“Fairly nervy, I thought.”
“I must call her. I know exactly what she means.”
Alice also listened in on two young suited men who seemed to be Bob’s work colleagues.
“How come there’s no stag?” said the shorter one. “We’ve got to do something about this. Send the man out in style.”
“Tonight?”
“After this thing’s over. We’ll get a few of the guys together, drive into the city, go to a strip club.”
“Whoa, boy. The fiancée would not approve.”
“So?”
“You’re right. Let’s do it.”
After this, Alice wandered over to the girls’ side to listen in on the sorority crowd, to see if they might be planning an equal-opportunity outing to a male strip joint for Mary Ann. But the only conversational topics she picked up on were career, honeymoon destinations, and china patterns.
When there was no food left to serve, and after Alice had tasted a slice of the cream cheese loaf and found it to be too exotic for her taste, the only thing missing from her shower experience was to meet the groom-to-be. From a distance, Alice had seen that he was neither handsome nor ugly, neither fat nor thin. He was pleasant-looking, but he was no Jake Stewart, which was not a bad thing. He seemed confident and outgoing — he worked the room, laughing with this group or that. He’d hardly given Alice a second glance when she’d come around with a tray of cheese balls. He hadn’t wanted any.
About two hours into the party, after the toasts and the opening of presents, but before the drifting out had begun, Mary Ann took Alice over to him. “I’ve wanted you two to meet for so long,” she said.
Alice shook Bob’s hand. “At last I get to meet the famous Bob.”
“And you’re Alice.” He made direct eye contact, but Alice saw no warmth there, only formality. “It was good of you to make the trip over for the wedding,” he said. “I know it meant a lot to Mary Ann.”
Alice said, “I had to be here to make sure Mary Ann wasn’t making a big mistake. Another one of her jokes.”
Bob’s eyes went cold for a split second. There was no other sign of her comment having any impact. Other than Bob placing an arm around Mary Ann’s shoulders, pulling her close to him, and saying, “As long as you don’t feel displaced, Alice. Mary Ann has promised to put me first above everybody. Haven’t you, honey?”
Before she could stop herself, Alice said, “That doesn’t sound like a very modern attitude.”
Mary Ann cut in. “Don’t listen to him. He’s joking. He has a great sense of humour.”
Bob said, “I’m glad Mary Ann introduced us. All evening I thought you were the hired help.”
That was the cue to pull out her ready-made smile. And to be relieved that no one present could read her mind.
Alice perfected the fake smile at the wedding. She held Sarah’s hand extra long in the receiving line, raised her glass dutifully for the toasts, and couldn’t wait to get out of the country club after the reception. Out of Oakdale, out of the U.S., and back to England, where she completed her master’s degree, followed it up with a Ph.D., secured herself a lecturing job, ran archaeological digs during the summers, took lovers when she felt like it, and didn’t get married.
And didn’t return to Oakdale. Why should she? She saw her parents once a year when they came to London en route to concert destinations in Europe. Her friendship with Mary Ann became little more than an annual Christmas email exchange. Alice had her own life, thank you, the one she’d built all by herself, and it suited her just fine.
Until Lavinia came along.
7
September 2010
On the Monday before the first dinner club meeting, Mary Ann’s son Josh came into the kitchen at eight a.m. and said, “Mom, can I use the car this Saturday?”
Kayla walked in behind him and sat down at the counter. “Could I have breakfast, please?”
Mary Ann passed a glass of orange juice and a bowl of cereal over to Kayla and said to Josh, “This Saturday? No.”
“Why not?”
“For a variety of reasons.”
“What was the point of getting my licence if you won’t ever let me have the car?”
Mary Ann said, “I don’t you want driving around with your friends on the back roads on a Saturday night.”
“I’m glad you trust me, Mom.” His voice rose in volume with every word. “But how about asking me why I want the car, instead of assuming the worst?”
Mary Ann shut her eyes a second, clenched her jaw, searched for patience. If she had any left after dealing with Griffin’s truculence, Kayla’s bossiness, the stresses of her new job, and the brittle shell that was left of her marriage. Not to mention the upcoming dinner club meeting. To Mary Ann’s dismay, Hallie Smith had intercepted the invitation meant for Sam, and accepted it for herself. Mary Ann couldn’t very well disinvite her now. Maybe she could poison her wine on the night of, to make sure she wouldn’t come back?
“Hello? Did you hear what I just said?” asked Josh.
“Of course I did. What do you want the car for?”
“To go to a movie at the mall after my basketball game. Is that boring and safe enough for you?”
“Who with?”
“FORGET IT, OKAY? FORGET THE WHOLE FUCKING THING!”
He stormed out, and Mary Ann busied herself putting away the box of cereal in the cupboard so that Kayla wouldn’t see the tears pricking at her eyes and the smoke coming out of her ears.
When they’d heard Josh’s bedroom door slam upstairs, Kayla said, “He wants the car to go out with a girl.”
“He does? How do you know?”
Josh had been secretive about his dealings with girls, had not yet dated any one girl as far as Mary Ann knew. Though what did she know? Did kids date anymore? Or only hang out?
Kayla slurped the milk in her spoon. “He left his laptop on last night with his IM windows open when he took a shower, and I read the whole conversation.”
“You shouldn’t have done that, Kayla.” Though Mary Ann might have done it herself, given the chance.
“Six of them are going — three girls and three boys.”
Mary Ann leaned against the counter. “I see.”
“How come you let him swear at you?”
“It’s not a question of letting him.”
“Dad would yell if Josh talked to him that way.”
“Dad’s not here right now. And how I deal with Josh shouldn’t concern you.”
Kayla pushed aside her bowl. “I’m going to brush my teeth. Don’t forget I need money for the school photos.”
Mary Ann tidied the kitchen, put an envelope with the school-photo cheque in Kayla’s backpack, kissed her, and sent her out the door to be picked up by the carpool mother who drove Kayla on Mondays. How soon would Kayla give Mary Ann a hard time about every word she said? Thank god Griffin had already left for an early morning football practice. Thank god Bob wasn’t around to complicate matters, either.
She girded her psyche, went upstairs, and knocked on Josh’s door. “Josh?”
Angrily, “What?”
“Aren’t you going to school today?”
“I have a first-period spare on Mondays. Don’t you even know that yet?”
Mary Ann felt a wave of hurt ripple through her, and fought a strong impulse to kick the wall and slam a few doors of her own. “Could you just let me in for a second?”
He stomped across the floor, unlocked his door, stomped back to his bed, and flopped onto it.
She sat down in his desk chair and tried not to look at the mess of papers and books and bits of junk scattered across his desk. “I’m sorry about saying no to the car without hearing the whole story first. Let’s start again.”
He made no reply, but she couldn’t hear any music coming from the headphones he wore — a promising sign. She said, “I don’t know if you remember that I’m having the first meeting of my dinner club here on Saturday night.”
> “So you won’t need your car.”
“Not after five o’clock, no. But your basketball game won’t be over until nine or nine-thirty.”
“Nine-fifteen at the latest. It’s only an exhibition game.”
“I’ve arranged for Dad to take you to the game —”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Since when does Dad come see me play?”
“Josh —”
“Can I have the car after my game or not?”
She had to ask. “Are you going to drink or smoke weed that night?”
The look he gave her was filled with contempt. “No.”
Maybe he hadn’t started drinking or smoking yet. Not regularly, anyway. “Fine. You can have my car. After Dad brings you home from the game, and as long as you’re home by midnight.”
“Midnight? For fuck’s sake, the movie won’t be over by then!”
One more yelled statement and Mary Ann would snap in two. Her top half would topple onto the floor and roll over to rest beside Josh’s bookcase, and her bottom half would stay sitting upright, like half of a Lego person, until Josh reached out with his foot and kicked it off the chair, too.
She pulled her halves together and cheered herself by thinking about the dinner club. In a few days she should be able, for one evening, to enjoy herself, to feel liked and sought after. Versus unwanted, witchlike, and hated. She said, “What time do you propose to come home?”
His eyes turned almost reasonable. “Two?”
He could have suggested three or four. She’d stayed out later at his age and been drunk and having sex besides. “Here’s the deal,” she said. “My final offer. No drinking. Seatbelts to be worn by all people riding in the car. And home no later than two.”
“Fine.” He still sounded angry, but less so.
She got up, considered and rejected the idea of suggesting he use his spare period time to study, and turned to go.
“I don’t know why you have to make everything so hard on yourself, Mom,” Josh said, from the bed. “Why didn’t you just say yes the first time?”
When Tom Gagliardi had received all the necessary approvals to restore the Oakdale train station and develop Main Street, Alice had volunteered her time to the project as a historical consultant with the thought that she could easily fit an occasional meeting or site visit into her schedule. Silly Alice. The reality was that she could do very little in her post-Lavinia life without help.
That’s how she came to be knocking on Sarah’s door at six o’clock on a Tuesday evening after a meeting with Tom and the site manager. She was fifteen minutes earlier than she’d said she’d be when she’d asked Sarah to watch Lavinia, but she still felt guilty.
“Come in,” Sarah called out. “Door’s open.”
Alice walked in, to the smell of fresh-baked muffins, the sound of one of Lavinia’s CDs playing on Sarah’s stereo, and the sight of Lavinia dancing in Sarah’s living room.
Lavinia ran over and jumped into Alice’s arms. “Mommy!” After a good long hug, she jumped down again, and resumed dancing and singing.
Alice said to Sarah, “Thanks so much for picking her up from daycare.”
Sarah waved her thanks away, stepped into the kitchen, and started wiping the counter. “I’m happy to help any time you have a conflict, I’m not busy. I gave her dinner, by the way, some macaroni and cheese. I hope that’s okay.”
“That’s terrific. Thank you.”
“How was your meeting?”
“Short. But it was good to see Tom Gagliardi while he was in town.”
Sarah pulled out a piece of aluminum foil and wrapped up some muffins. “What’s he like?”
“A little eccentric, but a charmer.”
“Will I meet him on Saturday night?”
“He’s supposed to be there.”
“Wasn’t Mary Ann clever to organize this dinner club?”
“Yes, she was,” Alice said, though she wasn’t sure clever was the right word to describe Mary Ann’s dinner club scheme. Devious, maybe. “I’m not sure I remember how to act in a social setting. Will you nudge me if I act gauche? If I put my feet on the table or start scratching myself?”
Lavinia danced over to Alice’s side. “Can I build a fort in the living room?”
“Upstairs at our place, honey.”
Sarah handed Alice the package of muffins. “It’ll be good for both of us to go to a party, get out of our ruts.”
Alice thanked her again, went up to her own apartment, helped Lavinia pile up the sofa and chair cushions in the middle of the rug, made herself a tomato sandwich, and sat down to eat it.
Was she in a rut? A rut implied boredom, and Alice wasn’t bored. Exhausted and frantic and always running late and often certain she had forgotten to complete some vital task such as buying milk or doing the laundry so Lavinia’s current favourite item of clothing was clean and dry and available for wear, yes. But not bored.
Alice washed and dried her dinner dishes, asked if she could inspect the fort, crawled inside and flicked on the flashlight, listened to Lavinia tell a silly ghost story punctuated with laughter, and felt a surge of affection for this child she’d built her life around.
All right, then. When was the last time she’d done anything new and different? Other than listening to Lavinia’s music, reading new children’s books, and learning the astonishing number of ways a four-year-old girl can adorn herself with hair accessories and nail polish? That Alice had recently splurged on some new underwear and socks probably didn’t count. Either did ordering a tuna sandwich on multigrain bread for lunch instead of her standard deli salad. The dinner club could prove to be a novel experience, but only in a voyeuristic sort of way. And though she’d enjoyed working with Tom on the station restoration project, how much longer would it last? How long until the development would be complete and Alice would return to her same old routine of teaching, commuting, and Lavinia-raising?
Until she climbed right into that rut of hers and dwelled in it, in other words.
At five, Danielle served Alex a dinner of steamed rice, oven-fried chicken tenders with gluten-free breadcrumbs, and a Caesar salad without croutons. “And can I have a cupcake for dessert tonight?” he said. “Because Caitlin’s mom brought in birthday cupcakes for the class today with gummi worms and icing and coloured sprinkles.”
Danielle said okay fine, took one of his cupcakes out of the freezer, and reminded herself not to buy a Christmas gift for Alex’s teacher. Rather than giving Danielle the list of birthdays she’d asked for at the beginning of the year, the teacher had suggested that a box of Alex’s non-perishable, store-bought cookies be kept in the classroom cupboard instead. So that when the other children ate fancy decorated birthday treats, Alex could enjoy a nice, hard gluten-free biscuit.
At five-thirty, a hungry Ethan was dropped off from his karate lesson by a friend’s mother. Ethan didn’t like salad, so his vegetable of the day was steamed broccoli. His chicken was breaded with regular breadcrumbs, his rice the same as Alex had eaten — steamed. Danielle and Benny ate rice, too — arborio, cooked by Danielle into a saffron risotto with white wine and shallots and sautéed sage leaves. Alongside was a mash of rutabaga, carrot, and sweet potatoes made with brown sugar and butter. And a salad of strawberries, the last of the summer tomatoes, and some buffalo mozzarella, all drizzled with olive oil and balsamic vinegar.
When she’d cleared the kids’ dishes, called Benny for dinner, and given Ethan, at his insistence, one of Alex’s cupcakes, Danielle sat down at last to her own meal.
Benny said, “Great piece Adele had in the Times today. She made that new restaurant sound so good I was tempted to try it. And you know how I feel about restaurant food.”
Danielle bit into some cheese and tomato, savoured the mingled tastes on her tongue.
“You talk to her lately?” Benny said.
“My mother? No. Why?”
“Just wondered. If I were you, I’d call and tel
l her when you like her column. I’m sure she’d love to hear it.”
“But I don’t like her columns. Did you see that crap today about her fond childhood memories of braised rabbit and sweetbreads? Read that and you’d think she’d grown up in France instead of Oklahoma.”
Benny forked in some risotto. “I still think you should call her once in a while. Old people want to hear from their children. When Ethan and Alex are grown-ups I sure hope they call me every day.”
Danielle said nothing. She’d heard and disagreed with Benny’s views on this topic before, and there was no use repeating her belief that her relationship with Adele was her own business. So. Should she make succotash for the dinner club or glazed baby vegetables? The baby vegetables would be less work — on a cooking effort scale of one to ten, they’d rate about a four, versus the succotash’s six. Though anything above a three was still more kitchen duty than Danielle could bear, ever since she’d passed about the five thousand mark in number of meals cooked. Or had the four thousandth meal done her in?
“When was the last time you saw Adele, anyway?” Benny said.
“I had lunch with her in the city in June.” She would combine baby carrots and cauliflowers, some finger-size zucchini, cipollini onions, pattypan squash, and young Brussels sprouts, cook the whole lot in butter, glaze them with honey, sprinkle over some fresh thyme. Peeling the onions would be a bore, but worth the drudgery in exchange for a night out, a night off.
“Anyway,” Benny said, “I’m sure you could cook circles around that restaurant chef, whoever he is.”
“I could not.”
“Yes, you could. I’ve never met the professional chef who can cook as well as you.”
Too bad. Because if he had, they might eat out once in a while. She said, “That dinner club party is this Saturday.”
“What time?”
“Seven, until I don’t know, maybe ten?”
“So I’ll have to put the kids to bed?”
“Guess so.”
“And what about my dinner?”
“Your dinner?”
“And dinner for the kids. What will we eat while you’re out partying in Oakdale?”
The Oakdale Dinner Club Page 7
