by Maggie Wells
Remembering the way Megan had barged right into this house, her big pregnant belly protruding like the prow of a ship, made him cringe. Her too-cheerful greeting rang out, bouncing off the walls of dignity and decorum his father had tried to maintain. Even James Senior had a hard time holding himself together in the midst of the mayhem Megan created.
The door swung open and his mother stood there wearing a pair of flour-dusted black yoga pants and a T-shirt with “Runs on run-on sentences” printed across the front.
She’d been wearing a cleaner version of the pants when he’d dropped the boys off less than two hours before but with a colorful matching long-sleeved shirt. Costume change or not, the sight of his always impeccably groomed mother in loungewear never failed to throw him for a loop.
“Jimmy?” Suzanne Harper’s smooth brow furrowed into creases, verifying her sixty-three years in a way her clothing did not. “Is something wrong?”
For once, her use of the ancient nickname didn’t annoy him. For the first time in years, or decades, even, he wished he could throw himself into her arms with the same abandon the boys showed upon spotting their grandmother.
“Hi, Mom.” His voice cracked and her eyes widened in dismay. He cleared the frog from his throat, then gave his head an emphatic shake. “No, there’s nothing wrong.”
Lie. Big lie. Huge. A lie so massive his mother only shook her head. Her frown smoothed into the imperious stare she used to inflict on impertinent waiters or unhelpful concierges. “Nothing wrong? You decided to come back for a visit at,” she checked the slim gold watch on her wrist, “10:14 on a Monday morning?”
“I—”
He was saved by a whoop, a squeal, and the pounding of stocking feet on polished floors. “Daddy!”
He caught the redheaded missile heading for his midsection and scooped him up. “Hey, squirt.”
Jamie beamed his pleasure at the unexpected visit. “I’m not squirt, Jeffie’s squirt,” he insisted. “He squirted all over, and Gramma Suzy turned red.”
James aimed an inquiring look at his mother, but she waved the accusation off. “He got me in the face with the sink sprayer.”
Jeff peeked out from behind his grandmother’s leg. His coppery hair stood on end, as usual, but his gaze was guarded as he gauged his father’s reaction to the news of the assault.
Flipping Jamie over his arm, he left the boy dangling upside down as he began the inquisition. “Why did you spray Grandma?”
“Jimmy, don’t,” she admonished, reaching for the squirming boy. “He finished eating breakfast two minutes ago.”
James blinked but relinquished his son. “Breakfast? I fed them breakfast before I brought them here.”
His mother sniffed and stepped back, holding the door open wider in invitation. “A bowl of cereal is not breakfast.”
He let his eyes close as he stepped over the threshold and into the same old routine with his mom. Their relationship was more of the push-me-pull-you variety. She did much of the pushing, and for years, he’d done his best to pull away, but he always came back home.
Even if he felt compelled to ring the doorbell.
“We had pancakes!” Jamie cried with unchecked glee.
A sharp stab of jealousy ripped through his gut. The boys loved pancakes. He loved pancakes. Pancakes were their thing. A Saturday treat they shared with their best buddies. And now he knew the little stinkers had been cheating on him all along.
“Pancakes, huh?” he managed as Jeff sidled out from behind his grandmother’s legs.
“We were cleaning up.” She turned and led him to the back of the house.
James stopped short inches inside the normally immaculate chef’s kitchen. Though Suzanne had cooked regularly when his father was alive, she’d quit when he passed. These days, she dined out or had meals delivered from one of those gourmet services. She even catered in their Thanksgiving and Christmas feasts. But for his boys, she made pancakes.
A fine layer of flour covered the massive granite island in the center of the room. No less than three cabinet doors and two drawers stood ajar. A set of matching blue stools with rubberized steps flanked the cooktop. A bottle of Vermont maple syrup stood sentry between recently emptied plates.
He looked down at Jeff and spotted the telltale dribbles on his cheeks and chin. His son offered up a smile so beatific James wanted to snatch him up and kiss all the syrup off, but he wasn’t allowed to do those things anymore. They were big boys now. Tiny he-men too macho to submit to their father’s affections at any time outside of bloodied knees or puddles of puke.
“You’re a mess.” His voice was gruff but affectionate. He ruffled his son’s gleaming hair, then turned him to face the sink. “Wash up.”
The boys raced to the sink, but their grandmother was faster. Placing one hand over the button on the spraying faucet head, she gave each little monster a stern glare. “No spraying anyone. Got me?”
“Yes, Gramma,” they answered in unison.
James took a moment to appreciate his mother’s ability to tame the wild beasts. She was good with them. Had she been a natural with him? He honestly couldn’t remember. All he knew was he couldn’t do a damn thing to please his father.
Shaking the thought off, he moved to the breakfast bar and retrieved the syrup-sticky plates. His boys would never have to vie for his love. Between the bitter memories of his own boyhood trials and the fact that their mother had ditched out on them when they were still in newborn-sized diapers, James went out of his way to make sure his kids knew his approval was both unconditional and unlimited.
Suzanne glanced up at him as she finished drying four drippy hands with a massive wad of paper towels. “Thank you.”
“Thank you,” he replied. He gave each plate a quick rinse, then placed them in the dishwasher. “I probably don’t tell you how grateful I am often enough. Apparently, I’m bad about letting people know I appreciate them.”
His mother froze for a second. James could almost see her parental antennae twitching as she closed the dishwasher with a firm click. She kissed each boy on the forehead, then jerked her head to the side. “Go watch something while I talk to your dad.”
Jamie backed away, his eyes dancing. “Is Daddy in trouble?”
“Maybe. I don’t know yet,” his mother replied with her usual equanimity. She gave him a grave nod, then a playful swat on the bottom. “I promise I’ll let you know if I’m going to turn him over my knee.”
James pointed an amused glance in her direction. He stood almost a full head taller than his mother, but a part of him wholeheartedly believed this new-and-improved version of the woman who’d raised him was capable. Out from under James Senior’s shadow, his mother seemed to have blossomed.
The second the kids were out of the room, his blossoming mother turned and snapped at him like a Venus flytrap. “What did she do now?”
For a moment, he wondered if she somehow knew about the confrontation with Rosie. “What?”
“The Vessel.” Suzanne gave an impatient flick of her wrist. “What did she do?”
“The Vessel?”
“Well, there’s hardly any point in calling her their mother. She carried and birthed them. A necessary vessel, nothing more.”
“Whoa. Wow.” James stared at her in amazement. He’d never heard his mother speak of Megan in such harsh terms. Then again, Suzanne seemed to go out of her way to pretend her grandsons sprouted fully formed from a cabbage patch, rather than acknowledge her son’s distasteful affair with a wild woman. “Um, not really sure how to process those words coming out of my mother’s mouth. I’ll just say Megan hasn’t done anything.”
“Anything but move into your house.” His mother huffed a laugh. “Then again, equally believable. She never does do anything but exactly what she wants to do. If I didn’t loathe her, I’d admire her.”
Frustr
ated by his mother’s ability to argue herself in circles, he held up both hands to show his willingness to concede all points. “I’m not here because of Megan.”
Unruffled by his raised voice, his mother tipped her head and gave him an assessing gaze. After a minute, one side of her mouth kicked up, and she gazed at him with the kind of unguarded affection he needed at the moment.
“You know, even as a boy, you had to do everything the hard way. I used to worry about you. Frankly, I wondered if you had some kind of learning disability because you couldn’t see what was clearly right in front of you.” She let out a bitter laugh. “Then, I realized you’d actually listened to all the bullshit your father used to spew about hard work, and how only fools look for the easy way out.”
James stared at her, his jaw falling open. His quiet, dignified mother had actually cursed in her usual tone of polite conversation.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she hugged herself hard. “I hated the way you took everything he said to heart. But there was no convincing you.” She shook her head in bemused dismay. “The minute something came out of his mouth, it became the gospel according to James.”
“I never—”
She cut off his protest with a broad wave. “Oh, please, spare me the rebel act. You did everything you possibly could do to win your father’s approval. I did, too,” she added, turning an accusatory finger on herself. “But, here’s the thing, Jimmy. He couldn’t be happy with us, because he was never happy with himself.”
“I know.” He couldn’t help being a trifle defensive.
“Logically, yes, but I wonder if your heart is getting the message yet.” She reached up and touched his hair, much the same way she’d stroked Jamie’s, then let her hand fall away. “Come on. I’ll put on a fresh pot of coffee.”
The mention of coffee brought the memory of Rosie’s full lips pursed as she blew across her mug to cool the bitter brew she’d poured a short time before. Was she thinking about him, too, or was she really and truly determined to get over him?
His gut twisted as he pondered the possibilities. “No coffee for me, Ma. Thanks.”
Suzanne stepped away from the carafe, then used her full body weight to heave open the door to the Sub-Zero fridge his father had insisted they needed when they last remodeled. Without asking, she pulled two bottles of water from a shelf and nodded to the island where the boys had eaten their breakfast. “You talk while I clean.”
James moved to one of the tall stools, carefully placed his bottle of water on one of the paper napkins the boys had eschewed, and folded his hands on the sleek marble countertop. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten to check for maple syrup residue first. Growling under his breath, he extracted his hand from the goo.
His mother handed him a damp paper towel. “What have you gotten yourself into, Jimmy?”
The question should have annoyed him, but she spoke with such gentle understanding, he had no choice but to answer. “The usual big, fat, hairy mess.”
Suzanne smirked and began running water over the dishes in the sink. “Don’t make me tell you to use your words,” she warned.
“Well, obviously you know Megan is at the house.”
“I was alerted by the media.” She heaved a sigh. “Those two aren’t the best at keeping secrets.”
“It wasn’t a secret,” he assured her. “I was hoping we were more of a…stopover.”
“But she’s still there.”
He nodded. “Still there. And not really making any noise about moving on.”
Her smile even tasted cynical. “Now, that is unusual.”
“Colm and Mike have this crazy idea I should play like I think we’re gonna be a permanent thing. One big happy family.” He gave a chuckle of disbelief. “They think nothing will make her bolt faster than the notion of me wanting to tie her down.”
His mother paused in her clean-up activities, twisting her lips to the side as if she were tasting the idea. “Hm. Not a bad plan.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “She likes to think she’s a bit too wild to be tamed. Your plan could do the trick.”
“Not my plan. It’s Mike’s, and it’s idiotic.” James slumped on the stool, and picked at the label on his water bottle with his thumbnail. “But, of course, I don’t have anything better.” Suzanne leaned back against the opposite countertop. James watched her warily.
He could almost hear the wheels turning under her carefully frosted red-gold bob. He narrowed his eyes at her. “What are you thinking?”
“Me? Nothing.” His mother picked up her dishtowel and began to wipe the flour from the marble countertop.
“Come on, out with it.”
His mother shrugged. “Nothing. I’ve been thinking maybe I should stop by one day.” She paused, a calculating gleam glowing bright in her eyes. “I mean, since she’s decided to join the family, high time for me to pass along a few of your grandmother’s recipes.”
James laughed. “Recipes? What recipes? Grandma had a housekeeper.”
“Doesn’t mean there aren’t recipes…somewhere.” Suzanne’s smile grew wider. “I really ought to welcome her into the family fold.”
“I do not like the way this is sounding one bit.”
“What? You know as well as I do if I show any serious interest, she’ll have one foot out the door. Most likely with your wallet in hand,” she added.
James had to admit she was right, but his mother’s astute observations of Megan’s character usually were. The two women hadn’t had much interaction, and James had done his best not to malign his baby mama. Even when she deserved a whole smear campaign. “True. But still, I think getting my mom involved is a bit creepy, don’t you?” He winced. “I mean, the whole plan is like a wacky sitcom scheme.”
“Well, son, I’m afraid wacky scheming is exactly what we need to get Megan out of your life.” She turned, grabbed a bottle of all-purpose cleaner, and went to work on the sink. “Now, what do we do about the other woman in your life, or are we still pretending she’s not a thing?”
James stared at her back, his jaw slack with shock as he took the question and all of its implications in. Snapping his mouth shut, he turned to stare at the select pieces of preschool artwork displayed on a fabric-covered board above the wall-mounted telephone.
She let his silence pass for a minute, then huffed in exasperation as she dropped her sponge into the now-sparkling sink. Without turning around, she wiped her hands on a dry dishtowel. “Fine, but you’d better get your houseguest evicted and make your move soon. You’ve screwed around long enough. She won’t wait forever.”
* * * *
Charlie mumbled another apology as he dropped down onto the cushions across from Rosie. She tried to stifle her impatience, but some must have showed. “I’m sorry. I promise I won’t go to the kitchen again.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Rosie softened the admonition with a smile. “I understand.” She opened her hands palm-up. “You’re the owner. The head honcho. The buck stops with you.”
“The buck was almost butchered in the kitchen. I swear, I have to watch them all the time. They think ingredients grow on trees.”
She grinned. “Don’t some of them?”
He inclined his head to acknowledge the point. “Yes, but I don’t have any trees, so I still have to pay for them.”
Rosie picked up her wine glass and took a small sip. They sat on plush cushions surrounding a low table. Shoji screens sectioned their tiny dining area off from the others. Charlie had explained how in its previous incarnation, the place had been a Japanese restaurant straight out of a Hollywood set. With the demand for trendier, fusion cuisine, the place had simply gone out of style and faded away. Charlie had been able to take over the space, fully furnished, and at reasonable rent since his family had been long-time patrons.
He’d told her all this before they’d arr
ived, of course. They’d been seated on their satin cushions for more than twenty minutes, but Charlie had spent at least fifteen of those dashing back to the kitchen to deal with one catastrophe or another. But she did understand. She actually had quite a bit of experience with the restaurant business, so she knew what pressure a new restaurant was under to get an established foothold.
“Did I tell you my uncle owns a chain of taquerias?” she asked. “Nothing as fancy as this, but he has done well with them.”
Charlie blinked, as if stunned and relieved to discover this new patch of common ground. “No, I don’t think you did.” He grinned. “Don’t tell my foodie friends I said this, but tacos give me life.”
“Tacos give everyone life,” she replied with utmost sincerity. “They’re mostly down around the Pilsen area, but the original is in Humboldt Park. Progress chased him south.”
“So much for westward expansion.”
“Well, since we only have North, South, and West to choose from around here…” She paused, struck by inspiration. “A floating taqueria,” she mused. Straightening a bit, she waved a dismissive hand. “I’d better not mention the idea. If I do, he’ll be buying a boat and Tia Sofia will have my head.”
“Yeah, probably not.” Charlie shook his head. “It’s the way of the city, though. Move one block this way, move another block the other way… Trying to find and maintain someplace affordable is a constant game of checkers. The minute you get settled in and build your clientele, the landlord ups the rent.” He picked up his glass and took a sip. “Georgie was smart to buy her entire building, but not all of us are heiresses,” he added, wrinkling his nose.
“From what Mike tells me, the money isn’t worth the price she pays with her family.”
“No,” Charlie conceded.
Not wanting to get into a dissection of Georgie’s famous family, she quickly switched the conversation back to the original topic. “And, if you pick the right location, and the timing is right, and the stars can align, then…magic.” She gestured to the sumptuous surroundings. “When you told me the restaurant was called Chuckie’s Cheeses, I have to admit I didn’t picture this.”
