My body reacted when he smiled at me. I couldn’t wait to be alone with him.
“Yeah, right, how about taking all that hot air and channeling it into choosing your cue?” Frank snorted as he pointed to the rack of pool sticks on the wall.
Camille laughed, “Oooh, big words. Let’s just see how you are against me and Dad. See, Wilson, Max and Calvin have never been able to beat us. One time they came close, but they ended up scratching when they called the wrong pocket on the eight ball.”
Suddenly I could feel the weight of my realization as it crashed against me. I was a part of something bigger than my own limited definition of a perfect family. Something I’ve been missing my entire life.
I wish I could say it was totally amazing watching Max and his sister banter back and forth with their father. Instead, it made me ache to have one last moment with my grandfather. God, I wish I could just curl up in that safe spot within me that didn’t recognize what a father was supposed to be like; but I couldn’t. I had to swallow the nasty taste that showed up on the back of my tongue and push away the sadness that kept surging within me. It was a relentless sadness that searched for all the cracks in my façade.
“Your turn, sweetheart,” Max said as he pointed his stick to the table. “Wilson, hello…we might have a chance here.” He waved his hand in front of my face. I blinked hard before coming back to the room.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. I looked at the pool table and instantly forgot how I was supposed to hold my stick. I couldn’t remember if it was supposed to be tight across my chest or clutched in my hand, resting on the felt. Confused, I looked at Max; he leaned against my back and wrapped his arms around mine, showing me how to snap the pool stick against the cue ball. I blushed. He felt so warm and smelled so delicious I wanted to get lost in his perfection. Why can’t I find the right words that force me to live in the moment of complete discovery? What has to happen to stop the deluge of all my underestimated moments?
“You okay?” Max whispered against my ear. His breath was hot and his question unhurried.
“Yeah, just taking it all in,” I breathed low.
Camille watched us, smiling, before she busted in with a snide remark about team players having to make their own shots. Max huffed at her and stepped back from me. The rush of cool air waiting to replace him pressed before I bent over the table, feeling the edge of my skin meet the chill in the air. The next thing I knew, I cracked a shot, knocking the solid yellow nine ball into the right corner pocket.
“I knew it. Nice one!” Max said before he turned to Camille and gave her a ‘take that’ scowl. I couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride exploding inside me. Maybe this could be my game! I strutted around the table, making sure everyone knew I had another chance to knock one of those solid colored balls into the braided leather baskets. That’s right, little ol’ me. It was my job to decide our immediate future and whether Max and I were going to be contenders.
“Looks like the birthday girl gets to shoot again,” Nancy said as she walked in with a couple of drinks. “Here you go, you thirsty?” She handed me a tall glass of frothy lemonade.
“Hey, hon, what about me?” Frank whined as he threw his hands into the air.
“Well, yours is still in the kitchen. I only have two hands, and guests get theirs first,” Nancy snapped playfully.
“Aahh, come on, the minute she dropped that ball in the pocket, she wasn’t a guest anymore. Anyone beating me at my own game…” he laughed as he went to Nancy and gave her a peck on the cheek.
“Oh careful, Frank, I don’t want to spill Camille’s drink.” She lifted the glass toward her daughter, holding it from the side and underneath, making sure it didn’t drip on the floor or spill from the brim. Her hands were so delicate, youthful, and feminine. Nancy smacked Frank on the rear as she left the room. But not before she called back to him, telling him that his and Max’s drinks were coming.
It was these little mannerisms that comforted me into believing a family like this could exist. But there was this huge part of me that felt like a fly on the wall—an intruder in a kingdom that only existed in fairy tales.
“How is it, Wilson?” Frank asked, his big dirt-brown eyes rounded and his clean-shaven chin pushed forward. Of course he asked right as I had just taken a huge gulp.
“Mmm, it’s really good. Different than I’m used to,” I answered, wiping my lips dry and covering my mouth just in case I spit any frothy ice out with my words.
“Well, that’s because my wife makes the best Lemon Fizzies.”
“Wow, never heard of a Lemon Fizzie.”
“Its Mom’s creation,” Camille answered.
“Now, Camille, it isn’t like that.” Nancy came back into the room with Lemon Fizzies for Max and Frank.
“Thanks, Ma,” Max cooed as she handed him his drink.
“So what do you think?” she asked me.
“Reminds you of something you’ve tasted before, right?” Max asked me. His eyes twinkled; I knew he was talking about the Skip and Go Naked I’d shared with him at Cindy’s cabin.
“Yeah, it’s good. What’s in it?” I asked.
“Well, my dear, that is top secret,” Nancy teased. I could feel my attention shift from being a pool player to wanting to know what was in the drink. Max noticed that I was becoming lost in his mom’s charm.
“Hey, now—are we going to be talking Fizzies all night or are we going to finish this game?” Max took a swig of his drink, then set it down on a tall captain-type table against the wall.
Nancy gave Frank his drink, but not before he said his thanks and mumbled something about loving her more than pool.
“Well, Wilson, when you’re done playing Crazy Eight with the boys…”
“Hey, Mom, what am I?” Camille griped. “Besides, the game we’re playing is Eight Ball. It’s a good thing you’re not on our team,” Camille mumbled before she gave Frank a high five.
“Well, just the same, I think the energy you all keep putting into this game of eight something-or-others is crazy.”
Man, I loved her. If I could’ve just found a way to snatch a little piece of her and put it in my pocket, I would have. I wanted to grow in her love and shine with her acceptance. She oozed such sophistication and yet was down-to-earth enough to make me want to stand in her shadow.
“Max, did your brother say anything about coming home?” Nancy asked as she brushed her hands against her waist, flattening the edge of her sweater. She didn’t look at Max; she didn’t even wait for him to mumble something back before she occupied her thoughts with other people in the house. “Camille—ring, sweetheart.” Nancy pointed to the drink her daughter had set down on the dark mahogany end table without a coaster.
I felt the atmosphere thicken with the mention of Calvin. Frank stiffened and focused on reapplying some blue chalk to the tip of his pool stick. Camille picked up her drink, her eyes wide, as she looked to Max to calm the waters.
“Ahhh no, Ma. Cal didn’t mention coming out. I figured I would give him a day or two before I called,” Max answered as if these were the hardest words he’d ever had to utter.
“Oh. Well, then—I guess we’ll wait to see what he wants to do.” Nancy snatched up Camille’s drink and took it to the kitchen.
We stood silently as we all processed her disappointment, oozing and filling the room. Frank huffed something about Calvin’s selfish, immature manner before he broke for the kitchen. I just watched; there was nothing else I could do. No matter how much I wanted to run to her, I couldn’t. It wasn’t my place. So I did the only thing I knew I could—I turned to Max and let all my feelings swirl in the tears that welled in my eyes.
Max pulled me into a hug before he lowered his mouth to my ear and whispered, “I’m sorry, Calvin does this to her. I’ll be right back.” His arms tightened around me before he let me go and traced the same path his parents had just treaded.
“This is nothing new, Wilson,” offered Camille. “Calvin has always cr
eated chaos in the family. If he would take some responsibility and stop being so lackadaisical, he’d be working with my father instead of bouncing around from place to place and job to job.” She set her cue stick on the pool table before she took a deep, extended breath.
I didn’t know what to say. When I sat with Calvin a couple of nights before, he’d told me about Frank’s contemptuous comments. Words like lazy, pathetic, loser, and bum, rolled off his tongue. These were words I couldn’t imagine Frank using to belittle his youngest son.
“That’s one thing you’ll have to learn about my family,” Camille continued, “you’ll see only what they want you to see.” She made sure to make eye contact with me.
What does that mean? Am I dating Houdini’s son? What wool did they pull over my eyes? What grand escapes do I have to look out for? Because right now, I truly feel them. But then again, who’s to say I’m the best judge of character?
“Huh?” I said, coming back to the conversation with Camille.
“I said it won’t take you long to find out how important it is to make everything appear peachy.” Camille turned to go to the kitchen.
“So am I failing Goldstein Family Life 101?” The words shot from my lips.
“I wouldn’t say that. But now that you and my brother are a recognizable item, be prepared for the dinner inquisition.” And with those words, Camille left.
I stood in the great room, alone, and now completely scared of whose lion’s den I’d stepped foot in. Visions of Nancy and Frank fluttered across my thoughts—their noses turned up in the air, their hair wild, eyes devilishly red and acidly wicked as their long fingers pointed at me. Their words, soft at first, ricocheted hard against the bones in my head, with phrases painted in murky gray, accusing me of lying to win their hearts and steal their son from their family. My heart shuddered rapidly in my chest; my stomach ached as their judgments flooded my body. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t get my lungs to cooperate so I could catch my breath.
I hurried to the bathroom, hoping that if I splashed some water on my face it would stop the self-induced panic attack that accosted me and held me captive. As I pushed into the bathroom, the aroma of fresh, green apple hung in the air, and a crisp chill stroked across my exposed skin. I wasn’t comfortable anymore.
No matter how much water I splashed across my cheeks I couldn’t stop my stomach from twisting. My mouth was watering and I was straining to keep from throwing up. I dabbed my face dry with the gazillion thread count, white, Egyptian cotton hand towel, and I cleared the stagnant air from my lungs with a couple of deep breaths. Then of course, I caught my expression in the colossal mirror above the sink.
My hair was drab and drenched from the puddles of water I’d just splashed across my face, and my waterproof mascara bled down below my eyelashes, accentuating the bags that puffed under my eyes. I looked like I’d gotten in a pretty bad tussle and lost. Granted, I was pretty tired, and that could’ve been why Camille’s words had felt worse than running the edges of my cuticles across a cheese grater.
Any way I looked at it, I needed to pull myself together and let go of the fear of that night’s dinner. Besides, it was my birthday, and I knew Max wouldn’t let anything or anyone ruin it. I combed my fingers through my hair, breaking the tangles that didn’t cooperate, and dabbed away the “waterproof” mascara from beneath my eyes as best I could with toilet paper.
Waterproof my ass, what a frickin’ mess. Waterproof is waterproof, right? Okay, so thrusting puddles of water at my face might have been a little excessive. But if they claim their product is waterproof, then I should be able to plunge my entire head underwater and still come out looking perfect. Instead, you might as well toss me into a group of raccoons.
Once I felt together enough to join the Goldsteins again, I went to hang up the fancy, white hand towel I’d used to dry my face. Of course, with the type of day I was having, I should have known my mascara would’ve ended up all over it.
Shit—what the hell am I going to do now? I can’t hang it back up. Nancy is already upset about Calvin. Now here I go screwing up her trillion thread count, Egyptian cotton hand towel. And what the hell am I going to do about the dinner inquisition? Oh my God, I think I’m going to be sick.
I grabbed the hand towel and held it to my lips. Well if I already messed it up with black mascara, I might as well finish it off with a Lemon Fizzie.
“Wilson? Where are you, sweetheart?” Max called out.
Chills rippled throughout my body, and in an instant, I felt saved. Max wouldn’t dangle the shame of ruining Nancy’s towel in front of me, and he’d rescue me from the dinner inquisition. He’d find a way to make it okay because, after all, he loves me. But still, the doubting voice in my head was screaming to be heard.
What if he leaves me alone with his family during dinner? What if his parents find out I’m his student? What if he sees what I did to Nancy’s towel and decides I’m completely too immature for him? Because who in their right mind would dry their mascara-ridden face with a white towel? Face it. Wilson, you’ve screwed this one up big time.
As Max tapped on the bathroom door, my heart thrashed unrelentingly against my sternum. “Wilson, you in there?”
I froze. Maybe if I didn’t move he wouldn’t know I was trying to figure out what to do with the towel I’d ruined. I turned to look at the door and knocked the copper trashcan against the toilet with my foot. The clang echoed throughout the massive bathroom. He tapped again on the door. “Wilson, you okay?”
I pulled the towel away from my mouth. “Yeah, be out in a minute,” my voice wavered; he noticed.
“You sure?” he asked. I heard his hand slide across the door.
Uh-oh, here we go again—another bathroom moment.
“I’m fine.”
Clearly he wasn’t aware of the towel I’d ruined or the words Camille had flung at me about the upcoming inquisition. I heard his body press against the door. I stepped closer.
“Wilson, I can’t wait to be alone with you,” his words filled the space between us. I leaned against the door. I swear, I could feel his weight.
I heard him exhale slowly, and with that, what I’d done to the towel and my feelings about Camille’s warning melted away. He had such a way with me. Every silly moment of insecurity seemed to vanish with his words.
“Me too,” I whispered as I unlocked the door and pulled it open.
“Hi. I’m sorry about leaving you alone with my sister.” He wore a frown as his eyes tangled me in his apology.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” I swallowed as I decided to keep Camille’s warning to myself.
“Yeah, well when Calvin decides to stay away, it affects everyone and I am the one the family leans on to fix it. It tends to be a thankless job.”
“Yeah, but an important one,” I answered.
“One family job I don’t remember signing up for,” he responded.
“I bet your mom is thankful,” I said before I watched his radiant, green eyes widen and the muscles in his face become stoic. I had an answer for every excuse he gave for his family responsibility, and he noticed.
“Yeah, she is.” He wrapped his arms around me. His hug was a sorry he didn’t have to speak. I knew he was grateful for his family; he just needed to vent, and I needed to remind him how lucky he was.
“By the way, I kinda got makeup on your mom’s towel.” The words felt juvenile and stupid as I said them. I made sure I clung tightly to his embrace.
“Well now, what are we going to do about that?” he teased before he leaned back to look in my eyes. “Maybe she needs to send you to my room after dinner,” he smiled gingerly.
Dinner was a whole different story. It was going to be my penance for falling in love with him. Hmmm, maybe I could be sent up to his room before dinner?
“I really messed it up,” I said as I snatched the towel from the counter and held up the incriminating evidence.
“There is nothing more important than being t
ogether on your birthday.” Max yanked the towel out of my grip and tossed it aside. He pulled me by the hip with one hand while his other hand pushed my hair away from my neck. “She isn’t going to care about a dirty…filthy…makeup-caked…Wilson-ruined…hand towel.” He kissed the bend between my collarbone and neck as he breathed each word describing the ruined towel. He was so good at changing the subject.
But then he stopped kissing me. A silent, cool air replaced his lips, pulling me from the trance he’d just inspired. I opened my eyes, he was staring at me intensely.
“Your hair’s wet.”
“I splashed water on my face.”
“That explains the hand towel,” he smirked
“Hey, that’s not funny,” I snapped. The moment sagged leadenly between us.
“You’re really upset about a towel?” he asked.
“I don’t want to disappoint your parents.”
“You’re not disappointing anyone,” he said as he held my chin. Our eyes met. “You haven’t been crying on your birthday, have you?”
“No, I just wanted to splash some water on my face, that’s all.” I felt a thick wall of self-preservation build up between us as I shut down his questions.
“Wilson, Max…hello…are we going to finish this game? Or are you guys going to forfeit?” Frank hollered from the great room. His words provided the perfect excuse to U-turn off the road we were about to head down. I looked at Max, waiting for him to answer his father’s call. When he kept staring at me, I took the lead.
“Yeah, Frank, we’re coming. There’s no way we are forfeiting on my birthday!” I scooped up the hand towel and stepped past Max before I brought my hand down to his. “Come on, let’s kick some ass.”
He smiled before he snatched the towel from me. “I’ve got it. Meet you there.” He bent close and kissed me delicately on the cheek.
Funny. I was the greatest at changing the subject, and he was the best at moving away from my issues. He knew I didn’t want to dwell on anything that would change or ruin my time with him and his family. I watched him run through the kitchen before I stepped into the great room where we were going to make Goldstein history with Max and me beating his dad and sister at pool.
The Wilson Mooney Box Set Page 34
