A Piece Of Normal

by Maddie Dawson

  I hazard a visit over to her, holding my glass of sangria. "Well, you missed the fireworks," I say.

  "Let me guess. Anginetta versus Leon."

  "Yeah. And Virginia took on Krystal. I didn't see that one coming. I can't believe how mean they are to him. I thought he was always their favorite. And now they just turn on him." I sink down on the swing next to her.

  "Yeah, well, I think they had him penciled in to grow old and crotchety right along with them. Hard to forgive somebody who surprises you like that. He didn't stick to the script. Not at all." Suddenly she puts her glass down on the table a little harder than necessary. I see that it's almost empty already. "You know something?" she says. Her eyes are opaque. "I shouldn't be here. I think I have to go."

  I pat her knee. "No! Gracie, no. Please stay."

  "I'm just not in the mood for all their shit tonight. I'm sorry. I know you wanted this to be a wonderful revival of neighborliness and all, but things here are different now."

  "I need to make it good," I say. "I'm reclaiming parties."

  "Sometimes you can't make things the way you want them just by reclaiming them."

  Maggie, who has been over by the grill with Teddy and Mark, overpromoting motherhood by showing Mark all of Simon's cute little skills, catches my eye and comes over. "What's going on?" she says.

  "I'll see you two later," says Gracie. "I'm afraid I don't have it in me for the colony people tonight."

  "Oh, please stay, I'll protect you," says Maggie. And I chime in: "Gracie, please. We can't have a colony party without you. Who'll do the limbo?"

  "The limbo," she says and shakes her head. "No more limbo. No more limber. Just look at these old coots, will you?" she says. She gestures over to the cluster of old people, all of whom are grimacing. "God, they've gotten so narrow-minded and mean-spirited and opinionated. Get 'em all together, and all they want to do is to tell you how to run your life and what to think and what you're doing wrong with your life. They don't even remember fun."

  "We'll remind them," says Maggie. "Let's get 'em drunk."

  I lean over and whisper, "Hey, see that guy over there?" I surreptitiously point to Alex, who Kendall is introducing to the Long Island Sound as if he's never seen water before. "I know this is probably crazy to say, and I wouldn't want to announce it to the whole party or anything, but if I were to get interested in anyone, that would be the one." I take my last sip of sangria and gaze out at him. I like his sandy-colored hair, the way it just grazes the top of his collar. And even how he's standing, one hip taking on most of the weight. And his khaki shorts and boat shoes.

  "Really?" says Gracie.

  "So, see? There's a reason to stay," says Maggie. "To see if Lily manages to both give this dinner party and get him away from that woman who's got him in her clutches."

  "I'll need another drink," says Gracie.

  Simon comes over, sucking his thumb, and climbs up in my lap. I stroke his head.

  "Look over there—at Leon," I say to Gracie. "He is not letting those women get to him. Look how he's laughing and dancing with that fashion woman who used to go to school with Dana. You know, I think this party is going to work out. There's magic in parties. You know there is." For a moment, I actually feel lighter. Watching Alex has cheered me up.

  Gracie looks at me and says, "You poor misguided crazy person," but I notice that she stays.

  "If my mother were giving this party, everything would be different," I say. "Somehow she knew how to make everyone act nice, and I just have to figure it out, too."

  Gracie and Maggie don't try to argue with me.

  ***

  Things don’t stay calm, of course. Little eruptions are everywhere. I hear Anginetta saying to Krystal, "Surely there were boys your own age who were appealing...", and Virginia chimes in: "Did Leon lead you to believe he had a lot of money, dear?"

  And as the evening progresses, it's increasingly clear that I, sweaty and frazzled, am no Isabel Spencer Brown. And let's face it: Teddy is definitely not my smooth, low-talking, elegant father, either, who could get everybody laughing and feeling just delighted to have been included. Leon's still trying valiantly to fill the role, teasing the older women a bit and trying to show the younger ones a good time, but anyone can see it's too much for one old man. He gets up and turns on Frank Sinatra and does his cool little ballroom dance routine with Krystal and then with Dana, and then he tries for Anginetta and Virginia again, but neither one of them will have anything to do with him.

  Teddy and Mark stay by the grill, and when I go over to bring the basting brush, Mark grins and snakes one of his arms around me and leans into my face and says, "So, Mags tell you our little surprise?"

  I draw back, thinking: baby. He knows about their little surprise?

  He says, "The trip. Did she tell you I'm taking her to New Mexico with me on a business trip? First thing tomorrow morning." He is practically doing a wink-wink-nudge-nudge thing. "She's pretty happy about it, isn't she?"

  "She is," I say. "She's thrilled."

  "Yep, it's going to be the start of a big change for Maggie and me," he says, and I'm thinking, how nice, he's going to include her in his life. But then he says, "She'll meet the people I work with and then maybe she'll have a little more understanding about what I go through, how hard I have to work to provide for her, and she'll cut me some slack. Hey, Teddy? You know what I mean—some wifely slack? You don't have that problem anymore, buddy boy. You get all the wifely slack you want, and then some."

  Teddy, pained, does a rather poor imitation of a laugh.

  It's time for me to get back to the kitchen. Maggie comes walking across the lawn with Simon, saying to him in a loud voice, "I hear you can do a robot voice better than anybody else. Will you do it for Mark?" Poor Mags. I want to go over and hug her. Motherhood is not going to be an easy sell with this guy.

  When I get back inside, Feather and Dana have discovered they were cheerleaders together, and they are hanging onto each other and doing some high kicks over by the table, laughing hysterically. Then they fall right over into the punch bowl, and Feather's arm is submerged up to the elbow. I can't watch.

  "Ooh, it's just so lucky the punch is the same color as my dress," she says, and squeezes her wet scarf over the sangria.

  I can't believe this.

  Everybody starts saying, "Ewww, gross!" and I have to take the sangria and pour it down the drain, and then I can't think whether there's enough red wine to make any more. "Dana," I say, "could you look in the pantry and see if there's more wine?" But when I turn to look at her, I can see that she's way too drunk. Her eyes are unfocused, she's barefoot, and the strap of her halter top keeps falling off her shoulders.

  She zigzags over to snuggle in the armchair with Seth and Teresa and Lainie. From the other room, we can all hear yet another argument breaking out. Anginetta is yelling, "Gay rights, my ass!" and I know she must be talking to Gracie.

  I close my eyes and remember that breathing helps. But there's no time for that. Suddenly, the vegetables need to come out of the steamer; I need to toss the salad, melt the butter for the lobsters, slice the bread. Alex comes in and without a word starts shucking the corn. Kendall carries the baked potatoes to the table, and Maggie makes more sangria. Dana and Seth and Teresa and Lainie are all acting like the cool kids at high school, murmuring their remarks about everyone else and giggling, pointing at our shoes and our hairstyles, and remarking on what dorky things we're saying. I want to go smack them.

  In fact, now that I think of it, I want to go smack the whole party, just take everyone outside and turn the hose on them until they say they're sorry and promise to dance nicely under the Japanese lanterns.

  ***

  The dinner part is hard. People can't decide where to sit at the table. You can just see them calculating who's likely to be the worst table mate. They're practically like second-graders, trying to pick seats far away from certain people, trying to figure out who's likely to sit down in the chair ne
xt to them, and just how they would go about escaping should the wrong person come too close. The tension is almost palpable. Then, after everyone manages to sit down, I hear Anginetta ask Dana the deadly question: "So what in the world did you come back here for?"

  "Because," she says in a calm voice. "I wanted to further torment my sister and find the meaning of life."

  No one laughs, so I do.

  "Lobster, anyone?" I say. "There's plenty for everyone, and let's see, there's also chicken and steamed veggies, for those of you who don't care for seafood. . . and for those of you not on the Atkins or South Beach diets, there's homemade bread..."

  Everyone is silent. Only Leon laughs. He proposes a toast to me, for bringing everyone together this way. He says parties and life must go on, even though there are people we miss. He proposes a moment of silence, for those who can no longer be with us. The moment of silence, I notice, is not terribly different from what came both before and after it, except that afterward there's the sound of silverware clinking against plates as people get on with the business of eating.

  Joe Wiznowski clears his throat and tries a new tack, conversation-wise. "Uh, thank you, Leon, for those remarks," he says, as though it pains him to talk at all. "Uh, lately, I realize I don't want to take my life for granted. I miss my wife, but I'm just glad for what I've got. I'm glad when the sun comes out, and I'm glad to see the moon and stars. Live and let live."

  "Hear, hear," says Bob Arterton, and then this poetic vein of talk runs dry.

  Virginia clears her throat at one point and says, "This is delicious, Lily. Or Dana. Whoever made it." There, I think: a non-hostile nod in Dana's direction.

  "Lily did," says Dana without looking up.

  More silence. Alex is sitting across from me. When I look up, he smiles and raises his eyebrows: this is a weird party. I telegraph back: yes, take me away from here.

  Maggie, sitting with Simon in between her and Mark, says, "Simon, your mom told me you caught a firefly recently. Do you want to catch more?"

  "No," he says. "I don't like it when they die in the cage."

  She looks at Mark approvingly, as if to say, See? That's another thing: children can be very compassionate.

  Feather and Dana whisper something to each other. Teddy stares into space, looking awkward. No one speaks. I wonder what would happen if I simply let go and slipped into delirium and couldn't stop laughing. I can feel the hysteria rising in my chest, but I clamp it down, make myself concentrate on each little bite. After a while, Leon gets up and puts on Miles Davis. "Dinner music," he says. "We must have dinner music." He winks at me.

  People chew to the sound of trumpets.

  Then, when it seems that the party has sunk so far down into despair that surely it can never be hauled back to life, far down at the end of the table, some new little piece of warfare breaks out. I can't make out what's being said, only that it's Gracie and Dana talking in low, furious voices, and then I hear Dana say, slurring her words, but still all too clear and all too loud: "Well, maybe I wouldn't be this way if you hadn't turned my mother into a lesbian."

  All noise stops.

  Gracie says something else, too low to hear. Then Dana drops her fork, which clatters on her plate, and demands, "Well, did you ever think of how she might even be alive today if it weren't for the fact that you were trying to steal her away from my father?"

  Gracie leans across the table and says calmly, "Oh, come on, Dana. People don't steal people. You're old enough to know that by now."

  Dana says, "But she wouldn't have been a lesbian if it wasn't for you! Everybody knows that."

  "Wait," I hear myself say. "Dana, stop this. Our mother wasn't a lesbian."

  "She was," says Dana. "Lily, stay out of this. You didn't know anything about what was going on. Gracie knows what I'm talking about."

  "No," I say. "She wasn't a lesbian. She and Gracie were best friends. Women can be friends without..."

  "Oh, Lily, give me a break," says Dana. "How could you not know?"

  Anginetta leans over to me and says, "Dear, I never wanted to say anything, but I always thought those nude paintings she did really weren't quite, you know..."

  "Those were art," Bob Arterton says.

  "But still... you'd think she would have stuck to the landscapes," Virginia says. "She did such nice trees and oceans. In my opinion. It was such a shame when she let that go and did the other."

  Leon says, "That doesn't have anything to do with it."

  "Isabel was eccentric," Joe says, as if, "eccentric" were a third possible sexual orientation and should settle the question.

  Everyone is looking at me. There's a roaring sound in my ears.

  "She wasn't gay; she was married," I tell them weakly, though I know that that doesn't prove anything. Except, in this case, it really did. "Come on. All of you were friends with my parents. You saw this marriage close up. You know the way they were with each other." And in case they've forgotten, I remind them: my parents were always kissing, hugging, dancing around the kitchen. And then, every night, the way he took her upstairs. Are we to believe that was all milk and cookies and bedtime stories, and her real passion was with... women?

  "Maybe she was bi," Bert offers. "I read that most people can be either one, given the right circumstances."

  "I can't believe we're talking like this," I say. I look over at Dana, who has her head in her hands.

  She makes a little noise in her throat, and then she says slowly, "She was going to leave Daddy, Lily. She was about to leave him and go to Italy to be with Gracie. And then they died."

  My hairline freezes. I look at Gracie, who suddenly looks pale and very small, as if she's receding.

  "Ohhh," Bob says after a moment. "Well, that does change things..."

  Gracie carefully folds her napkin and puts it on her plate and stands up. "I'm going to be off now. Forgive me." She turns her gaze on my sister. "Dana, I would welcome a real, civilized conversation about this whenever you're ready. I don't think this is the time or the place."

  We're all quiet as she gets up and goes into the house. The oxygen, which seemed to desert us some time ago, does not return to the porch. After a moment, I realize I should follow Gracie, I should make sure she's all right. When a guest leaves, you're supposed to walk her out, and so I find my feet somehow and walk. Before I pass Dana, I lean down and kiss her on the cheek. "It's okay," I say. "It's going to be okay. Don't worry. This is a misunderstanding." I run and catch up with Gracie at the front door as she's heading out.

  "Gracie..."

  "I'm sorry," she says. "I should have left earlier. I shouldn't even have come. I knew this was a mistake."

  "I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry."

  "Don't be sorry. Don't say anything, as a matter of fact. I just want to go home. I hate this fucking colony, you know that? Except for you and Teddy and Leon..."

  "I'm sorry. I—"

  "Stop saying you're sorry. This is how she feels. I knew that. Honey, we'll talk later. Okay?"

  "Okay," I say numbly. "Good night."

  She walks out and closes the door very quietly and deliberately. After she's gone, I realize I didn't get to ask the question I was meaning to ask, the one that goes, "Gracie, of course none of this is really true, is it?"

  ***

  I go upstairs to the bathroom to take two aspirin, but mostly just to have a moment alone. Could Dana be right? Of course not. Momma and Gracie were close friends. Nothing more. I stare at myself in the mirror and then sit down on the bathroom floor and wait to see if I'm going to be sick. I have no idea how long I'm away, but when I get back to the table, nearly everyone has left. There are plates and glasses and napkins and serving dishes all over. The chairs are all pushed together, as though there was some kind of emergency exodus, a bomb scare.

  Maggie and Mark are the only ones there. She's trying to clear the table, and he's halfheartedly helping, but he keeps reminding her that their plane takes off at 7:00 a.m.

&
nbsp; No one even had dessert, I say to them. "So, the guests: they just fled?"

  "Fled," Maggie says. "Good word for it."

  "Which we've got to do, too," Mark says.

  "Go, go," I tell them. "It's okay. By the way, where are Simon and Dana and Teddy?"

  "Simon's inside, and I think Dana and Teddy are down by the shore," she says and gives me a long look.

  "So, Mags? Have you ever heard this before?" I say. "About my mom and Gracie?"

  "I haven't."

  "Do you think it's true?"

  "Maggie, for pity's sake," Mark says. "We can't analyze this whole thing now. Lily, do you have any idea what time we have to get up to get to the airport on time?"

  "Go, go," I say again, taking a moment to enjoy a wave of hatred for him.

  Maggie says, "I'll call you, honey, from Santa Fe. Are you going to be all right?"

  "I'm fine," I say.

  When I go back inside, I'm startled to find Alex sitting in the armchair in the kitchen with Simon in his lap. They're reading Goodnight Moon.

  I sit down on the arm of the chair next to him and think hard about breathing. I want to be in the great green room of the book, with a little old lady whispering hush. I'd like to be anywhere that's elsewhere—but just like this, with Alex and Simon next to me.

  "Where's Kendall?" I say softly.

  "Bathroom," says Alex, and without looking up, he takes my hand and squeezes it four times. And reads on.

  19

  The cleanup takes longer than you'd think. I keep having to stop and stare off into space, relive scenes from my childhood. That takes a lot of extra time.

  Dana and Teddy don't come back in the house, and just after midnight, when I'm thinking of alerting the Coast Guard, he calls on the phone and says, "Dana's going to sleep at my apartment tonight. She's just a little bit traumatized."

  She's a little traumatized? But I hear in his voice that Teddy is really talking about himself, and that her being there with him is making him feel useful again. So I say, "Okay. Is she all right? Can I talk to her?"