, I showed her how to hold the cue stick; that’s all,” Max answered with his hands in the air.
I held the long, smooth stick straight against my chest. I remembered to bend, relax, and rest my aiming hand on the felt. I slid the wood against my fingers, my grip tight; I aimed to get the solid green ball into the center basket, right side, affording myself one look at Max before I hit the white ball. I watched it knock into the green ball, creating a chain reaction of all the other solid and striped balls huddled in a clump around it, causing them to scatter across the table. Crappily enough, my green ball didn’t drop into the basket; but I was excited to see the black eight ball fall right in. I turned to Max, proud that I knocked a solid into the side basket thingy. Frank and Camille cheered while Max scrunched up his nose.
“That was good, right? The solid black ball was one of ours, right?” I was confused by Frank and Camille’s celebration.
“No, sweetie, you want the eight ball to be the last ball you knock in after all the other solids. But hey, on the bright side, you are really getting the feel of using the cue stick.” He came over and kissed the top of my head.
“Great, I just lost the game for you,” I pouted. I looked over at Camille; she was assembling all the balls in the triangle and Frank was running the blue chalk square over the tip of his pool stick.
“Okay, another game? This time, Wilson, you’re on my team, Camille, you’re with Max. You gotta win one game on your birthday,” Frank winked before he smiled at me.
My heart swelled and fluttered. He liked me. Maybe Camille had to deal with the dinner inquisition when she’d brought Dan home, but for me, maybe this was my big test. If I could pass being Frank’s partner, then maybe I’m in with the Goldstein family.
“Ah, come on Dad. you and Camille won fair and square. You two are still the champs. Let’s call it a game and see if Mom needs help with dinner,” Max said.
“Are you kidding me? The last time I was Max’s partner, he cost me two hundred and fifty bucks. Remember that? When we played the Vaughns? It was you and me against Emily and Jeff,” Camille whined.
“Well, we aren’t playing for money. Unless you want to,” Frank interjected.
“Yeah, but that isn’t the point. I don’t feel like playing another game. And besides, Wilson might be tired.” Max looked at me.
Suddenly I was on the spot. What should I say? Frank wanted me
to play pool. Maybe if I get in good with him I can avoid the anxiety of the dinner inquisition. But then Camille didn’t want to partner with Max, and Max didn’t want to play any longer, and all the while, here I was filling in for Calvin. So what was I supposed to do? I’d never been in a situation like that before. A family divided, pressured by a game that was supposed to be a tradition.
Chapter Eleven
Standing around the pool table waiting for someone to make the first move was as torturous as watching Cindy fake her friendship with Jacky Burlington. Worse yet, the people around the pool table were waiting on my decision to play pool as Frank’s partner or not.
God, if only the phone would ring for Frank. Or Dan would call for Camille. Or, better yet, maybe a meteor will crash into the earth. I needed something to break the bitter standoff.
Max pulled his iPhone from his pocket. I didn’t hear it chime or ring so when he started texting, I assumed it must be a ritual he used when he wanted to avoid arguing with his father.
“Frank, could you come here please?” Nancy called from the kitchen. Thank God!
“Sure, honey,” Frank sang back to his wife before he gave Camille and Max a disappointed look.
Camille, bent out of shape, tromped off upstairs.
“Geez, that was beyond awkward,” I whispered to Max.
“Yeah, my dad and sister both have a pretty competitive streak.”
“Well, what about you? You don’t seem to be that competitive.”
“No, I’m more like my mom. That’s why I couldn’t work with my dad. I’m not cut-throat; it’s just not in my character,” Max said plainly.
“Is Calvin more like your mom or your dad?”
“Oh, man, Calvin is a perfect mix of both of them. In business, he is like my mom—not competitive at all; but when it comes to family, he’s super protective. I think he and my dad fight so much because they are both are very stubborn. He’s punishing my dad, you see. That’s, why he isn’t here.”
“Well, doesn’t he know it’s only punishing your mom?” I asked.
Wilson Mooney Eighteen at Last Page 8