Waves and Light: Opposites Attract Series

by Elizabeth J. Merrill

  “That would be great! My mother’s tied up a work. I was just going to do a drive through.”

  “She’s not a very good cook. You might be disappointed if you’re looking for actual sustenance,” I warned.

  “It’s still better than Wendy’s.”

  Maybe I thought. I took another deep breath. “She wanted to ask your mother too—to thank her. She referred her to a dealer that bought some of her jewelry, and she’s very grateful. It’s going to make a real difference for her and my sister. But,” I held up my hand before he could say anything, “you said she was tied up a work, so that’s out. I’ll just text Mom and let her know. She can show her appreciation another way.” I pulled out my phone and turned away to text Mom. I could feel David getting nervous. It was one thing for him to take advantage of some free food and another thing entirely for our parents to get chummy.

  “Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” agreed David.

  *

  We pulled into the driveway a little past 7pm. Mom must have been watching out of the kitchen window, because she ran out and hugged me just as I got out of the door. She was wearing a Chambray blouse with turkey appliques and a brown corduroy skirt with a ruffly white apron on top. I grabbed my bag out of the back, but Mom tried to take it from me, but grimaced at the weight. Before we could start a tug of war, David stepped in, grabbed it like it was nothing, and started for the door. Once inside I started the formal introductions. “Mom, this is David Slade. He’s been helping me at school. He’s also a Fineman scholar. David,” I gestured toward my mother “this is my mother Mrs. Chase.” David stuck out his hand.

  “Dot, it’s short for Dorothy. Now that you’re an adult you can call me Dot.”

  “It’s nice to meet you….Dot. I can see where B.D…uhhh Bambi” he suppressed a chuckle “gets her good looks from.”

  Mom shook his hand vigorously and blushed then twittered. Was my mother nervous in front of David?

  My sister saved us from the awkward moment by clearing her throat behind me. Of course, she was dressed all in black.

  “And this is my sister, Veronica,” I said as I presented Veronica. David nodded in her direction. Not one to be out cooled, Veronica returned the nod with just the barest dip of her head.

  “Dinner’s almost ready, David.” She ushered David into the formal living room. “Just leave Bambi’s bag on the floor. We’ll take it to her room later.” She pushed him into an armchair, that had looked old-fashioned when it was new in the eighties.

  “Would you like something to drink, David?” I swear my mother batted her eyelashes at him.

  “No, ma’m. I wouldn’t want to spoil my dinner. I’m sure it will be great.” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Who knew David had parent lube?

  “I’ll just go finish up then. Veronica why don’t you come help?” Veronica who had just slumped into another chair got up in a huff, but followed Mom to the kitchen. As Mom walked past me, she gave me the thumbs up and mouthed “So polite!” causing more obligatory eye rolling on my part.

  David glanced around the time capsule that was our living room and said, “Your mom seems nice.”

  “She is nice,” I replied.

  “And your house is nice.”

  “It’s okay, but not as nice as our old house. We sold the house with most of the contents to an NBA player. This stuff was all in storage. I’m not sure why we held on to it except most of it is hand me downs from my mother’s parents house, and she has a certain emotional attachment to it.”

  “Well, it is nice in a twentieth-century kind of way,” he insisted. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I have eyes David. It’s old, but I’m used to it. In fact, this stuff creates a feeling of homey nostalgia in me. It reminds me of when my grandparents were alive and things were simpler.”

  “Your grandparents are dead?” he asked.

  “Yes, they are all dead. My mother’s mother died almost two years ago, right before I graduated from high school and three months after my grandfather died from colon cancer. They were pretty devoted to one another until the end. My mother was their only child, and they were pretty old when my she was born. They thought they wouldn’t have any children.”

  “I see,” nodded David.

  “And unfortunately my dad’s mother was killed in a car accident ten years ago. I guess his father could still be alive, but he ran off when my dad and his brother were kids. We don’t know where he is.”

  “Oh.”

  “So much for the family history. Let’s talk about something else,” I demanded.

  David got up and started looking at the framed pictures on the book shelf. He pulled one out of me and Veronica sitting in a field of bluebonnets.

  “I remember you now. This picture must be from about the same time we were on the swim team.”

  I glanced at the photo. “I think I was about ten there, so that would be about right.”

  “I totally remember you now. You were such a brown-noser.”

  I slapped his shoulder, “I was not.”

  Mom announced from the dining room across the hall, “Dinner’s ready.” We strolled that way.

  *

  David wiped his mouth and folded his napkin onto his plate. “Dinner was great Mrs. Ch….Dot. Meatloaf is my favorite.” Mom had pulled out all the stops. She had set the table with the silver and her wedding china and had made her specialty—meatloaf—with green bean casserole and mashed potatoes. She had even made carrot cake for dessert. “I should be heading out now though. I don’t want to get home too late and worry my mother,” he added.

  “Of course, how is Candi doing these days?” she asked

  “She’s fine, great even. She’s the head clothing buyer now, so she stays busy. And she looks great. Mom seems to never age.”

  “Your mother is an attractive woman. I’m glad that her career is going so well.”

  “Yes, yes,”David nodded.

  “Still single?” Mom asked.

  “Yep, she just hasn’t found anyone to settle down with.”

  “She still has time,” my mother replied absently.

  “Thanks for the excellent dinner,” David said to my mom as he walked to the door. “I’m going to walk David out,” I shouted back at my mom.

  At David’s car door, he gave me a chaste kiss on the lips. “I’ll text you tomorrow, but I’ll probably be helping my mom around the house. I need to debug her personal computer and prune some bushes, so I probably won’t have time to come over. And we’re supposed to have Thanksgiving Dinner with “Dad” (he used air quotes) at the Chemical Club. He always has dinner with us when he’s single, but as soon as he’s married, he spends Thanksgiving with the current wife and family. I wish Mom would just refuse, but she can’t say no even though my father treats her like shit.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe there’s more there than you understand.”

  “Maybe…I’ll probably be free at least for lunch on Friday. You up for it? We need to meet somewhere well away from shopping. I can’t handle the Black Friday crowds.”

  “I’m with you. No shopping. All my giftees are getting books anyway.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he gave me another sweet kiss and slid into the driver’s seat. I waved to him as he pulled out of the drive way.

  *

  My mother barely waited for me to sit before she asked, “So, how are you and David getting along?”

  Noncommittally I answered, “Fine, fine. It’s a casual thing. We’ve only been dating for two months.”

  “Oh, that doesn’t matter. I knew I wanted to marry your father after our first date,” she answered in a superior tone.

  “I know, I know,” I answered dismissively. “But I don’t know. I’m too young to get married or even serious now.” Mostly to change the subject, I asked, “What about this jewelry you sold?”

  “Right, I meant to talk to you about that. I guess you mentioned to Candi that I wanted to sell some jewelry. Thos
e pieces your father gave me the last few years weren’t really me.” She shook her head as if the jewelry were some silly idea. “Candi referred me to a dealer that buys jewelry from individuals, so I took over my Harry Winston earrings and bracelet as well as the David Yurman bracelet. He offered me $40,000 for the lot. Can you imagine? He issued cashier’s checks for them on the spot.” Her eyes got big and she cradled her cheeks in her hands. “He said normally he’d have to verify provenance, but Candi had already vouchsafed for them. And he also said he couldn’t issue checks for more than $5000 a piece. He had a little machine that printed the checks out made out to cash. And he gave me 8. Eight $5,000 checks. I’m sure I haven’t had that much money on me at one time ever. I went straight to the bank and deposited one check so we could have some emergency money, but that was all. I put the rest in the safe deposit box. I thought about asking your father what I should do with them, but I wasn’t sure if I should.” She gave me a questioning look. “I know we paid all of his fines—with all our savings and your college fund, although they couldn’t touch his teaching pension. And since we didn’t declare bankruptcy we didn’t have to report every little asset like poor Betsy and Frank did. They even inventoried her furs. Poor dear.” She wrung her hands in sympathy and paused, then shook her head as if to clear the cobwebs. “I’m not sure I did the right thing. Should I put the rest in my account? Should I go on ahead and pay the attorneys the $18,000 we still owe them? What do you think I should do with the money?” she asked. Her eye started to twitch like it always did when she was agitated and she wrung her hands.

  “You did exactly the right thing, Mom.” Immediately her shoulders fell, her eye stopped twitching, and she stopped wringing her hands. I smiled at her. “You handled that perfectly. Just keep paying the attorneys $1000 per month like we agreed. You’ll get nothing but grief if you pay them early. If someone says something about you appearing to have more money, say that you cashed in some savings bonds that vested that you forgot about, but try not to spend much more than you would have spent. You and Veronica just don’t have to watch your pennies so closely. Tomorrow let’s go back to the bank and get out 5 more checks. That’s $25,000. Veronica still has that savings account that she opened with your mother, right?” She nodded. “And Grandma was the cosigner?” She nodded again. “Veronica and I will both deposit a check each in our savings accounts. I’ll take two checks and put them in my bank account over the next few weeks. You’ll deposit a check into your savings account in the first week of December. We’ll deposit the last two checks in January. You can move the money into your regular checking account at regular intervals.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’re probably being overly cautious, but I don’t want to take any chances.” Then I got a brilliant idea. “We could use some of the money to go to Florida to visit Daddy.”

  Veronica happened to be walking by and immediately snapped to attention. “We could visit Daddy?”

  “Maybe. I guess we could,” answered Mom tentatively.

  “Yes, we can. I’ll buy the tickets and reserve the room.”

  “And we need to send copies of our driver’s license. I’ll check on the website and maybe even call, but I’ll see if we can go that week between Christmas and New Year’s.”

  Veronica jumped up and down and clapped like a fourth grader. “Yeah, we get to see Daddy!”

  Mom agreed. “I think we can swing it.”

  I nodded, “We can.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  David

  I wore the navy double-breasted Armani suit that Mom had dangled in front of me as bribery to entice me to attend this sham Thanksgiving dinner. No one in attendance would be thankful for anything—least of all me. Despite the crummy way my father had treated my mother, she still jumped at the chance to see him. I wasn’t sure what motivated her, but she looked great. She was wearing a vintage Diane Von Furstenberg floral wrap dress with the no-name diamond tennis bracelet and sapphire earrings that my father gave her. They were the only pieces of jewelry from my father that she kept. And she looked like a million bucks unlike Dad’s other wives who looked like aging, high-dollar escorts despite their new but tasteless couture and Harry Winston diamonds.

  The Chemical Club was all decked out in understated, appropriate displays of pumpkins, Indian corn, and greenery. Fake logs roared like a real fire in the huge gas fireplace at the end of the room creating a sense of Fall even though it was 80 degrees outside. Our table was set with gold rimmed china, silver flatware, linen napkins, and crystal, just like your rich grandmother’s table would be if you had a rich grandmother. That’s the appeal of the Chemical Club. It kind of feels like home if home is 40 stories in the air, boasts a massive wine cellar, employs award-winning chefs, and fields an army of servers. Honestly, it really is the perfect place to have this travesty of a “family” meal.

  “Dad” was enjoying a brandy sitting in a leather chair by the “fire” when we walked in. My mother sauntered up to “Dad,” deliberately struck a casual pose that showed off her figure, and breathed out, “Hello Trace.”

  Trace turned in her direction and answered in an slow drawl, “Hello Candi.”

  They stared at one another for a moment. I rolled my eyes and cleared my throat.

  “Father.” I stepped up and shook his hand. The old man didn’t have the bone crushing grip I remembered, and he looked older—a lot older. Not only had he lost hair and gained wrinkles, his skin had a sallow color. I heard wife number three had been a bit of a hassle to get rid of, and he had jettisoned her a few years early--she was only 26. I guess Dad’s domestic maneuvering took its toll.

  Dad looked me over, “your mother tells me that you’re about to graduate.”

  “This Spring,” I replied and managed to hide my confusion. I didn’t know my mother and father still spoke.

  “With a degree in physics,” he added.

  “Yes,” I agreed. I wasn’t going to indulge him with actual conversation when he hadn’t bother to talk to me for more than five minutes in the last 15 years or so.

  “What do you plan to do with that.”

  I looked him square in the eye and answered, “Something.”

  My mother giggled nervously and answered for me. “David’s applying to graduate school. He’s got excellent grades and test scores. I’m sure he’ll be accepted into one of the top schools this Fall. “

  My father gave me another appraising look. “You’ve grown up well, not that I would have expected anything different given your parents.” He nodded at me as if he approved. I couldn’t care less about his approval, so I turned toward the windows. As I walked away I heard my mother murmuring something at my father no doubt trying to cover for my rudeness. My father just laughed.

  A few minutes later Two (Victoria), the red head, and Three (Brittany), the blond, broke the tranquil space with their offspring Hunter and Trace Jr. respectively. Naturally, they were 14 and 6 years old—everyone including the wives were eight years apart. Once my father had established a pattern, he had a hard time breaking it. Two and Three dripped with diamonds and French couture. Hunter had clearly entered a Goth phase. Last time I saw him, he was the six year old. Now he was a sullen teenager wearing a black suit with a black tie and shirt. He had dyed his red hair black and painted his nails to match. Junior was wearing a powder blue suit with a bow tie and short pants. I guess the outfit was his mother’s definition of cute. Unfortunately his behavior wasn’t anyone’s idea of cute. He created a kind of frenetic buzz as he ran around the room touching displays, dodging servers, and smudging glass windows and brass rails with finger prints. Hunter, of course, acted bored while trying not to stare at the impressive view.

  Even my father, who had almost no practical experience with children, recognized that we needed to corral and distract junior, so he snapped his fingers and one of the servers helped him out of the leather wingback he was sitting in and installed him at the head of the table next to the fireplace that lo
oked over downtown Houston. He gestured for my mother to sit at his right hand. I moved to sit next to her, but he motioned me towards his left. Fine. Two sat next to Mom and Three sat next to me creating a buffer between me and the junior.

  Immediately servers moved in and placed napkins on our laps. I heard Junior shout “Hey, watch it!” at the end of the table, but his mother shushed him. Immediately more servers stepped forward to fill wine glasses with Pinot Grigio. Since I’m 21, I got some. The other offspring got egg nog. Then, servers simultaneously placed in front of us a first course of some kind of rustic pie filled with mushroom, kale, and onions. At the end of the table, junior whined, “Ewwww, mushrooms.” The head waiter who stood a step behind my father, nodded and another server appeared with something that looked like a cheese hot pocket and put it in front of junior. “Yeah,” junior yelled and clapped. Three picked at her Fall tart, separating the mushrooms and kale from the rest of the filling. It was easy to see where junior got his palate. The tart was actually pretty good. The creamy filling was flavored with thyme and nutmeg. I couldn’t help moaning slightly in appreciation. Three gave me a suspicious look, and then nodded at the demolished tart and explained, “I’m watching my weight.” Sure…mushrooms and kale really pack on the pounds. Hunter glared at Two while I heard the tinkling laugh my mother reserved for something that she found truly amusing. “Dad” was being charming for some reason.

  Next, we continued the Autumn culinary cliche with butternut squash soup—the ginger gave it a kick. Once again, junior objected with a loud, “Yuck!” and once again, another server appeared with a silver tray and asked junior, “would you prefer tomato soup and cheese toast, sir?” Junior nodded vigorously and began slurping his soup loudly the second it hit the table in front of him. “See, Trace, your father is so considerate that he had them make a special menu just for you,” his mother added. She turned to me and continued, “Junior needs special attention.”

  I couldn’t help it; I observed, “That appears to be true for both “Traces”,” and nodded in my father’s direction who was surrounded by a sommelier, the head waiter, and a bar back toting wine. He was picking the next wine—a Beaujolais. Three giggled at my remark.