I headed off any fireworks by saying in the friendliest voice I could summon, “Troy, this is my mentor and boss, Dr. Marcel, and his wife.” Turning to the Marcels, I said, “This is Troy, Rose’s… dinner companion.” I was certain Rose would have preferred I’d said boyfriend, or maybe partner was more fitting for a woman of her age, but my wife wouldn’t have been happy and I was already on her shit list.
The fire emanating from Rose’s eyes was proof positive Sarah had failed the test. How ironic, considering the test Sarah had lain before my feet earlier.
“Would you two like to join us?” Dr. Marcel asked.
“We wouldn’t want to intrude,” Troy rushed to say.
“Not at all. We’re like family,” Mrs. Marcel said.
Sarah, usually the observer of my awkward family situations, quailed in her four-inch heels.
“We’d love to,” Rose accepted with too much glee.
Several scenarios ran through my head. One, faint. Two, jab a chopstick into my chest. Three, scream rat, and step aside for all the diners to run outside. Could I be sued for that?
Nixing all three, I sat down and replaced my napkin in my lap, because that clearly was the only civilized response to the situation.
The hostess procured two chairs, placing Rose and Troy in Sarah’s direct line of sight. Sarah, much to her credit or not—I wasn’t sure if this was a continuation of the High Noon scenario—didn’t wither under Rose’s penetrating brown eyes. Again, I rethought the third option, the least painful, but lawsuits could take years and drain our trust funds.
Mrs. Marcel came to my aid. “Thank goodness you arrived when you did. Frank had that look in his eye. Like he was going to break out into a depressing lecture about life on the home front.”
Dr. Marcel slanted his head in a professorial way. “Don’t tempt me. I perform better with a larger crowd, and everyone loves to hear a rousing lecture about the French resistance during the war. Just ask my adoring students.”
I was willing to bet the couple sensed the tension between mother and daughter. Of course, their staring competition wasn’t discrete. Not to mention Troy’s hangdog expression.
“Troy’s also a teacher,” Rose said.
Mrs. Marcel gripped the tabletop. “I’m surrounded!”
Dr. Marcel, Troy, and I laughed, all of us putting on a show, not feeling at ease.
“Oh, you’re safe with Troy.” Rose smiled at Mrs. Marcel.
Sarah nearly choked on her wine, and I prayed Rose didn’t catch it.
Rose said, “He teaches first grade. Kids love him, and he loves kids.”
Luckily, Sarah had set down her wine. When was the last time I took first aid classes? Probably time for recertification for adults. Or, did I need to freshen up on the one for babies since the twins were now a year old? I reached for my phone but thought better of it.
“So, you’re the only one at the table making a difference. Teaching young minds.” Dr. Marcel refilled his wife’s glass and held the bottle up for Sarah.
She nodded for more.
Dr. Marcel leaned over to fill the glass.
I motioned to the waiter, indicating we needed another bottle.
There was a lull at the table.
Mrs. Marcel smiled at me expectantly. I wanted to say, “You’re barking up the wrong tree if you expect me to guide the conversation away from the edge of despair.”
Sarah gleefully led the way. “Troy is the son of one of my mother’s cruising buddies. Or was.”
“You aren’t her son anymore?” Dr. Marcel attempted to lighten the mood with a joke.
“Perhaps not,” Troy said without levity, fidgeting with his chopsticks.
Rose narrowed her eyes. “I think my English-teacher daughter meant I’m no longer friends with Troy’s mom since I started dating her son.”
“That’s too bad.” Mrs. Marcel flagged down the waiter. “Are you ready to order?” She posed to Rose and Troy and then added to the waiter, “Can you arrange for all the meals to come out at once?”
“Of course.”
Why not extend the misery? Or impending gunfight? Rose may be the type to carry a small pistol in her purse. I’d recently watched a newscast about the NRA channel and the accessories they sold women, including purses with hidden compartments for guns. That would be right up Rose’s alley.
Sarah furtively pulled her phone out of her clutch, and I wondered if she was going to fake a twin emergency. I hoped she would. Sarah replaced the phone without uttering a word. Disappointed, I forced a smile.
“Did you two meet on a cruise, then?” Mrs. Marcel asked.
“No, Troy gets seasick. I met him on solid land.” She gave him a smile that implied it was an inside joke.
Troy, slightly green around the gills, nodded. Teaching first graders probably didn’t prepare the bachelor for tonight’s impromptu family dilemma. Silently, I cheered for him to break out into a stirring rendition of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”
“You can’t handle being on a ship?” Sarah asked.
“He gets seasick,” Rose repeated.
“But you love to cruise,” Sarah said pointedly to her mom.
“There’s more to life than cruising.”
“No, there isn’t.” Sarah held firm.
“Yes, there is,” Rose said through gritted teeth.
“You’ll never go on another cruise again?” Sarah’s expression was fierce.
“Maybe not.”
“This is what you want? A cruiseless life?”
“Would that be so bad?” Rose cocked her head in a threatening way.
“You tell me. You’ve dedicated your life to making friends. A support network after Dad died. And now, you’ve alienated yourself and for what…?” Sarah seemed to realize what direction she was going and changed tact. “No more vacations with your friends who have been there for you for three decades.”
If the Marcels hadn’t picked up on the tension, they surely did now. The timing couldn’t have been better if we were in a RomCom. “There are always seasickness pills,” I said, inwardly kicking myself for getting in the middle, but watching these two bicker about conducting a so-called cruising lifestyle in front of the Marcels was excruciating.
Sarah shook her head. “Sometimes they’re useless.”
“Sometimes they work.” I squeezed Sarah’s leg under the table.
She shoved my hand off. “I’m only thinking of Troy’s well-being. Getting out in the middle of the ocean, realizing he’s made a mistake, and…”
“And, what?” Rose barked.
“I can’t fly, either,” Troy said. “I’ve taken pills, but on the last flight, I had a panic attack and paced in the galley for the majority of the flight. I swore I’d never fly again.”
This nipped Rose and Sarah’s battle of wills. Had Troy missed the subtext? He did teach first grade. Was there subtext in Dick and Jane stories? Wait, weren’t they siblings? Maybe Ollie and Freddie could replace them. If my memory served correctly, the stories were coma-inducing. Snap out of it, Lizzie. Troy whistled when nervous, and apparently, I entertained inane internal thoughts.
“Lizzie, what are you thinking about? By the intensity of your expression, it has to be a doozy,” Mrs. Marcel said.
“Oh, nothing.” I waved.
“Your latest research topic, perhaps?” Mrs. Marcel urged.
Picking up on her intent, I said, “Well, yes, actually.”
Dr. Marcel jumped in. “Her topic is fascinating. Go on.” He motioned that I had the floor.
“Did the twinkies behave?” I whispered to Bailey, noticing she didn’t have any textbooks or notes out. She’d mentioned earlier in the evening she had a test or quiz the following day.
She stood from the couch, stretching her arms overhead. “Perfect angels.”
“Did you drug them?” Sarah teased.
“Got extra?” I added.
Sarah led Bailey to the front door, while I headed to the kitchen to prep tea.
Moments later, Sarah staggered in, looking like a child preparing for a lecture. “You staying up?” She parked her butt on the barstool.
“Thought I’d get some work done.” I avoided her eye. Earlier, I had thought this talk would have been all about Meg and how I had lied about the conference, but after Rose showed up, Sarah quickly shot up the naughty list. Part of me wished we could deal with the Meg issue. I was used to being the source of trouble in the relationship and knew how to navigate that, mostly.
“Talking about your research all night wasn’t enough?” She yawned.
Ignoring the dig, I said, “It inspired me.”
“Or you’re using it as an excuse.”
“Two cups, then?” I pulled another mug out of the cupboard.
Sarah rested her face in her hands, sighing. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Hey, this has been an exhausting day and night. No trick questions.” I reached for the purple Earl Grey box. “What kind of tea do you want?”
Not responding to my question, she launched into, “Mom is going to kill me.”
I nodded, selecting chamomile and honey for Sarah. “With good cause,” I wanted to say but thought better. Or should I get it out in the open? All signs pointed to Troy being a good man, and I’d known many snakes since childhood.
“Why doesn’t Mom see he’s using her?” Sarah said.
“That’s never an easy thing to admit.” I added, “If true.”
Her head popped out of her hands. “What does that mean?”
“Do you have concrete proof? You know what they say about assuming.” I left it at that, trying to determine how much she was willing to hear at the moment.
“Do you honestly think he likes my mom?”
I met her eyes. “I do. Yes, he’s a bit odd, but really, aren’t we all? Maybe instead of battling your mom, you should try getting to know him. If I remember correctly, I was a hot mess when we met. Luckily, you gave me a chance. And so did your mother.”
“You still lied earlier at dinner,” she said, although I noted her tone suggested she understood why.
With a hand over my heart, I said, “I did. I don’t know why.” I let my hand fall. “Yes, I do. Dealing with Meg again scares me.” Saying that made me feel stronger. “Earlier, when I said goodbye to her, I foolishly thought that was the end of the Meg saga.” I ran a hand over my forehead. “I had absolutely no idea she’d be speaking that weekend. I know attending a history conference isn’t your idea of fun, but if we can find a babysitter, I would really like you to be there. I’m asking for help.”
Her eyes misted. “Thank you for saying all that. It scares me, too.” Sarah licked her lips and then took a deep breath.
“I want to keep our line of communication open, especially since you’re falling apart with the whole Troy thing.” I smiled to blunt the statement. “Tell me how I can help you.” Because I was clueless.
She buried her face in her hands. “I don’t like acting like this. It makes me feel so dirty.” She pulled her hands away, her eyes imploring. “When did I turn into this person?”
“Maybe your true self is finally coming through.” I jabbed my hands in the air. “Just kidding.”
Before the teakettle could whistle and wake the kids, I killed the flame. I poured water into both mugs and scooted Sarah’s chamomile over to her.
Holding the paper tab, she dabbed the bag in and out of the water. “I don’t want to be this woman. So judgmental. Cruel—”
“It’s hard to watch. Rose dotes on the twins, and she’s always there for them and you, I might add. How many times have we called her when in a jam?” I mimed too many to count. “And now with Troy in the picture and your instant dislike—You’re teetering on the edge of the Scotch-lady zone.”
“I am not—” A look of disgust slammed into her eyes. “Oh, God. Am I?”
I held my thumb and forefinger in the air. “A smidge. But admitting you have a problem is the first step.”
“Does step nine involve apologizing?” Her shoulders stiffened.
“In your case, I think that should be step one.”
“Should we talk about how we should handle Meg tonight?”
“Seriously? You’re giving me the option?” I leaned against the cupboards, cradling my mug in my hands.
“I’m hoping you say no, because I don’t think I can muster enough rancor needed for that conversation.”
“At me or Meg?” I blew into my tea, grateful the steam blurred my vision.
“What do you think?”
“Fingers crossed, my confession absolved me completely.” I took a hesitant sip.
She chuckled quietly. “I probably should apologize to you for how I acted earlier when I saw the text.”
Not wanting to prematurely jump for joy, I prompted her. “Please explain as if I were a total idiot.”
“Covering your bases?” Her smile was becoming more natural, and her upper body wasn’t as rigid.
“Absolutely.”
“It couldn’t have been easy for you.”
“Go on.” I motioned for her to fill in all the gaps.
She laughed. “I know how much Meg hurt you. And, I know she was probably the last person you expected to bump into today. You did bump into her?” Her eyes were teasing.
I wanted to nip it in the bud anyway. “Don’t go there. You were doing so well. Besides, we also bumped into your mom and Troy, so things like that really do happen.”
“I hate this. Acting like you and vice versa.”
“It’s less stressful on my end. Not having to try to think of ways to spin the truth or avoid admitting anything. Or if I do take a wrong step, admit it and move forward.” I tapped the side of my head. “I’m finally seeing the allure of the Sarah way. Another plus to channeling Sarah is the discovery that I like crab cheese wontons.” I smacked my lips.
Sarah beamed. “You demolished most of my appetizer.”
“The more I ate, the fewer chances for you and your mom to rope me into the middle of your… I don’t even know what to call it.”
She sighed.
“Have you learned any lessons switching roles with me?” I asked.
“How exhausting it is to be pigheaded.”
“Don’t hold back.” I grinned over my mug.
“Do I ever?” She expertly arched one eyebrow.
“As Sarah, no. But if you continue to channel Lizzie, you need to follow the rules. No back and forth.” I bobbed my head as if trying to follow a tennis ball. “My brain can’t handle it.”
“Can you handle holding me? In bed?”
“Naked?”
“Now look who’s pressing her luck?”
“Come on,” I cajoled. “Naked cuddling is the best type of cuddling. We don’t have to do anything. Feeling you against me is more than enough.”
“I just got a glimpse of you in high school, bumbling your way to losing your virginity.”
“I didn’t bumble.”
“Delusional Lizzie is back.” Sarah hopped off the barstool. “Take me to bed and prove me wrong.” She sashayed out of the kitchen, putting effort into the swing of her hips.
Chapter Nine
The sun overhead obscured my sight but didn’t warm my body all that much. The vibrant green grass was testimony to the amount of care that went into tending it after months of dry, hot weather. Peter, in a yellow polo and green sweater vest, swung his golf club as if his life depended on it.
Gabe, shielding his eyes with his gloved hand, followed the ball’s path. “Ooooh, nice shot.”
“I gave him a few tips,” I said. “Not about the outfit, though.” I pointed my club at him. “I may never wear a sweater vest again.”
Gabe looked at ease in a crisp red polo and black slacks. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Like I could learn anything from you.” Peter shoved his club back into his bag.
“Stand back, boys. Let a woman show you how to play the game.” I
inserted the tee into the turf. After making a show of practicing my swing, I hit the ball, knowing right away it was on target.
Allen, the only brave soul to wear shorts on the somewhat cool September day, patted me on the back. “She’s getting the hang of it.”
“Nothing to it, really. Maybe I should get an agent.”
“You got the BSing part down.” Gabe prepped his shot.
“Talking a big game is the most important part. Like fishing.” Allen waited for Gabe to begin his swing before goosing his brother with his club.
The ball headed right for the lake.
“Sabotaged by my own brother.” Gabe wasn’t all that put out.
“Go ahead. Try again,” Allen said.
“I’ve never taken a mulligan in my life, and I’m not going to now. But watch out, little brother. Paybacks are hell.” He shook his club menacingly at Allen.
I wondered how many injuries resulted from golf clubs, intentional or not.
Everyone headed for the golf carts.
“Lizzie, ride with me,” Gabe said.
“Don’t let her drive,” Peter warned.
“Oooh, good one. Not.” I hopped in.
Gabe laughed, easing into the driver’s spot. Peter’s cart took off with Allen hanging on for dear life. “This is going to be a long afternoon.”
“Whose idea was this?”
“I believe it was yours.”
“Correction. Sarah’s. She thinks family time is good for me.” I held on as Peter’s cart inched closer.
“How’s the situation with her mom?” He peeked at me out of the corner of his eyes.
“I won’t compare it to the Middle East peace process, since that seems too easy.”
“The comparison or do you mean solving the Middle East problem seems more achievable?” Gabe turned the steering wheel to avoid Peter’s cart. Were all golfers terrible drivers or only competitive siblings?
I held on to avoid tumbling out. “Haven’t decided yet. Let’s just say I’m glad Rose won’t be attending dinner at your mom’s—I mean our parents’ house.”
A Conflicted Woman Page 9
