by Grace Sammon
I was right, they do look stunning together. Gene’s as easy to be with as Malcolm. He’s a man’s man as well. There’s a seductive attractiveness about him that isn’t in any way uncomfortable. He’s just someone you want to talk with. He’s quick with a story and a helping hand. He smokes a cigar, but only on occasion. He looks very wistful when he says how he and Malcolm used to go fishing, rum drinking, and cigar smoking, “before.” Just before. He’s very open about how much he misses Malcolm.
I hope that somehow the tensions between Malcolm, Gene, Sydney, and Allison eases. I can’t imagine that as possible. The ever-optimistic Roy tells me “never say never,” stranger things have happened. Selfishly, I want it to improve because, in so many ways, they have so much in common and the six of us would have great fun. It’s hardest on Sydney, I think, trying to straddle the relationships. I worry about the tension of that for her.
I’ve been so busy lately that I have to carve out special time for just Sonia. Our friendship is the constant. I think this is true for both of us. We continue to check in almost each day even if it is just a short text. What we cherish is the conversation, the connectedness, the absolute sense that we have each other’s backs, even if at times Sonia can be still pushing me from behind.
Her latest mission for me is to not give up on Ryn and Adam. Both Sonia and Roy approved an email to them before I sent it off. I am hoping it won’t be received as just more of the same. This one is simple.
Dear Ryn and Adam,
I start each day and end each day with the same thought and hope – that you are safe, that you are happy, that you know that you are loved, and that there is a path back to being the three of us.
I have apologized before, but I know that somehow, still, I am failing you. I continue to be sorry. Sorry for so much. Please, please consider meeting me. Meet me any place and any time. I will make it happen. There is nothing more important. If it is easier to start with an email, even a text, that too is ok.
I loved you from the moment you grew under my heart and I love you still.
- M
It’s been several weeks since I’ve sent it. Nothing. I’ve added a new approach. I forward them things that remind me of them, an online article or cartoon, a magazine that looks like it might appeal. I try not to overdo it. So much reminds me of them. It’s hard because it’s been too long, I don’t know their current interests. If I send Ryn some of the fresh salsa she likes from the store around the corner, or Adam seeds for his garden, how do I know they haven’t given up an enjoyment in those things? How do I know how they will be received? Will they think me manipulative or crazy? Will my gifts be, at any level, welcome, or even acknowledged? So far, no.
The tension of this is so uncomfortable. Even my friends with good relationships with their kids talk about the strangeness of connecting with their adult children. There is a whole generation of children who think it just fine to text or email rather than call or visit. I hear many adults say they have to watch what they say to their kids. It seems, collectively, we are a generation of parents who feel we must walk on eggshells around the landmines of whose whereabouts only our children know.
I certainly feel I’m walking on eggshells with Ryn and Adam now. Carefully tiptoeing around my pain and their—their what, disappointment in me, their own pain? I don’t know. Now, however, I try to find something each week to send them, a cute or funny card simply signed love, and, simply - M. No other words, no demands, nothing more than I am here. I love you. Maybe someday it will make a difference. I just want it to feel normal again, to be connected to them. Never say never, as Roy says.
Sonia and I continue our runs. As the days are getting longer, she now shows up after work in one of her dozens of stiletto shoes. I love how the staccato clicks of the stilettos echo her speech pattern. “I am here, it is time to run. Quickly, we must change.”
With that she transforms herself from Dr. Cortez to Sonia the sleek runner, girlfriend, confidant. We’ve taken to running through the zoo, usually with some decided topic between us. She’ll want to bounce an idea for a new project off of me or focus on an Erica issue. I in turn, share my submission for both the green housing award application and the article to Smithsonian. She’s a good mental foil for me, challenging me in all the right places.
Erica runs with us on weekends at least as far as the zoo’s southeast entrance. We leave her there as we push up hill to the lions and all the way to the main entrance and the elephants before we head back toward Erica. The last few weeks she’s been meeting a boy, one thoroughly scrutinized by Sonia. Sonia allows them this time together knowing that we will be close by and will be returning to the same spot in about thirty minutes. It’s hard to believe that Erica is ready for dating even though she obviously has been for quite some time. It’s fun to watch young love. As the three of us run back to my house, Erica with her iPod shuffle playing in her ears. She is singing along, “Te ammo, Te ammo.” I love you. I love you.
It’s different at that age.
Thankfully, Sonia has reconnected with Ali now that things are more obviously, and appropriately, on track with her and Malcolm. Like Sydney trying to maintain her relationship with Ali, I was always skirting around telling Sonia that Roy and I spent time with Ali and Malcolm. Now things are more comfortable between us.
Being with Sonia is simply my cornerstone. When I am with her, and with Roy, I am doubly blessed. Two corners in place, waiting for two more.
things happen in threes
A
llison calls early one morning asking if Roy and I can have dinner on The Tug on Friday night. The days are certainly growing warmer and with sweaters we’ll be really comfortable on deck, although we’ll probably eat in the salon. She shares that she’s invited Sonia to bring Erica down as well. She’s using the ploy that she is going to cook an Argentinean meal and wants Sonia’s reaction to it.
“Jessica, you know Sonia. She couldn’t stand it. She told me, ‘Allison, you cannot cook this meal. I will do it.’ Ha! That is exactly what I wanted from her, although it’s not so easy for me to give way in my own galley. I want to see how she makes empanadas. I can never get them right, and my chimichurri sauce is nowhere near hers. This way she’ll cook, and we’ll drink good red wine, relax, and learn Sonia’s secrets.”
As always, she tells me we should bring our things if we want to stay overnight.
I text Erica, “What’s mom making for Friday night? Can I bring anything?” She texts back with the menu and says that Sonia might ask me to pick up a Dulce de Leche Pionono at Tango’s on DuPont Circle, but she’s going to see if she has time to make it ahead of time.
My mouth is already watering. The Dulce cake is a rich jelly-roll-like sponge cake filled with caramelized sweet milk. Sonia usually dusts hers with confectioner’s sugar. Rarely, she also has the traditional caramel sauce with it. The rest of the meal will be amazing. I have turned over my kitchen to Sonia on many occasions in order to benefit from her cooking, but I’ve never made any pretense that I could copy her skill. It strikes me as odd that she would cook in Ali’s galley. I decide to call Sonia.
“You’re not actually going to cook on The Tug, are you?” I ask, already anticipating the answer.
“You know me, Jessica. I do not share my secrets with others who will copy them. In this thing I am not a generous person. Besides, the empanadas are better if made ahead of time. If I get everything done ahead of time, and of course I will, I can then relax and drink the Malbec wine you will bring with you. I have already texted Roy asking him to bring some. I will let him and Malcolm grill meats under my supervision.”
It’s a great evening. Sonia walks onto the boat with perfect baskets filled with all that’s needed for our Argentinean feast. Erica’s eyes are wide in anticipation and she snatches some empanadas before they are reheated. Sonia tells her she should not do this, and that she should not serve herself first. “Mom, stop being so pissed. It’s just o
ne empanada and you made like a zillion.”
“Erica, how many times do I have to tell you, do not use the word ‘pissed.’ It is very unattractive. There are very many words for being annoyed.” Erica rolls her eyes, and as Sonia and Roy go to the car for yet more food, she snags a cold empanada for herself and hands one to Ali.
Ali chimes in with, “You really shouldn’t say ‘pissed,’ at least in front of your mom, okay? But thanks for the empanada. How does she do this…the crusts are amazing and the beef and onion filling, oh my…what’s the spice?”
Stopping her before Erica can answer Ali, I interject “She’s never going to tell you. Just enjoy them.”
To say the rest of the evening was a gastronomical success would be an understatement. The grilled meats with the side of chimichurri sauce melt in our mouths. The grilled vegetable skewers with the perfectly placed Argentinean accent of one boiled potato at the tip are done to perfection. Sonia made time to bake the focaccia-like fugazza bread with oregano, kosher salt and richly piled with sweet onions. Of course, she has also found the time to make the Dulce de Leche Pionono, decadently including the caramel sauce on the side. Roy and Malcolm readily have seconds and avail themselves of the sauce. The Argentinean-perfected Malbec was drunk in great quantities by all of us save Erica.
Roy has to be up early to help Tobias at The Eves, so all of us decide to over-night in harbor on The Tug. Roy and Malcolm good-naturedly deal with the slumber party nature of the late evening. Erica is patiently amused at the sloshy nature of the grown-ups.
When Roy decides to turn in, I ask him to make sure he wakes me when he’s up in the morning. I’ve decided to go up to The Eves in order to observe Breakfast Banter. Surprisingly, Erica lets me know she wants to come with. Sonia and Ali decide to finish cleaning things up in the morning. With that Sonia, Erica, Ali, and I settle in on deck listening to low music and the unclear conversations carried across the water from other boats that are taking advantage of the winter’s thaw. The moonless night is perfect for searching for shooting stars and for “catching satellites” as they arc across the sky. It’s hard to tell who is more fascinated by this prospect, Sonia, or Erica. James and I used to “catch” them when we’d take the boat out at night in the Gulf. At first, you think they are a plane, then realize they are too high. When you find one, and if you can try to memorize where you see it in the night sky, you then try to find it again in about an hour and a half as it makes its way in that short span of time back around the earth to you. Erica both spoils some of the game and enhances it by quickly downloading the Star Walker app. With ethereal heavenly music as the filler we can lie on our backs and instantly identify constellations and their individual stars and determine that in about fifteen minutes we should be able to see the International Space Station appear as a dot overhead.
At some point in the night we fall asleep, and then later wake each other up to go below. As I slide into the berth next to Roy, he murmurs what a good night it was. Indeed, I tell him, nuzzling into his chest.
The early morning is glorious, despite the late night and the too-oft drunk Malbec. The day is one of those that promises summer’s warmth is around the corner. Roy has promised to help Gene and Tobias with getting the fields ready for planting. A good breakfast up at The Eves under his belt is the order of the day. Spending time with the Eves is the order of mine. We gather up the sleepy Erica and head to The Eves.
In contrast to my routine of speeding up the drive to The Eves, Roy takes the driveway slowly, and carefully pulls to the back side of The Eves. As the three of us get out of the car we can see through the solarium doors that the household is up and active. Tobias is reading the paper, chatting with CC about whatever he’s reading. Deirdre is knitting. Elizabeth is reading, most likely The Wall Street Journal. The smell of good Tanzanian coffee fills The Eves as we enter. There’s also the smell of bacon and something rich, something baking.
Roy sets things in motion with his “greetings, greetings,” and coffee is suddenly in our hands as we’re asked to set the table and call everyone in. Sydney appears, leading Gene, hand in hand. He’s looking a bit sheepish. Apparently, they haven’t spent the night here before.
Deirdre, delightful Deirdre, says “Oh good morning dears. Really Sydney, Gene knows his way around by now you don’t need to lead him.” Jan and Margaret Mary exchange glances.
There’s a knock on the door and Tobias answers it. From the solarium we hear a “Good morning, son.” Gene informs us that one of the kids he mentors is joining them to work in the barn today. I set another place. Thirteen at table again, I hold my tongue. I didn’t realize I was this superstitious.
Jan has cooking for groups down to a science. Seamlessly, bowls of eggs, plates of bacon, and coffee cake come to the table. The coffee cake is delicious, warm, cinnamon, and streusel topping. “Jan, is this Bisquick? I used to make it every Sunday! I haven’t made it in years. Did you notice they dropped the recipe off the box?”
While we eat, the conversation just flows. Jan confirms that it’s the old Bisquick recipe and promises to send me a link. Gene’s mentee seems a nice kid. Erica is certainly taken with him. I try to remember what that type of flirting is like. As we are finishing, Deirdre gets up and pulls the vase with the conversation cards toward her, reaches in, and shuffles them about. Selecting one, she pulls it out and announces that “Today’s breakfast banter will be ‘things unexpected at my age.’ Oh, won’t this be fun!”
“You say that every morning,” a chorus of voices responds.
“Do I now? Well, it is fun, today more so because we have the pleasure of having Miss Erica with us.” Erica gives a grand acknowledgement of her presence to all. “Besides,” Deirdre continues, “I learn something every day. It’s good to do that.”
“I agree, Deirdre. I try to do that myself,” responds Tobias, getting up from the table. “What’s unexpected for me at this age is that I still can’t wait to get Oliver set up to plow.” Then, to the other men he gives an aside. “The banter is probably a bit more than we’d enjoy this morning. Gentleman, shall we?”
The four of them head out to the barn with Erica shamelessly putting her hand, telephone hook-shaped, to her ear and mouthing “call me” to Gene’s protégée.
“So, Miss Erica, what happened to zoo boy?”
“Aunt Jessica, keep up, that was so last weekend.”
“Ok. Deirdre, I’ll start,” I announce. “What surprises me at this age is that Erica thinks she can meet a boy, twenty minutes later be asking him to call her, and think that that’s going to be okay with her mother!”
“Aunt Jessica!”
“Come on, let’s move the banter to the Great Room,” Elizabeth says, saving Erica further scrutiny. Jan brings in a big decanter of coffee and clean mugs and the usual accompaniments. My statement has set off comments about dating propriety that spans back over a hundred years to stories about the Eves and their parents.
“What surprises me at this age,” chimes in CC, “is that I am still lucky enough to love and be loved by the great love of my life.” She leans into Tia on the couch and kisses her squarely on the mouth, one of the few outwardly demonstrative shows of affection I’ve seen between them.
Erica erupts with an idea. “OMG, you two should so be getting married now that you can. We could have the wedding here. Mom and Jan could cater it. Are you going to get married?”
“Probably not,” responds Tia. “But we’ve talked about it. We’ll see.”
“What surprises me at my age is that you can get married, and that I think it’s a good thing,” comments Margaret Mary.
Uncharacteristically, Elizabeth chimes in,“Are you surprised they can get married or are you surprised that you think it’s a good thing? Because it would surprise me that you think it’s a good thing, Margaret Mary.”
“I do think it’s a good thing, Elizabeth. It’s a surprise the law took so long to meet up with mores. There’s really no
t that much that surprises me at this age. Did I mention the lack of pubic hair?”
“What!? OMG, you’re, like, all bald? Bush-less? Gross!”
“Not all of us Erica and it’s only in your opinion that it’s gross.” I caution her.
Jan shares that she’s surprised that she almost never hears from her daughter when they used to be so close. Deirdre says that she doesn’t see her boys enough and it surprises her because they took such care in helping her get started here. She wonders if this was so they could avoid her having to move in with them, when she thought she was doing the avoiding. She talks about how they do the obligatory things like send presents at the right time, or call on the right occasion, but she recognizes this for what it is, duty.
“You two have so much in common with Aunt Jessica. She never hears from her kids at all.”
“No, no I don’t, Erica.” I must have said this in a defensive tone that I didn’t intend.
“Oh crap, are you pissed I said something? I thought we were all OK about talking about that again.”
“Erica, don’t say ‘pissed,’ remember? And, no, no I’m not angry. It’s ok. It just doesn’t get any easier.”
This seems to be the great conversation stopper. Most of us wander off, leaving Jan and Deirdre to ponder what went wrong in their broken mother-child relationships. Erica and I go into one of the two alcoves. The one on the north side of the house has become the game room, the one on the south the quiet room with computer hook up, bookcases and comfortable chairs. Even though the whole house has wireless access I find there’s something substantial about sitting at a desk.
Checking my email, I scan the in-box, jumping immediately to the one from Smithsonian magazine. I’m disappointed, but not surprised, that they’ve turned down my “Living Gray and Green” article. It was a long shot.