The Wilson Mooney Box Set

by Gretchen de La O

  “Ooh, I got it!” Camille shouted.

  “What?” Dan asked.

  “How about the losing team does dishes tonight, aaannnd makes dinner at the next Gold-Vaughn get-together,” Camille sang as she started her rally, clapping and looking over at us.

  “Okay, first thing, you father couldn't cook himself out of starvation, even if he was given all ingredients he needed measured out in front of him. And secondly, that man will not touch anything in my kitchen without my supervision,” my mom teased.

  “I don't know, I think the next get-together is Thanksgiving, and I don't want to risk having to eat food you cooked, Frank. No offense,” Paul piped up.

  “Oh, Paul, you guys lose this game and we'll be ordering takeout for Thanksgiving,” Karen chortled.

  “Fine, how about loser does dishes and massages the winner's feet?” Camille said. Her eyes narrowed.

  “Deal!” everyone hollered except Cal and me.

  There we go … how is this going to work out? Everyone has a spouse except me and Calvin, and I'm sure as hell not going to rub his feet or have him rub mine.

  “Hey, listen, I'm not rubbing your feet and I'm not gonna let you rub mine, so we'll bet fifty bucks. How about that?” Calvin asked.

  “Sure, Cal, fifty bucks,” I said as we shook hands.

  As my father, Dan, and Paul rubbed their wives feet, Cal was pulling fifty bucks out of his wallet. Yeah, the gals and I won on the technicality that Cal scratched the cue ball twice before hitting the eight ball into the left pocket on his next turn.

  I almost cost us the game a couple of times myself. I just couldn't keep Emily out of my mind. Her face as I tried to explain away our kiss, how devastated she looked as she left. I'm a real fucking asshole.

  “Cal, make yourself useful and start doing the dishes. Least you can do since you caused us to lose,” my father bellowed as he massaged my mom's feet.

  “No way, Dad. I wasn't the ass who bet a foot massage, I rolled with fifty bucks. Mom, you owe me big time,” Cal said before he kissed her cheek. “Each loser for themselves,” he hollered before he threw his hand in the air and waved 'bye.

  “Drive safe, you'll be home late?” Mom asked.

  “Ahhh, yes, and don't wait up,” Cal flashed his mischievous smile before closing the door.

  That was Cal's way of telling us that he had a new girl who would put out on the first date and he didn't plan on bringing her home to meet us.

  “Alright you three, who's washing, who's drying, and who's putting away?” Karen asked, holding up dish towels.

  “Max, you're taking Cal's place,” my dad barked.

  “No way, Dad, we won fair and square,” I rebutted.

  “Looks like it's just you, Paul, and Dan. Make sure you wear rubber gloves. You don't want to get dishpan hands,” Camille quipped.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket. If I wasn't going to call and talk to Emily, then the least I owed her was a text apologizing for taking advantage of her sympathy. I lowered myself onto the couch and wedged my feet up onto the coffee table. I tapped out some words explaining my fault in creating the debacle we had in the kitchen and sent it on its way.

  Karen and Paul said their goodbyes, making their rounds to everyone like they did every time we were together. It was a ritual that had become as normal as breathing. I shook Paul's hand, mumbling our goodbyes and nodding before kissing his wife on the cheek.

  Karen pressed her hands to either side of my arms, locking me in her grasp. With three glasses of wine in her, I prepared for the words that were going to spew thoughtlessly out of her mouth. Tradition at its greatest.

  “Max, sweetheart, it's nice to see you moving on from that girl's tragedy and finally happy again.” Her words poignant and hard to swallow, I nodded and watched her meander out the front door. There was nothing I could say in response so I smiled-enough of a response to satisfy her observation.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. Emily had texted me back.

  WTF???

  I didn't understand her response until I looked at what I'd sent her. Sadly enough the wrath of auto-correct made me look like a babbling idiot.

  U OK? Sorry I kicked u. I didit 2 lead u on. Duck it, plz Calvin me later!

  Great, I probably should have called.

  ~ Max ~

  Waking up with Emily on my brain and morning wood in my boxers was fucked up on so many levels. I'd texted her back late the previous night, attempting to explain how auto-correct screwed up my apology. I tried to stay awake, but my eyelids took over my vision and decided to close up shop around midnight. I knew first thing in the morning that I was going to look like an asshole. I pulled my phone off the nightstand, checking for her response. Nothing. Damn.

  “Maxi, breakfast,” my mom sang from downstairs. She finally had all her kids under one roof again and she was going to make up for all the time we hadn't been together. She'd made me breakfast every morning since I'd been home.

  “Okay, Ma, I'll be right down,” I answered just as melodically. Arguing wasn't an option, and who was I to argue over warm breakfast every morning?

  I stretched out across my bed, constricting and releasing every muscle, before I got up, went to the bathroom, and made my way downstairs.

  I pushed my way into the dining room to find the table all set with plates for five. I noticed Cal's place wasn't set.

  “Cal's not home?” I asked.

  My father, already sitting at the head of the table reading the diminutive local section of Aspen Times, folded the paper up, exaggerating his long, flowing gestures before wedging it under the edge of his plate. His eyes pinned me and his cheeks flushed red, mirroring the burning scarlet across the edges of his ears.

  “Nope, your brother chose to stay out all night, spending it with God knows who, doing God knows what.”

  “Now, Frank, the kids have lives outside of ours, as hard as that is to admit. Calvin called me last night and said he was going to be at Jeremy's today. Camille? Dan? Come sit.”

  Funny how everyone obeyed.

  “Now, who wants waffles with sliced strawberries?”

  My mom fed us, because that's what she does, making sure each and every person had enough so they'd have to unbutton their pants and roll away from the table.

  “Hon, thanks for breakfast. I've gotta run to the office. Max, you coming down later?” my dad asked as he stood and patted his belly.

  “Uh, I wasn't planning on it. A couple buddies of mine are coming into town for a day or two-”

  “Oh, no problem. Dan, you ready to go?” my dad asked.

  “Yep. Bye, sweetheart,” he said as he kissed my sister and hopped up, ready to go.

  Dan Finch was my father's golden boy when it came to GP. If Dad asked him to jump, he'd ask how high. He was given a job at the company before he even asked my sister to marry him. He'd become my father's right hand man, and even though Dan was as qualified as anyone else to take over as CEO in the company, my dad operated in the old ways of doing things-handshakes and promises. It was a family-owned business, and it had to be a Goldstein who'd take over Goldstein Petroleum. My father truly believes that one day I'll wake up and take up the helm at GP. Maybe that was why he was beginning to lighten up on pressuring me … just a little. If he couldn't force me, maybe, just maybe, he'd find a way to persuade me. As for my mother, God graced her with mountains of patience. She has fielded many heated discussions and venomous words between my father and me about GP. We'd go round and round and he'd push until I'd be totally pissed. Then he'd give just one more dig to reel me over the edge. When he'd try and pull that shit on Cal, my little brother would make himself as scarce as possible, disappearing for days on end. I found out later that he'd always call our mom and tell her where he was.

  Camille, who is a good couple of years older than me, is married and out of the house. My father, being from that old-world mentality, believed that her place was making a home for Dan and the children they're supposed to have
some day. I knew it pissed Camille off, but so long as our dad was employing her husband and paying him enough so she didn't have to work, she found that rocking the boat wasn't worth it.

  Camille and Dan bought a house last year, right down the hill. They live close enough to drop in whenever Camille saw fit, and now that I was home she's decided to make my mental state her new cause. I'd just mentioned to her the night before that I would like to find a teaching gig out in California, and that next morning she showed up at the breakfast table with a page full of student teaching internships all over the state of California. At least she waited until Dan and our father left.

  “Max, look what I found on the internet. All I did was search available student teaching internships in California. There are literally hundreds all over the state.” Her pale lips curled up into a protective smile and I noticed she was looking at me the way she used to when we were kids. It was that same look she'd give me when Dad would ride me for not taking out the garbage, or sliding by with a B on a math test. She leaned forward and dropped the page onto the dining room table, scrunching her nose before pinning her brown hair behind her ears. She started to scan the list.

  “How many in the San Francisco Area? I would rather go North than South,” I said as I leaned over her shoulder, looking at the list of schools.

  “Well, let's see, there's two, six, eight, ten, fourteen, fifteen, it looks like there are fifteen available positions in the Bay Area. Ten in public schools, K through twelve, and five private. Hey here's one that looks interesting,” she said as she scooped up the page and read me the write-up for a position at an all-girls, private boarding school. “The most prestigious boarding school on the West Coast, Wesley Academy for Girls, in Danville, California, is looking for well-qualified applicants for our student teaching position. Competitive salary, summers off, room and board negotiable. Inquiries for the position accepted by email only. A cover letter, copy of transcripts, proof of credential, resume, and letters of recommendation required, no exceptions. Interviews will be held August 1st and 2nd. Max, this looks really good. I think you should apply,” Camille said as she pointed to the listing.

  “I don't know, Cam, a private school for girls?”

  “It's a boarding school Max. Whether it's girls or boys, who gives a shit? They are willing to give you room and board. Why not try it? If you aren't happy or don't like it, you can come home. You won't be tied into an apartment lease or anything.”

  “Are there any others?” I asked.

  “None that looked as appealing as this one. Heck, Max, just give it a try,” she insisted.

  “What are you two talking about?” Mom asked as she came into the dining room wiping her hands dry with a dish towel.

  “Max is looking at a teaching position in California,” Camille spouted as she took the paper I was looking at and pointed to the listing. “I told him to go for it.”

  “California, Maxi?” my mom asked. Her deep green eyes glazed over with tears.

  “Ma, don't get all misty. Come on, we've talked about this, I need to do this,” I said as I stood up and pulled her into a hug. She was my biggest supporter. She was the one who told me I could do anything I set my mind to. She got my dad to back off enough so I could live my life. Her tiny arms wrapped around my chest as her hands locked behind my back. She squeezed me tight, a sign that she was trying really hard to let me go.

  “I just want to make sure you're okay, Maxi,” she sniffled.

  “Ma, I'm fine. And you know I'll come back for every holiday, I promise,” I said, struggling to convince myself of the words that were coming out of my mouth so easily.

  “You'd better, no excuses. Do you hear me?” she demanded as she let go and attempted to snap me with the dish towel.

  “No excuses, I hear you … loud and clear,” I said.

  I leaned over and kissed the top of her head. I knew it was either I'd leave and come back for holidays or I would become the son who lived in town and never came by.

  It'd been a couple of weeks since Camille made me send my resume to Wesley. I had to assume it wasn't going to work out. There had to be hundreds of people applying for the same job-people from California who had a leg up on me. They were there and I was here, in Aspen. So, I made a deal with myself: if I didn't hear from Wesley in the next couple of days, I was going to write them off and start applying to public schools up and down the coast in California.

  I pulled the rolling chair out from my desk, plopped down, and turned on my laptop. The desk was cold against my fingers as I drummed them in succession, waiting for the log-in screen to come up.

  “Knock, knock,” my mom sung.

  “Come on in, Ma,” I hollered as she twisted the knob and made her way into my room. Her delicate, thin frame didn't look strong enough to carry the bulky pile of t-shirts she brought up to me.

  “Here are your t-shirts, honey.”

  I hopped up and grabbed them from her, giving her hands the freedom to snatch up the leftover clothes from yesterday.

  “Ma, come on, you don't have to do that. I can do my own laundry.”

  “Well, Maxi, I know, but I don't mind. Your father will be home in another thirty minutes and I could really use your help with the barbeque,” she said as she tried to convince me with her smile.

  “Why do you need so much chicken?”

  “Well, your father has some clients coming over,” she answered back quickly before she trailed her hand down the back of my head and neck. “You need to call Bill's and schedule a haircut, sweetie.”

  She tucked the cluster of my dirty clothes in the crook of her elbow.

  “I know, Ma, and yeah, I'll come down and help you. God knows I need the distraction.”

  She stopped scouring my room for more dirty clothes.

  “You still haven't heard from that teaching position out in California?” she asked before she spotted a dirty pair of socks rolled up next to my bed.

  “Nope.”

  “Honey, don't be discouraged, you never know, maybe it wasn't supposed to be that school. There are plenty of other schools worthy of a Goldstein.” She bent down, kissed the top of my head, then snatched up the socks from the floor. “Now, I could really use your help downstairs, Maxi.” She walked out, trailing with a grumble, “I don't know how many times I need to say it, your father needs to give me at least a three-day notice before he invites people over for dinner. We're going to have a full house; Camille, Dan, and your brother are coming too.”

  “Okay, I'll be right down.” I knew she really didn't need my help but was taking the moment to check in with me. She liked to trap me in the kitchen and just talk. As long as our hands were busy, she knew our mouths would be voluntary with information. It made her happy to chat and it only took about ten years to finally figure out her strategy. But once I got it, I played into her hand every time.

  ~ Max ~

  Things with Emily were okay for a while. We cleared up the kissing mistake, and were hanging out from time to time. I could feel it had changed for us, but I figured we could get through it and go back to the friendship we had. Then one day she just showed up at my house with a knock on my bedroom door before it swung open.

  “Hey, Em. What are you doing here?” I questioned.

  “Your mom called me, said you wanted to talk,” she whispered.

  “What? I never told her that. I never talked to her about what happened,” I blurted.

  Emily stood frozen in the doorway of my bedroom wringing her hands together. Her eyes marked on her fingers before she met my gaze.

  “Max, come on, you hear our parents talk about us, don't you? You have to feel something for me. You can't stand here in front of me and tell me you didn't feel that kiss was something more than a mistake.”

  Emily was right in front of me by then, the heat radiating from her breath pressing against my skin, her hands trembling as she wrapped them around my neck. This was going exactly where I didn't want it to since I screwed up and
kissed her.

  I pulled her arms from around my neck and held them firm in my grip.

  “Emily, you are one of my best friends. A best friend I don't want to have a romantic relationship with. I am so sorry I misled you. I wish I could take that kiss back, but I can't.”

  “I don't know if our friendship can ever be the same. Don't you love me, Max?” she cried.

  “Yeah, Em, I do love you … as one of my best friends, but that's all.”

  She pulled her wrists loose from my grip, cocked her hand back, and slapped me across my face.

  “That's for leading me on,” she spat.

  Then, as I recovered and looked at her, she slapped me again. “And that's for being such an asshole.” She turned around and walked out.

  After she left that day, things changed for us. She never came by anymore or even talked to me. I guess things really weren't going to be the same between us. The whole thing just got too tense. I hadn't talked to Emily in over a month. Her mom and my mom were going back and forth with theories and questions, words I'd overhear over coffee in the kitchen or phone calls my mom put on speaker. I couldn't tell anyone what I did. It was totally fucked up and entirely my fault. I'd never meant to lead her on. Things were starting to go south with my dad too. I just needed to get away.

  Every day I checked my email, but day after day nothing came from Wesley Academy in California. I was starting to think it was a dream filled with bullshit ideas, nothing more than wishful thinking. Who'd hire a guy to work at an all-girl's high school, let alone a twenty-one-year-old kid?

  That was it. I decided to research some of the other schools I'd put off in hopes of getting the private school. It was already the end of July and most schools were looking like they'd filled all their positions from out of state. I clicked on links for school districts up and down the California coast, central valley, and even southern California. I was desperate. Dates of submission had all passed. Only a few extended their dates of submission and most of them were schools in huge cities with gang problems.