This Gorgeous Game

by Donna Freitas

  “Olivia! I can’t believe this,” says a voice with genuine surprise.

  “Wow. Hi, Father Mark.” I stand up, a little unsteady.

  “I was on my way to campus and it’s so hot today I thought I’d treat myself.”

  “Father Mark, I want you to meet my two best friends, Ashley,” I say, gesturing to Ash, “and Jada,” who gives him a little wave. “They go to Sacred Heart, too.” I’m reminded of my earlier comment about Father Mark being a lonely man. “Um, do you want to join us?”

  A look that says, Please no, don’t do this to us, appears on my friends’ faces and then I realize that inviting Father Mark to join us is a bit weird, at least if you’re not me and don’t idolize him.

  “You look like you’re almost ready to leave.” Father Mark hesitates, looking at the now empty sundae dish on the table, with barely a layer of melted ice cream at the bottom. But I can tell he’d like to accept the invitation.

  “I was actually just going to order something else,” I lie, but figure this gives him an excuse to sit with us awhile.

  “Well, since you’re so kind to offer, maybe I will stay for a few minutes.” A smile lights up his face and eyes. He leans forward, hands clasped behind his back, and the medal of St. Benedict—his order of priests—dangles from his neck on a chain and shines when it catches the glare of the sun as it swings back and forth. He turns to Ash and Jada, who’ve gone silent. “Nice to meet you both. I’ll be back in just a sec. Olivia, my treat. What would you like?”

  “A small dish of the hazelnut, please.”

  “Do you girls want anything?”

  “No thanks,” Ash and Jada both say, and I glare at them for not accepting his friendly offer. Kick them under the table.

  “It’s the least I can do,” he insists, pulling out his wallet.

  “I’ll try the coconut. Just one scoop, though,” Ash relents, and I give her a look of gratitude. “Sugar cone, please,” she adds.

  “Me, too,” Jada says, coming around. “Same.”

  “Good. Would you mind finding me a chair?”

  I nod yes and drag one over from an empty table as Father Mark places everyone’s orders at the counter.

  “Olivia,” Jada hisses, “why did you have to invite him to join us? It’s awkward.”

  Ash looks more resigned than annoyed.

  “Be nice. Please. This is important to me. Besides, he’s nice. You’ll see.”

  “You know he is pretty good-looking,” Ash says. “For someone my dad’s age.”

  “Can we not do this again?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Just telling you what my eyes are telling me.”

  I shift in my seat. Avoid staring into anyone’s eyes.

  Father Mark has to make two trips between the table and the counter. He brushes off our attempts to help, wanting to take care of everything himself, which is sweet. After asking Ash and Jada the basics, like have they lived in Boston all their lives, do they enjoy school at Sacred Heart, and what’s their favorite subject, he asks them if they’ve read “The Girl in the Garden.”

  “Actually, yes we have,” Ash says.

  “You made an excellent choice,” Jada informs him.

  Father Mark smiles like a proud parent. “As soon as I finished it, I said to myself: this is it. This is the one!”

  “Well, we think Olivia is pretty great, too.” Ash grins, enjoying my embarrassment for the second time in a single hour.

  “Yeah, we could tell you stories about Olivia.”

  “Like what? I’m curious.” Father Mark leans toward Jada, eager to hear what she might reveal.

  “Jada…don’t,” I warn.

  “Like that Olivia has been valedictorian since practically our first day of high school.”

  “And honors night is like, the Olivia Peters show every year.”

  “Ash …”

  They go back and forth, ignoring my plea, trading humiliating trivia about me to Father Mark who smiles and laughs over each new detail. If I wasn’t so happy about everyone getting along, if I wasn’t still aglow about Jamie getting my number and e-mail, I might mind even more, but I can tell this is my friends’ way of getting comfortable around Father Mark, so I blush and bear it.

  After a good ten minutes, though, I cut in, saying, “Okay, time’s up. You two are worse than my mom.”

  Then, as if just remembering where he is, Father Mark jumps up from his chair. “You all have been so delightful, I almost forgot I was on my way to the university. I’ve got a To Do list a mile long,” he says, looking at me. “I should dash.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Thanks for the ice cream.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Ash says with sincerity as he gathers his things and smiles at each one of us before heading toward the door.

  “Olivia,” he says, holding it propped open, “we’ll plan another get-together soon. If I don’t run into you again first, of course,” he adds with a laugh, and then he is gone.

  This time, I don’t doubt it.

  ON SURPRISES

  OVER THE NEXT COUPLE OF WEEKS, FATHER MARK BEGINS to schedule regular appointments to discuss the writing life, my story, revisions, no longer leaving any of our get-togethers to chance, and I am elated. One evening, after our fifth meeting—this one at a coffee shop—when I walk in the house, my mother is zipping around the kitchen and we are both so distracted we almost crash into each other. She has three pots going on the stove top, an apple half-chopped on a cutting board next to a pile of walnuts, a mixing bowl with a whisk sticking out, and the refrigerator door open wide.

  “Whoa, Mom. Slow down. Can I help?”

  Without a word she hands me the mixing bowl, and I start whisking what appears to be salad dressing. I’ve been meaning to tell her about the attention Father Mark has been paying me, how he’s becoming a true mentor with an almost Dad-like interest in my well-being and success, but obviously now is not the right time so I don’t mention it.

  “After you finish with the dressing, get out the nice china bowl—it’s on the top shelf of the cabinet. Throw in the arugula, walnuts, goat cheese, and pieces of apple and toss them together with the dressing.” Mom wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. “Your sister and Luke will be here soon and I want everything perfect. Father MacKinley is coming, too.”

  “What’s going on? You never stress out like this.” I shut the fridge and set the dressing back on the counter so I can chop the rest of the apple. “Is everything okay?”

  Mom smiles, stopping for a moment. “Better than okay.”

  I give her a look that says, Tell me, and feel a pang of guilt, worrying that lately I’ve been so caught up in my own world that I’ve missed something important.

  “You’ll know soon enough. Now finish making the salad.” She lifts the lid off one of the pots on the stove, using a wooden spoon to stir whatever’s inside.

  “What are we having?” I ask, and Mom gives me a look that says I should know better. “Oh. Right. Fish.” It’s Friday, and in my family—especially if you are Greenie—fish isn’t just something you eat during Lent.

  Mom grabs my arm, stopping me for a moment. “Oh, Livvy. I hope you know I haven’t forgotten about you.”

  “Me? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m planning a more formal celebration, you know.”

  Oh. She means the contest. “You don’t need to.”

  “But I want to host a big dinner, a special one, and have your friends over, Sister June, Father MacKinley, and I thought we would invite Father Mark, too.” Mom smiles. “Do you think he’d come for dinner?”

  “I think he’d love that, Mom.” In fact, I know he would. “It would be great for you to meet him, too. You are a very nice mother.” I lean over and kiss her on the cheek. “For now, though, let’s just worry about getting this dinner ready that you’re so stressed about.”

  “Yes. Right. I better start the fish since your sister likes it cooked to death.” Mom turns on the burner under t
he grill pan. “I don’t know how she eats fish that dry, but it’s her night and I’m not going to interfere.”

  After the salad is ready, I set the table in the dining room and put out wine glasses by each of the place settings, lighting the candles in the center as a finishing touch. Once we dim the lights, the room will look perfect.

  As I survey my work, straightening the silverware, I wonder what’s so special about this evening, if maybe Greenie and Luke are more serious than I realized. Back in January, Luke actually came over to ask Mom’s permission to take Greenie on a first date. It was kind of sweet. Mom said yes—like she was going to say no—so Greenie and Luke started going on chaperoned dates. They haven’t even kissed yet. Greenie says she isn’t kissing anyone until she’s engaged. She wants the only boy she’s ever kissed to be the one she marries. Luke feels the same way. I wish they would get on with it already since I don’t want to be the only sister kissing college boys—well, if it eventually comes to that. Greenie’s friends at HMU are just like her—it’s all part of being a good Catholic apparently, at least in her world.

  “Olivia,” Mom calls from the kitchen. “Can you come here and check on the soup? I’ve got to deal with these carrots.”

  “Coming!” I grab the matches off the table so I can put them away. “Don’t you think it’s a little hot outside for soup, Mom?”

  “Well, who knew it was going to go up into the nineties so soon,” she says, removing the steamer filled with carrots from the pot. “But I made this soup the very first time that Luke came for dinner so I don’t care if it’s the hottest day of the year—we’re having it.”

  “Okay, whatever you say.”

  “So tell me, sweetie,” Mom says, tipping the carrots into a bowl, steam rising up around her face, “how does it feel to have your writing gain the approval of a famous novelist? I’ve always said you have talent.”

  “Exciting. Surreal. I even got to hang out with Father Mark after school today.” I drop this like it’s totally normal.

  “You were out with Father Mark! Olivia, how wonderful.”

  “We’ve been meeting to do edits on my story.”

  “That’s a big deal, having someone like him take time out from his schedule to focus on you. I’m so proud.”

  “He’s just being nice, Mom.”

  “Well, I hope I get to meet him soon. I have to admit, I’m a little jealous of you,” she says, chuckling.

  The front door creaks and the sound of voices floats from the foyer into the kitchen. “That must be your sister and Luke. Hurry!” Mom rips off her apron, hanging it on the hook. She fluffs her bangs. “Do I look all right?”

  “Great, as always, Mom,” I respond, but she is already on her way out of the kitchen so I hurry to follow her.

  Greenie stands in the foyer, Luke behind her, his hands on her shoulders. Greenie and Luke are the picture-perfect couple—blond hair, blue eyes. Luke towers over Greenie’s tiny frame, even with her ballerina posture.

  “Hi, Mom. Hi, Olivia,” she says, and I can feel her nervous excitement fill the room.

  “Hey, you.” I say, next in line to give her a hug after Mom. “Greenie…you look…I don’t know. Overjoyed?” Then I notice Mom’s face is almost as aglow as my sister’s.

  Greenie whips her pale, slender arm from behind her back. A tiny round diamond sparkles on the ring finger of her left hand and I gasp.

  “I asked Greenie to marry me and she said yes,” Luke says, happier than I’ve ever seen him.

  “Congratulations!” I squeeze my sister into another hug, the biggest I can manage. Getting married at twenty-one is young, but among Greenie’s friends, it’s typical. “Does that mean you guys finally kissed?” I whisper in Greenie’s ear. When I pull back her face is so red she doesn’t need to say a word. “You and I will discuss that later,” I mouth and she nods.

  Tears pour down Mom’s face. The doorbell rings. “That must be Father MacKinley,” she says, and Luke goes to let him in.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” I say to Mom as she dabs her eyes with a tissue. “Of course you knew.”

  Mom nods her head, guilty as charged.

  “Let me see that ring again,” I demand, and Greenie offers her hand. “It’s beautiful,” I say, admiring the setting.

  “You’ll be my maid of honor, won’t you?”

  “Of course. I’ll wear anything you want, even if it’s hideous. Oooh! We get to go wedding dress shopping.”

  “I know,” Greenie says, and her face lights up even more.

  Luke reappears and we turn to greet Father MacKinley, but Luke’s alone and wearing a strange expression on his face. “Olivia,” he says, “you have a visitor. Waiting out front.”

  “I’m not expecting anyone,” I say, caught off guard, still focused on the wedding planning I’m going to do with Greenie.

  “It’s Father Mark Brendan,” he informs me, sounding serious. “He says he has something important for you.”

  “Oh. Wow. He’s here now?” My cheeks flush.

  “Yes. Standing outside.”

  “Luke, you should have invited him in,” my mother says, but I can tell she’s flustered by our surprise guest.

  “I did, but he said he didn’t want to intrude. I also told him that we, well, that Olivia was in the middle of celebrating a special occasion.” Luke stands there looking awkward, and I realize I need to do something to diffuse the strange feeling that has settled on the room, interrupting Greenie and Luke’s big announcement.

  “I’ll go see what he wants. I’ll only be a minute and then we can get on with dinner,” I say, anxious to ease the tension.

  “Well, I want to meet him,” Mom says, recovering her composure. “Maybe we should see if he wants to stay. Greenie, Luke, you wouldn’t mind, would you?”

  “The more the merrier,” Greenie says, being her usual generous self.

  “Olivia,” Mom beckons, heading into the foyer with me stumbling behind her, trying to catch up. The front door is wide open. Father Mark stands there on our stoop, tall, imposing all in black. “Well hello, Father.” My mom rushes up. “I’m Marcela Peters, Olivia’s mother.” Mom extends her hand, which he clasps, pulling her forward to give her a kiss on the cheek, which I can tell startles her, but then she laughs.

  “It’s wonderful to meet you,” Father Mark says, letting go. “I’m sorry to show up unannounced, but I have something for Olivia that didn’t want to wait. I meant for you to take this home when you left the coffee shop,” he says, turning to me, “but we were so lost in conversation that I forgot.”

  “Hi, Father,” I say, feeling shy standing next to my mother.

  He nods, opening his bag, and removes a manila envelope. “Here they are—the comments we discussed and the letter explaining the more substantial changes I suggested.”

  I take the envelope from his hand. “Thank you.”

  “Please, come inside. It’s sweltering.” Mom tries to coax him into the house. “We’d love for you to have dinner with us. I’ve been meaning to plan a special night to celebrate Olivia’s news, actually.”

  “That’s very nice of you, but I only had a minute and thought I’d drop this by since I was in the area.”

  “Are you sure?” Mom is hesitant to let him leave. “You’ll come for dinner another night then?”

  “Absolutely. I look forward to it,” he replies. Father Mark is about to say something else when Father MacKinley arrives at our front steps.

  “Mark,” he exclaims. “What are you doing here?” They shake hands. Father MacKinley glances from Father Mark to me and makes the connection. “Oh, that’s right. Olivia. How wonderful. Are you here for dinner, too?” he asks.

  “No, I was just leaving,” Father Mark responds, turning to go. “I don’t want to keep you from your evening plans any longer.”

  “Where’s the happy couple?” I hear Father MacKinley whisper to my mother.

  “The dining room,” she answers, and he heads inside, calling ou
t over his shoulder, “See you later, Mark.”

  I stand there, holding the envelope, wanting to open it but knowing I have to wait, that it would be rude to take up any more of Greenie and Luke’s celebration time. “Bye, Father Mark,” I say, watching him walk toward the street and turn onto the sidewalk out front.

  “Have a good night, Olivia,” he replies, stopping for a moment. “It was lovely to meet you, Ms. Peters.”

  “Please, call me Marcela.”

  “Marcela,” he says with a smile, and continues on his way.

  When Mom shuts the door I can no longer tell if her glow is from Greenie’s announcement or from meeting Father Mark. “Well, that was lovely!” Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright. “Okay,” she says, more to herself than me. “Back to the engagement dinner.” I follow her into the dining room, stashing the envelope in a stack of papers on a table in the hall. We resume our evening as if there was no interruption, as if Father Mark Brendan, the famous writer, didn’t just show up on our doorstep to give me edits, like this is something that happens all the time.

  “Let’s make a toast,” Mom says, picking up the crystal glass by her place at the table. “To Greenie and Luke on your engagement.”

  “To Greenie and Luke,” Father MacKinley and I echo, and everyone clinks glasses, erupting into chatter about wedding dates and plans and guest lists and how, of course, Father MacKinley will say the wedding, and I try to stay focused. But the envelope waiting for me in the hall is tugging at my consciousness, pulling on my attention. When Greenie asks if something is wrong and Luke says I seem distracted, I push thoughts of the envelope and its contents away and say, “Everything is wonderful. The best ever!” with enthusiasm, and determine to give myself over to Greenie’s happy news. For now I let it go because there will be time to read later and I have seeing Father Mark again to look forward to as well. I am sure of this now. After these last few weeks, why wouldn’t I be?

  ON AN EMBARRASSMENT OF RICHES