Out to Lunch (17 page)

Brian is not amused. He also decides not to stay. “It’s not just the dog, I have the flight tomorrow, and I haven’t completely finished packing, I was going to have to get up early anyway. And as gorgeous as you look, that meal has sort of done me in, I don’t think I’m up for anything except sleep.”

And I? Try not to look relieved. I help him gather the shreds of his pajamas and socks and underwear, the long-sleeved T-shirt he intended to wear in the morning, the decimated contents of his toiletry kit. His toothbrush is there, with all the bristles mysteriously removed. His comb looks like it went through the garbage disposal. His deodorant is simply gone completely.

“Sorry about the dog, and everything. And thank you again for my beautiful necklace.”

“You’re worth it.” He kisses me, and I believe he isn’t angry as much as he is just tired and really overstuffed, and wanting to get organized for his trip.

“Thank you. Safe travels, text me or something if you want while you’re gone. But mostly have a great time and please be careful on the slopes. I’d like you back in one piece.”

“You got it. I’ll call you. And I’ll be back on the thirty-first in time for New Year’s.”

“I’m counting on it.” We have decided to just lie low and stay at my place for New Year’s, I’m making plans for a yummy meal that we can cook together, and we’ll drink great champagne and maybe watch an old movie or two. In addition to Elliot’s offer, Andrea and Law invited us to a party being held by one of his friends, Alana and RJ called to say they were having a small dinner party if we were interested, but I frankly don’t like being out and about on New Year’s if I can help it. It’s the one holiday Aimee and I disagreed about. She loved being at a party, all dressed up; I just always wanted to be home in comfy clothes with great food and great wine and no insanity.

Brian kisses me one more time, and heads for home. I change into leggings and an oversized sweater and head downstairs to take the dogs for their last walk of the day. At this hour, we stay on the boulevard, where it is well lit, and keep things pretty brief, although this time I don’t head for home till both pups have done a complete toilet. I can’t clean up dog poop inside again today. Lucky for me, they both oblige with efficiency and we get home fairly quickly. I’ve already got everything pretty set to go for tomorrow, another set of fudge balls, two of the chocolate loaf cakes and two pounds of the praline pecans. Eloise-recommended books for the little ones, and iTunes gift cards for the older ones. Six bottles of a locally brewed gin called Letherbee, produced by one of the former bartenders from Lula, and my new house tipple, for all of the brothers. Five bottles of Lillet Rosé for the sisters-in-law. And for Wayne, a signed copy of a coffee table book called
Oeuvre
by an artist named Drew Struzan, who apparently has done many of the most famous sci-fi movie posters, including the iconic ones for the original Star Wars series. George Lucas even did the introduction for the book, and his signature appears beside the author’s. Elliot helped me with this one, and I get the feeling that the one hundred dollars I paid for it is way undermarket, but it was kind of him, since Wayne only drinks beer and that is somehow not a festive holiday offering.

I put Chewie in his crate, and lock the kitchen gate, bringing Volnay up to bed with me. Eloise is coming tomorrow afternoon to walk the dogs and feed them, and Benji will do it tomorrow night after his dinner, so they will be fine even if I don’t get home till after midnight.

I change into my pajamas and crawl into bed, thinking that tonight I’ll easily be able to skip the Ambien.

“Psst.”

What now?

“Merry Christmas.”

Merry Christmas, my friend. I hope it is very merry where you are.

“It’s always merry where I am.”

It was ever thus and so.

16

I
can’t BELIEVE that Jordan did that,” Wayne says first thing as we pull out of the driveway.

“I know. And no one ever suspected?” It’s just after nine, and Wayne and I are heading back to Chicago after a very long day. The drive down was uneventful, Wayne told me to sleep, and I used it as a defensive move, faking it for the first forty-five minutes, and finally actually sleeping for the next hour and a half, so by the time I was “awake,” we were almost there. We visited with everyone, exchanged gifts, played with the kids, admired new haircuts and clothes and generally got caught up. There was a brief sad moment during grace, when Aimee’s oldest brother, Brad, toasted her memory, but then it was all good food and drinks and wrangling eleven kids between the ages of four and sixteen. And then, when the little ones had been banished to the basement rec room to work off their extra energy where they couldn’t break something, Jordan popped his sixth beer of the evening and announced that he is gay.

“First I’ve ever heard of it. I just feel bad for the kid, you know? Feeling like he had to hold that in all this time. I mean, Thom and Jean might have been a little rough on him if they had been here, but jeez, they’ve been gone since he was pretty little, and you saw how the rest of them reacted. Like he had said he wanted to be an accountant, or was going to buy a Prius. Total nonissue, totally supportive.”

“Poor Jordan. He was always something of an odd duck.”

“Well, it can’t have been easy. To lose both parents a year apart, have to be raised by your older brother, with your nieces and nephews who are practically your same age, that had to be rough.”

“I’m sure. But he always seemed pretty good, good grades in school, did well in college, seems to have gotten a first job he likes well enough.”

“Yeah. Never seemed depressed really, but disconnected somehow. Aimee never really felt terribly close to him.”

“Well, I hope he feels better; it was great how everyone rallied right away and no one acted surprised or scandalized.”

“That’s the truth, Ruth. A very interesting evening. And the dinner looked pretty good!”

I laugh. They finally figured out to just have a burger in the fridge to throw on for him at these holiday feasts. “It was. Delicious. Wayne, I gotta ask, what is the deal with only eating eleven things? I mean, it’s clearly not a political or ethical choice, and you do have something in almost all the food groups, but I just don’t really get it.”

“You must think it’s really stupid.”

“I don’t really, well, maybe I do, I just wonder where it comes from.”

Wayne pauses, and runs his hand over his full-on George Michael stubble that he has chosen for his holiday face. “Well, Elliot said he told you a little bit about how I grew up, and all.”

“He did.”

“So, there was this old lady who lived in the trailer park, three spots down from us. And I would sometimes do stuff for her; fix things you know, or change lightbulbs she couldn’t reach, stuff like that. And when I did, she would make me dinner. She only ever made roasted chicken, pork chops, thin chewy steaks, and burgers. Some sort of potato. Green beans, corn, or carrots. Always an iceberg lettuce salad with ranch dressing. That was it. But it was the best food I ever ate.”

I think about what Elliot said about his upbringing, and my heart hurts for him. “It was nice that you had her.”

“It was. School food was awful, but I had to eat it, so it felt like punishment. The only meals I ever ate that gave me any pleasure from the time I was about six till my mom died were those dinners with Mrs. Jennings. So those I guess are the only foods I ever associated with being safe and fed and taken care of.”

“What about after you left? No desire to explore other stuff when your food was under your own control?”

“When I got to college, I was work study, and worked in the dining hall as a dishwasher, and we didn’t get to eat till the end of the night, by which point your safest option is a burger, and everything else reminded me of the free lunches anyway. I guess it just stuck. I know it makes me kind of an ass, but it’s just what feels safe to me.”

“Oh, Wayne. I had no idea.”

“It’s not a big deal, Jenny. It is what it is. I manage to keep up my girlish figure!” he says, chuckling, patting his not-insubstantial gut.

“So why the open mind when it comes to desserts?”

“Ahh. That’s easy. Elliot’s mom ran a bakery. Every day he’d sneak me something she had brought home, something that hadn’t sold the day before. Never mattered what it was, it was sweet, so I guess I never had any negative associations with desserts.”

“Have you ever tried anything else, I mean since college?”

“Nope. Never really saw the need. There is almost always a burger or steak or chicken or chop on a menu at restaurants. I know how to cook everything I eat. Makes shopping a breeze. And is only really a problem eating at people’s houses, but there’s always a Mickey D’s en route!”

I laugh, since there isn’t much else to do. “Well, if there is ever anything you think you might like to try, I’d be happy to go with you or make it for you.”

“That’s very nice, Jenny. You never know. Maybe this old dog will look for a new trick one of these days!”

My phone rings. It is Brian calling to wish me a merry Christmas.

“Did you make it to Snowmass okay?”

“I did. O’Hare was pretty quiet, but my flight was full. We’re all here and we just got back from dinner, so I wanted to catch you.”

“Wayne and I are just heading back.”

“Well you probably can’t talk with him there, huh?”

“I don’t want to be rude.”

“Not at all. I’m pretty beat anyway. I’ll try and call you in the next day or so.”

Wayne looks over at me. “If you don’t mind my saying, but there’s something about that guy I don’t really trust.”

“Wayne, that guy is your lawyer, if you don’t trust him, that’s sort of a big deal, globally.”

“Not like that, I trust him with the lawyer stuff. But I don’t trust him with you.”

“I appreciate your concern, but you have nothing to worry about. I can take care of myself.”

“I dunno, that Jack was no prize. Thank god you didn’t marry that schmuck. Do you know how horrible it was for me and Aimee to think that you were going to foist him on us for the rest of our natural lives? With his wine snob BS, and his weird obsession with his dental health? And the way he just never let anyone get a word in edgewise, especially you? I’m not afraid to tell you, Jenny girl, that guy was a total tool. You dodged a bullet on that one. That’s the truth, Ruth.”

I’m stunned into complete silence. But oddly, instead of being angry, I just want to laugh. To think that Wayne felt exactly about Jack the way I have always felt about him? That is like a weird Christmas “Gift of the Magi” moment.

“Well, lucky for all of us, he bailed, never to be heard from again.”

“Thank god.”

“Not to worry. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to marry Brian.”

“Ugh, for sure don’t do that. Aimee would come back from the dead just to smack you in the head.”

“I totally would.”

“We’re just dating.”

“Exclusively?”

I think about this. I’m not seeing anyone else, but we haven’t had the official discussion about it, and a wise woman once told me that unless a man has said the word “exclusive” to you, you should assume he is dating other people.

“She also told you to be sure to provide your own condoms for quality control.”

“No, Wayne, we aren’t dating exclusively.”

“Good. I mean, don’t go all Girls Gone Wild or anything, but I think you should date other people.”

“Duly noted.” I think it somewhat hilarious that Wayne is taking my dating life so personally.

“He’s protective of you. The way I would be if I weren’t all Ghost of Christmas Past up in here.”

Wayne leans forward and presses Play on the car stereo. I’m shocked to hear the strains of A-ha coming out of the speakers.

“Wayne, is this the ’80s station?”

“Nope, I made a couple of driving CDs for us.” He gestures to a CD case. I pick it up and read his little handwriting. Three CDs. Filled with classics from the ’70s and ’80s, and all my guilty pleasure faves. Styx, Journey, .38 Special, Men at Work, Fine Young Cannibals, Oingo Boingo, INXS.

“You have
Free to Be . . . You and Me
in here!”

“Well, of course. It was the only record I had until I was fourteen.”

“You’re killing me.”

“Hey, Rosey Grier said it’s alright to cry, and frankly, that’s the only advice I’ve ever used consistently as much now as I did as a kid.”

“More guys should know that and take it to heart. That it’s okay for them to do it and okay for girls. Jack hated when I cried. He always said that he felt like it was inherently manipulative.” I’m suddenly remembering why it was so easy to give him the ring back, and wondering why on earth Aimee never said anything to me about him. And then I look at Wayne. And it is clearer than I might like to admit.

“Aimee never cried much, but when she did, I always just let her get it out. I know it makes things better to have the release.”

“Yeah. It does.” I pause, and then forge ahead. “Noah said sometimes he can hear you crying at night.”

“Yeah. Night is when I miss her most. Every night we’d get into bed and trade days, you know? Lying in the dark, what was great, what sucked, what was funny that we’ve been waiting all day to share. Even when she got home late from some party, I’d wake up and we’d lie there and trade days. And now I get into bed and she’s not there, and she’s not coming later, she’s just gone. No one to trade days with. Makes it feel sometimes like the day didn’t happen, you know, because there was no one to witness it.”

This brings tears to my eyes. “I know what you mean. She called me every morning. Same thing. To touch base, to plan, to reflect. To have the connection.”

“Yeah.”

“He was okay, right, I mean, not worried or anything?”

“He’s a very levelheaded little guy. He said he understood why you were sad and that you have plenty of people to help you.”

“That kid and marrying Aimee are the two things I ever did totally right in my whole life.”

“The Best of Times” comes on next. “I’d call these CDs a solid third,” I say. Wayne laughs and reaches over and takes my hand. His hand is a little sweaty, but strong, and he holds on, and I let him, and we sing together at the tops of our voices as we head home. “The best of tiiiiiiiimmmmmmmmeeessss . . .”

* * *

I
walk in my door at a little after midnight. I’m hoarse from singing; Wayne and I did car karaoke all the way home. As soon as I come through the door, Chewie and Volnay come running down the hall to greet me in a happy jumping pile of dog. There is a note on the side table from Benji saying that they are fed and walked and that he cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, and that I should move my plastic goods out of the lower drawers, which Chewie has apparently figured out how to get into, and that I’m going to need more Saran Wrap and Ziploc bags.

“Dog? In case you were curious? This whole
Marley and Me
act you have going on is not cute, and you are not getting a movie deal.” Chewie looks at me quizzically. “And you? Are you not supposed to be training him?” I say to Volnay. She looks up at me as if to say that he is adopted and apparently this is nature not nurture.

“I give up. And I’m too tired to complain. Time for bed.” But as I head to the kitchen to get Chewie in his crate, he shoots right up the stairs with Volnay. By the time I get up there, they are both curled up on my bed. I’m feeling a little cramped from the long hours in the car, and decide to leave them there while I take a hot bath. As the tub fills, I think about everything Wayne and I talked about.

“He’s not so bad, when you scratch the surface, huh?”

He’s got his moments.

“Admit it, you like him.”

I’m getting to know him. And I like him more than I did.

“You like him.”

I still don’t get it. I mean, okay, I can see that he has the ability to be somewhat less constantly irritating than I have previously experienced. But that still doesn’t explain him being your grand passion. You loved everything cosmopolitan and sophisticated. Your favorite word was
elegant
. You wanted everything in your life to be beautiful. How did you end up with Wayne? I mean, seriously. Not being a total waste is one thing, I can see that he has some qualities, but that is a far leap to love of your life.

“You’ll see.”

I strip off my clothes, put my hair in a bun on top of my head, and lower myself into the steaming water. Suddenly I bolt upright.

You don’t have some weird creepy fantasy about me getting together with Wayne, do you?

“Okay, GROSS. If there weren’t a strict no-ralphing-in-heaven-policy, I would totally throw up right now. I just meant that you will see. You will eventually see why I adored him above all other people including you, and I hope you’ll see that you can have that too. With someone else. Because if you hook up with my not-so-merry widower, I will come back from the dead just to cut a bitch.”