Chasing Stanley

by Martin, Deirdre

  “Eric Mitchell, sir.” Eric stuck out his hand again to Delilah’s father. “It’s a great honor to meet you.”

  Jason looked away. Jesus, his brother was sickening. And obnoxious. And making him look bad—though his effusive-ness did seem to somewhat baffle Delilah’s father. Good, thought Jason.

  “Sit, sit,” Delilah’s father urged.

  Eric made a beeline for the empty chair on Brandi’s left. Jason put down the bottle of wine on the table, then sat opposite, tossing his brother a quizzical look, which Eric was either ignoring or pretending not to see.

  “Do you boys have good mattresses?” Delilah’s father asked.

  Jason exchanged glances with Eric. “Uh . . .”

  “A good mattress is crucial to well-being.”

  “Crucial,” Brandi echoed in her cartoon-character voice, her gaze caressing Eric.

  “You’ve probably seen me on TV,” Delilah’s father continued boastfully. “The Mattress Maven?”

  “I thought I knew you from somewhere!” said Jason, though of course he knew who Sy was.

  Delilah’s father smiled, pleased with the recognition. “Well, if either of you need a good mattress, I’m your man. I’ll give you a nice discount.”

  Jason cleared his throat to rid it of the immature laughter there just waiting to erupt. “I appreciate that, sir.”

  “Why hockey?” Delilah’s father asked abruptly.

  “What do you mean?” Jason replied.

  “Why did you boys pick hockey? Why not a teacher or doctor or entrepreneur?”

  “I’ve always loved the sport,” Jason answered simply.

  “Me, too,” said Eric. “You and Brandi should come to a game sometime, sir.”

  Brandi giggled. “Wouldn’t that be fun, Sy?”

  “We’ll see,” Delilah’s father grumbled. Jason was trying to figure out how he could be oblivious to the sexual tension crackling back and forth between Brandi and Eric. Maybe he wasn’t, which was why he suddenly looked so cranky.

  Just when Jason feared all ensuing talk would revolve around hockey and mattresses, Delilah’s mother swept into the room bearing herself like a queen. Delilah followed a few seconds later, looking extremely anxious until her eyes lit on Jason, and she smiled. He pulled out the chair beside him, and Delilah sat down, squeezing his knee hard beneath the table.

  “How’s it going so far?” Delilah said under her breath.

  “You know, I’m not sure I can even put it into words,” Jason murmured back, prompting Delilah to snort loudly.

  “Sorry,” she said to no one in particular.

  “Everyone, listen up.” Mitzi’s voice was commanding as she took her spot at the head of the table. “We’ve got pot roast, potato pancakes, carrots—”

  “None of which you cooked, I’m sure,” Delilah’s father cracked.

  “I cooked all of it, as a matter of fact,” Mitzi retorted.

  “You mean Ben’s Deli cooked all of it. If you’d cooked it, dinner wouldn’t be on the table until midnight.”

  Delilah’s mother smiled sweetly at Brandi. “Have you grown bored of his nastiness yet? Or are you still in the ‘He’s so witty’ stage?”

  Delilah groaned. “Mom. Don’t.”

  “You wish I was still being nasty to you,” Delilah’s father continued, unheeded. “Admit it.”

  “You know what I wish?” Mitzi hissed. “I wish you should get hit by a truck!”

  “Why did you invite me, then?” Sy challenged.

  “For Leelee! I wanted to make a nice Hanukkah for our daughter!”

  Jason glanced at Delilah. She sat extremely still, head bowed as she stared down at the table. Jason got the impression she was somewhere else in her head, or else she was trying to make herself as unobtrusive as possible to keep out of the line of fire. It seemed to work; as her parents continued hurling insults at each other like poison darts, they seemed to forget Delilah was even there.

  Jason caught Eric’s eye. He looked uncomfortable yet fascinated, which was exactly the way Jason was feeling. This was so different from the way their family interacted that it was like being on another planet. The intensity of the emotion between Delilah’s parents was unnerving. Jason had once heard there was a thin line between love and hate. Mitzi and Sy lived on the line. The gleam in both their eyes wasn’t purely malice; there was also excitement there. This is a kind of foreplay for them, Jason realized.

  As quickly as the nastiness had flared, it was over. Sy grumbled something, Mitzi muttered something, and then they were acting like nothing had ever happened as Sy asked Mitzi to pass him the pot roast, and she did so with a smile. Delilah slowly lifted her head, as if it were safe to come out now.

  “Baby, what can I get you to eat?” her mother said to her.

  “I’ll have some potato pancakes, please.”

  Her mother’s mouth twisted with displeasure as she put some potato pancakes on Delilah’s plate. Mitzi put pancakes on Jason’s plate, too, nearly three times more than she’d given Delilah. If Delilah noticed, she didn’t say anything.

  Jason had never had a potato pancake before, so he watched to see what everyone else was doing. Delilah’s father was slathering his in sour cream. Jason did the same, passing the sour cream to Delilah when he was done.

  “She doesn’t need that!” Mitzi called out sharply.

  Jason blinked in confusion. “What?”

  “You don’t want the sour cream, do you, honey?” Mitzi asked Delilah. “So fattening. Why don’t you have the apple-sauce instead?”

  “Why don’t you leave her the hell alone, Mitzi?” Sy growled. “She’s skin and bones!”

  “She takes after your side of the family, Sy. Too much sour cream, and she’s gonna wind up looking like your cousin Temma—that blimp!”

  “Temma was not a blimp,” Sy said indignantly. “She had a gland problem.”

  “You mean she had a cake problem! I don’t want Leelee—”

  “Hello,” Delilah interrupted loudly, “please stop talking about me like I’m not here!”

  Sy looked apologetic. “You’re right, pussycat. I’m sorry. I still think you should eat what you want.”

  “Thank you, I will,” said Delilah, glaring at her mother. There was relish in her movements as she plopped a huge dollop of sour cream on her plate.

  “I have a headache,” Brandi announced. She turned to Delilah’s father. “I want to go home.”

  Sy looked embarrassed. “We just got here.”

  Brandi looked annoyed. “I can’t control when I do or don’t get a headache, Sy.”

  “Sweetheart, if you could take an aspirin and just hang in there—”

  “I can run her home if you want,” Eric offered. Everyone at the table turned to look at him. “Really, it’s no problem. I can take Delilah’s car, run her home, and then come back. That way you can stay here and enjoy your dinner, Mr. G.”

  “Well . . .” Delilah’s father seemed uncertain.

  Jason looked at Delilah, who was busy glaring at Eric, who refused to glance at the side of the table where Delilah and Jason were sitting. What the hell? Jason thought.

  “It’s a perfect solution, Sy,” said Brandi, patting his hand. “This way I won’t ruin your night.”

  Delilah’s father looked at Eric uncertainly. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Absolutely,” Eric declared. “As long as Mitzi promises to save me some of that delicious pot roast.”

  Jason pushed his plate away. Eric was making him nauseous.

  “All right, then.” Delilah’s father glanced across the table. “Can he take your car, Leelee?”

  “Of course. I can see poor Brandi is just dying to get to bed,” Delilah said pointedly.

  Eric rose. “I promise I’ll get her there in one piece, Mr. G.”

  “This is very nice of you, young man. Delilah, will you give Jason your keys?”

  “You mean Eric, Dad. Jason’s right here.” Delilah leaned her head for a momen
t on Jason’s shoulder.

  “Jason, Eric, you hockey players all look the same to me,” Delilah’s father joked feebly.

  Delilah handed over the keys.

  “Don’t even ask, ” were the first words out of Delilah’s mouth as soon as she and Jason were in the kitchen. Ostensibly, they were there to help clean up after dinner. The real reason, though, was that Delilah feared she’d lose her mind—and her temper—if she had to spend one minute more with her parents.

  “What do you mean, don’t even ask?” Jason replied. “What the hell is going on with Eric and Brandi?”

  “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” Delilah replied bitterly.

  “Maybe he really is just driving her home,” Jason offered. Delilah’s impulse was to blurt something horrific about Eric, but she held back. She could see Jason was clutching at straws, not wanting to believe his brother really was as devious as he appeared. It was touching in its own sad way.

  Jason cringed as Delilah’s mother’s voice grew louder. “Your folks really—”

  “Don’t go there, either. Please.”

  Mortification didn’t even begin to cover what she was feeling. The minute she saw her father’s car parked in the drive, the evening was already a goner in her mind. She couldn’t believe her parents didn’t even try to be on their best behavior when meeting Jason. She told herself she should be used to it by now; that when her parents were together, everything became about them. But this was different. This night was supposed to be about introducing Jason to her mother. Her parents’ behavior embarrassed and infuriated her.

  At least her mother hadn’t done her impression of Torquemada. Instead, she hadn’t asked Jason anything about himself at all. Which was worse?

  All the tension she’d been holding back all evening came rushing to the fore. Delilah stood at the sink, blinking back tears. Jason came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “It’s okay,” he said, pressing his cheek against hers.

  “I’m so embarrassed,” Delilah choked out.

  “Don’t be. Everyone’s parents are insane.”

  Delilah gave a hiccuping little laugh. “Really?”

  “Well . . .”

  Delilah turned in his arms. “It might not be true, but hearing it makes me feel better.”

  “Good.” Jason’s expression was tender as he looked down at her. “Tonight has helped me ‘get’ you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your parents. I can see why you wound up being so nervous and shy. Anytime they open their mouths, it’s big-time drama.”

  “No kidding. It’s like Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? without the booze.”

  “I saw you trying to make yourself disappear at the table,” Jason said softly.

  Delilah’s eyes burned. “You did?”

  “Of course. Your folks suck all the oxygen out of the room; there isn’t space for anyone else.”

  As Jason held her close, Delilah slowly became aware that the shouting in the dining room had ceased. She paused, listening. There wasn’t a sound: no talking, no sound of china clinking against a plate, nothing. Terror struck her heart.

  “Can you excuse me a minute?” she asked Jason.

  “Sure.”

  Back stiff as a poker, she walked back into the dining room. Her parents were kissing. In fact, her mother was sitting on her father’s lap.

  “What the hell is wrong with the two of you?!” Delilah shrieked.

  Her parents broke apart guiltily. “It was just a kiss for old time’s sake,” her father offered lamely.

  “Oh, that’s nice! I wonder what Brandi would think if she found out you were kissing Mom!” She couldn’t believe it; she’d actually been put in a position of feeling sorry for Brandi. If that wasn’t proof of how screwed-up the situation was, what was?

  She heard movement behind her and turned. Jason was standing in the dining room doorway, looking completely disconcerted.

  “Please go back in the kitchen,” Delilah begged.

  “We’re all adults here,” said her mother, rising from her father’s lap.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Delilah snapped. An image flashed in her mind of herself as a little girl, sitting between her parents on the Dr. Phil show. “You need to get with the program!” Dr. Phil scolded them. “Or you’re really gonna mess this child up!” Too late, thought Delilah.

  Her father’s face was flushed. “Leelee, you need to understand.”

  “No, you need to understand! Get back together, or leave each other alone!” Delilah continued angrily. “This is ridiculous! My nerves can’t take it anymore! And while we’re at it, it would have been nice if one of you tried to engage my boyfriend in conversation at some point! But no—you were too caught up in the ‘passion’ of your own stupid melodrama!”

  “I’m sorry,” Delilah’s father said to Jason.

  “Me, too,” said Delilah’s mother, though she didn’t really look it. Delilah hated the way she was smoothing her blouse, as though she were fresh from a roll in the hay.

  “I’m back,” Eric announced, strolling into the dining room with a great, big smile, which slowly faded as he picked up on the tension in the room. He peered at everyone in turn. When his eyes got to Delilah’s, she jerked her gaze away, unable to stand the sight of him. “Did I miss something?” he asked.

  “Armageddon.” Delilah held out her hand. “Keys, please. We’re leaving.”

  CHAPTER 22

  “Delilah hates me, doesn’t she?”

  Jason wasn’t even sure he wanted to dignify Eric’s question with a response, since the answer seemed pretty obvious. The ride back to the city following the Hanukkah debacle was spent in abject silence, Delilah doing her impersonation of a powder keg about to explode behind the wheel. Both Jason and Eric were smart enough not to strike up conversation. When they got back home and Delilah said she was tired, Jason decided it would be wise to take a rain check on giving her her Hanukkah gift. He was tired, too, which made Eric’s insistence on coming with him on Stanley’s final walk of the night all the more annoying.

  “Jace?”

  “What do you want me to say, Eric?” Jason gently tugged Stanley away from a small stack of moldy newspapers sitting by the curb. “You invite yourself to dinner at her mother’s, then you take off and fuck her father’s fiancée. How do you think Delilah feels?”

  “I didn’t fuck her!” Eric’s voice rose in protest. “She just needed to talk.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “And she just decided to pick you to bare her heart to, huh?”

  Eric glanced away. “We know each other vaguely.”

  “I saw the eyes you were making at each other. I was tempted to tell you to go get a room.”

  “I’m telling you,” Eric insisted, “she’s confused.”

  “Boo-fucking-hoo.”

  Confused? thought Jason. A double D cup disaster was more like it. They were all wrecks: Delilah’s parents, Brandi, his brother, him, and Delilah.

  “Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have been so eager to drive her home,” Eric eventually conceded.

  “And nothing happened?”

  Eric hesitated. “A few kisses.”

  Jason shook his head disgustedly. “I knew it.”

  “I swear to you, bro: it was mainly talk. You want to hear something sad? She’s not sure Delilah’s father loves her.”

  “Which means what? It’s okay for her to fake a headache so she can slink off to suck face with you? Think about this: if she’s cheated on Delilah’s father, she’d cheat on you, too.”

  Eric arrogantly tilted his nose up in the air. “I think not. For one thing, I’m about thirty years younger than Sy. Better looking. Possibly richer. And I don’t have man boobs.”

  “Yet.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Seriously, Eric: can you blame Delilah for being ticked? She might not be thrilled about her father being with Brandi, but she
doesn’t want to see the old man hurt, either.”

  “That old man can take care of himself, believe me. He survived life with Delilah’s mother, didn’t he?”

  Jason just groaned.

  “What the hell was going on there when I got back to the house?” Eric continued.

  “Nothing.” Jason turned up the collar of his coat. He wished Stanley would hurry up and do his business; it was beginning to get seriously cold outside. “Delilah was just having a disagreement with her parents.” No way in hell was he going to give Eric ammunition by telling him about Sy and Mitzi’s bizarro canoodling. Plus, he couldn’t do that to Delilah. The look of humiliation on her face when he’d wandered out into the dining room to see what was going on had broken his heart. How vulnerable she’d seemed standing there, facing off against her parents. It made Jason want to scoop her up and shield her in his arms.

  That’s when it hit him: he would invite Delilah to spend Christmas with his family. His parents were flying in from Flasher for the holiday, beside themselves with excitement at coming to New York for the first time. His mom was planning to cook a big dinner with all the fixings at Eric’s. It would be the perfect opportunity for Delilah to see how a relatively functional family interacted.

  Jason decided to feel out his brother. “How do you think Mom and Dad would react if I asked Delilah to join us for Christmas dinner?”

  “I think they’d be fine. I also think you’re nuts if you do it. You bring a girl over to meet Mom at Christmas, and by New Year’s she’ll have knitted three pairs of booties for your firstborn child.”

  Jason ignored the wisecrack, though it wasn’t far from the truth. “I just thought it might be nice for Delilah to spend some time around a normal family, you know?”

  “Normal?” Eric chortled.

  “More normal than her parents.”

  “True.”

  “And you know Mom: she’ll make a big fuss over Delilah, it’ll be great.”

  “If you say so,” said Eric, sounding doubtful. “But don’t come crying to me when Mom starts calling you with suggestions for baby names.”

  “ I can’t believe you’re saying you can’t. Can’t Marcus watch the dogs?”