by Hope Lyda
It makes me wonder if we have adult versions of most of our childhood friends.
As Rachel does a low shimmy, I see her prey and the object of Cheyenne’s near comment, and I have to stifle a yelp. It’s not that Phillip isn’t attractive, but the guy is wearing more eye liner than Rachel.
“Eek!” I say in Cheyenne’s ear.
“Told ya.”
“But a good guy, right?”
“Generous. Not sure if I’d be banking my future on him, though.”
Rachel points toward us and Phillip waves a very generous wave. As he does, I notice his eighties ponytail.
“Oh, no.” I mutter.
Cheyenne turns toward me and acts like she is pointing to a rack for our coats. “We are so lucky we don’t have to worry about looking anymore.”
Her statement causes me to step back. Something in me wants to rebel against that thought. Just because I’m dating someone doesn’t mean it is all settled, wrapped in a taffeta bow.
Is something wrong with me or is there something just plain wrong about the large leaps women make in hopes of connecting the dots from single to married? Am I a bad friend for encouraging Caitlin to go for her dream instead of the dreamboat?
I watch Rachel nervously vie for Phillip’s attention as we and several other friends and acquaintances order a round of appetizers, and I realize that I do feel lucky. Not because I think my future is set, but because I get how crazy women are about love.
Scene and Overheard
My head is pounding by the time Trampled is on song three. At least I think it is song three. They seem to run together. A bit like Rachel’s rambles about Phillip’s “cool and awesome bands.” His ponytail bobs with glee with each compliment Rachel gives him. Two other women, Sara and Mia, apparently also trying out for solo dates with Phillip, are ordering more rounds of drinks to stave off the boredom of neglect.
Suddenly realizing that she is here with friends, Rachel stops her explanation of why Phillip’s bands rock the world with a start. “Mari, you should be sitting on this side.”
Cheyenne, who has been making origami birds with her cocktail napkins looks up from a wing. “Yes. That’s right.”
“I’m fine here.”
“But you can see the band better from here. Come on, they’re great.” Rachel pats the place next to her and looks pleadingly at Mia so she will swap seats with me. Mia reluctantly gets up and waits for me to do the same.
I cooperate so that Rachel won’t break into a list of 101 reasons why Trampled is great. As I stand, I check the clock on the wall above the bar. Thirty minutes down and probably three more painful hours to go—this is exactly like going out with Angelica.
The silver lining of sitting on this side with Phillip and Rachel is that I won’t have to look at them. I kick Cheyenne, who is now across from me. She seems in a daze. This was not the vision she had for a girls’ night out either.
“Bathroom?” Cheyenne mouths and points upstairs.
“Yes!” I holler. “Powder room break,” I say to Rachel, who is now braiding Phillip’s ponytail.
Upstairs it is quieter. There are families dining calmly, completely unaware of the dating disasters going on down below. “Now, this is a happy place,” I say. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“Down the hall, I think. I actually was hoping we could get a table to ourselves.”
I sigh with relief. “Hallelujah. My thought exactly.”
The hostess is not pleased we have bypassed the seating list, but a couple is about to leave an undesirable table near the wait stand, so she gives in.
We order a new round of food and relax when a pile of chips and salsa rests between us.
“Boy, your husband’s fantasy football must be driving you batty if this is a better choice. What were you thinking?” I reprimand.
“I had forgotten Phillip was connected to Trampled and to the Grill.”
“I thought it was your ulterior motive.”
Cheyenne licks salsa off her fingers and avoids eye contact.
I press her. “Was there another motive?”
My guilty friend nervously turns her earrings in her lobes and mumbles something at an inaudible decibel.
“Repeat that.”
She puts her hands in her lap, sits up straight, and looks at me intently. “Lonna. She is a friend of Paisley, Trampled’s lead singer. And when Derek and I ran into Marcus a few weeks ago, he mentioned that they would probably come check out the performance later tonight.”
“What are you thinking?” I reprimand again. “That makes no sense. I see the guy every day. I live under the same roof as Marcus. I am seriously dating Beau. Why would you want me to see him here?”
“It was Rachel’s idea. She thought that if Marcus saw you out and about…you know, on the scene, he would see you differently.”
“Oh, I see. I go out with girlfriends, and Marcus sees me laughing and having a good time, and all of a sudden I am available? Rachel’s sense of things is warped. But why would you agree to it? You’re married, for Pete’s sake. You know what faithfulness is all about.”
Cheyenne folds her hands in front of her to beg for forgiveness. “You are totally right. I got caught up in the whole ‘wouldn’t it be great to see Mari and Marcus together’ idea, and I threw my morals out the window.”
“Lonna and Marcus left the house well before I did. They must have changed their minds. So you got off easy this time.”
“They said they’d be here around nine.”
I check my watch. It is five after. I don’t want to run into Marcus tonight. Not after the poetry reading. I saw his eyes. I saw her anger. This is not what I want.
“I’m leaving. Hopefully they haven’t arrived yet. You, my friend, are getting me out of here.”
“But we’ll miss yet another dinner order. I’m starving.”
“We’ll go grab pizza down the block. Let’s head downstairs, you in front of me. And while you tell Rachel that we will meet up with her later at her car, I will try to get out the door unnoticed.”
She nods but gives me a once-over. Repeating my words back to me, she points a finger at my heart. “You see Marcus every day. You live under the same roof. You are seriously dating another. So why the nerves? Why the action plan to escape?”
“Tonight isn’t a good night. I have my reasons.”
“All right. I got you into this; I will get you out.” Cheyenne starts down the stairs, and as we hit the first landing, we look out over the bar. “Coast seems clear,” my lead offers. We jet down the last few stairs, and she takes up her position by Rachel’s booth while I hurry out the door and into the starry night.
It is an active Thursday night in Old Town. People are coming and going out of the area shops and restaurants. I miss this kind of urban experience. Tucson is sort of spread out with popular spots miles apart. Most of the DC metro area is overflowing with great places to meet up with friends or to experience the diverse culture. I miss having four different ethnic restaurants on one block.
Through the window I see Cheyenne expressively chatting with Rachel. The light changes so I cross the street toward the pizza place and feel my lungs starting to take in air again. What was I so worried about? I probably imagined Marcus and Lonna’s tension back at the house. I was probably projecting my own relationship woes onto them…just the way I did with Sadie and Carson months before.
I guess I am still a long way away from really figuring out the bizarre nature of my own emotional life.
Up ahead I notice one of those dispensers for apartment guides. I veer toward it and assure myself that it is merely healthy curiosity that motivates such research. Leaning against a brick building, I flip pages and immediately begin to covet the offerings. My Tucson apartment is so new, so white, so lackluster, so square. These photos display old rooms with cove ceilings, built-in bookshelves, hardwood floors.
I am lusting after a one-bedroom in the Woodley Park area when I hear a woman’s voice just
around the corner.
“I don’t want to go in there now. Not together. I’ll get a ride home with Paisley.”
Paisley? My heart skips a beat. Could it be?
Then I clearly hear Marcus’ voice respond. “This isn’t what I wanted to have happen. I’m so sorry. Let’s just go. I really want to hear them.” His voice is fragile and he sounds upset.
Lonna, on the other hand, just sounds matter-of-fact. “You wouldn’t like their music. You were only coming tonight because I wanted to go and because you are a great guy, Marcus. A rare thing these days, it seems. Please. Let’s get together later. I really want a night out with friends.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Lonna and then Marcus walk toward the intersection. I hold up the apartment magazine to cover my face and hold my breath. As I hear them part company, I fold down the corner and see Marcus walk on up the street as Lonna crosses toward the Grill.
Cheyenne steps out just as Lonna approaches the door. As they greet each other, I see Cheyenne’s eyes wide with worry, scanning the area for either Marcus or me. I don’t reveal my position until they finish talking and Lonna is safely inside the restaurant.
“Over here!” I wave the paper.
Cheyenne dodges a red SUV to get to me. “Lonna said that Marcus couldn’t make it. You worried for nothing.”
“We’re still doing pizza,” I say adamantly.
“Fine. Fine. Let’s go. It’s this way.” Cheyenne grabs me by the elbow and leads me down the street.
I casually turn to look in the direction Marcus was heading and catch a glimpse of him just as he turns down a side street and out of view.
I want to know what happened to make Lonna go solo tonight. I want to chase after the lonely silhouette of Marcus and be sure he is okay.
Cheyenne says something to me while my mind is racing and my feet stay put.
“What?” I ask, emerging from my fog.
“I said this will be your second round of pizza tonight. Aren’t you worried you’ll get heartburn?”
“Too late.”
In Hiding
Ding. Ding. Ding.
“Mari, you gave him that dang bell, you respond to it,” Mom says from behind her sewing machine. She is making costumes for the annual progressive harvest party our sponsoring churches and neighbors throw for the area kids. Piles of orange, black, and green fabric enshroud the small woman with black reading glasses sliding down her thin nose.
I walk over to the intercom rather than head upstairs to the small reading room where Dad has taken up residence. “You’d think the doctors amputated his legs or something,” I shout into it.
The crackle of static is followed by Dad’s voice. “Ha-ha. Now bring me my green tea, s’il vous plait.”
“Oui, oui. Un moment,” I respond.
“You see what your pampering has done to him? You were better off when he was pushing his physical limitations. Now the king of the castle is getting a big head.”
“I was worried about him.”
“You bought him a massage chair and a GameCube. Let’s hope your father does not have an addictive personality or this house will be in shambles.”
I start the kettle and rummage for tea packets. The knob on a cupboard door falls into my hand. I quickly screw it back into place. “Don’t be silly.”
“I saw that.”
“I can only find orange spice. Think he’ll notice?”
“Tell him it’s healthier.”
The outside intercom buzzes. I look to Mom and she looks at me and nods toward the door.
“I have to do it all, do I?”
“It’s Kayla. Just let her in.”
“I thought you were done with the campaign.”
“We have some campaign contributions to redistribute. Kayla has kindly offered to call the contributors to see if we can turn their donations over to the literacy program.”
“And who will you hire to call all of them to be sure she isn’t pocketing the money?”
“Mari!”
“Okay, okay.” I trod toward the door with heavy feet to be sure my reluctance is known.
Kayla comes in wearing a new tailored suit and has a matching bag tucked beneath her arm. She immediately goes over to Mom and hugs her.
“That’s some expensive outfit, Kayla.” I wink at Mom and she frowns.
“Why thank you, Marla. You’re a dear.”
The teakettle whistles and censors my response.
I traipse up the stairs with a teapot, two cups of tea, and some gingersnaps. My plan is to wait out Kayla’s visit. So much for an afternoon on the computer downstairs. I had promised Beau that I would write up a few reports on the Golden Horizons recreation program. When I tell most people that I double-majored in anatomy and leisure studies, they get a very wrong impression, but Beau was thrilled to have my educational background put to work for his project.
Their project.
Funny. I hadn’t thought of Paige in days. Weeks. Not since my last visit to Tucson. Their tight working relationship is only annoying when it affects my time with Beau. From a distance, I don’t feel a thing.
Dad has the game volume up on high. Old newspaper crossword puzzles are scattered around the room. Plates from the past few weeks are littering the coffee table. I clear a place with my foot for the tea tray.
“Geez, Dad.” Mom was right. Dad’s addiction could indeed be the downfall of the Urban Center and this family. I must take away the bad and bring in the good.
“I’m almost through level ten,” he says with his tongue hanging out of his mouth like a kid concentrating on tying his tennis shoes for the first time.
“Out of how many?” I inquire.
He stops to think and crashes and burns whatever he is maneuvering from afar. “Darn it.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Dad.” I am evil—but I am evil merely to reclaim goodness and productivity in the Hamilton household.
He adjusts his robe. It is a chenille eyesore and seems to be his only uniform lately. His physical health is improving, but I am questioning his mental health.
“This smells different.”
“It’s a citrus green tea. Extra antioxidants and all that.”
He sniffs it. “Ah, yes. Smells wonderful and healing.”
“Can we turn that off? The graphics give me brain spasms.”
Dad hesitates. Then spying a pen under a newspaper, he scrawls down his score.
“I’m pretty sure it keeps track of your games.”
“Fantastic! I don’t know why I refused to get one of these before.”
“Because you thought the kids would avoid homework, housework, and social interaction.” I recall his argument and extend it back to him in hope of personal awareness on his part.
He nods thoughtfully and then laughs. “What a tyrant.”
So much for insight. “Kayla is downstairs talking with Mom. I think I will just hang out here for a while, if that is okay.”
“I’d love nothing better.” His mouth uses the appropriate, fatherly phrase, but I see his eyes glance longingly at the GameCube.
“The flower garden is covered with weeds. Who usually takes care of that?” I ask this knowing full well it has been him.
“The great thing about a good garden is that it can live through a rough season and be resplendent the next. I think Fabio brought a friend by to help out with that, anyway. Seems there is a quick replacement on standby for anything I used to think was urgent.” I see sadness in his eyes. Or maybe they are just glazed over from his level ten adventure.
“Marcus noticed that the paint on the front steps is chipping. Which I think makes for a great, old look, but I know he was thinking it might be lead based and dangerous for the kids to be around.”
“I replaced the lead paint years ago with a very nice, nontoxic basement paint.”
“Oh.”
We crunch on gingersnaps.
“I guess we’ll have to cancel hosting the harvest party this year. T
here would be all the cooking and the cleaning and the decorating. It is just too much…with the way things are right now.”
“I spoke with the pastor at City Christian, and he and his staff are volunteering this year to set up our house. I don’t know why I didn’t think of asking them in past years. They nearly cheered at the chance to take part.” He smiles, and I see his right hand move toward the remote.
I tried all the tactics that would usually send my dad into a frenzy of worry. Not that I want him feeling negligent, but I do want to pull him from the suction known as the funnel of digital fun.
Desperate measures—I need to show him how much we need him back in the routine.
“Dad, you know that in two weeks I will need to be gone a while for the wedding. Maybe we should talk about a plan of action to cover my responsibilities during that time. Marcus moves back to Chicago in December. It is going to be quite an adjustment for all of us.”
The glaze goes away and clarity returns to his blue eyes. He looks at me puzzled.
“You knew that Marcus was taking the job in Chicago, right? Remember, we talked about it when…”
“Mari, I am well aware of Marcus’ plans. What I am confused about is your reference to us.”
Now I am puzzled.
Dad places his teacup on the tray. “Mari, you are not really planning to return after the wedding, are you?”
“Well, I hadn’t completely thought through it, but it seems for the best. Look, you are still recovering. Marcus will be leaving. The kids have such busy schedules during school. And things at Golden Horizons are going fine without me.”
“And your relationship with Beau? Is that going fine without you too?”
I look over at the television screen for a few seconds, hoping it will spur him back to addiction. I blew it. He is fully in the present moment with me.
“Mari?”
I shrug, and my throat feels tight and achy.
“Your mom and I appreciate all that you have done for us. We couldn’t have asked for better help or a better daughter, but you have your own life to lead.”
I speak strongly to convince Dad of my importance, my necessity here, but my emotions beneath overcome me and my voice is shaky and uncertain. “There is so much to do. Dad, you don’t know what it is going to be like without me. What will the kids think? I will just be one more person who comes and goes in their fragile lives. My relationship is just fine. Beau understands how important this is to me. Besides, he has everything under control and I’m not really needed there. At Golden Horizons or in…”
