Dad opened a bottle of merlot sitting amid piles of unopened mail and other clutter. The wine was a new thing—they didn’t really drink when I was growing up—but the clutter was a fixture. I honestly didn’t know how they ever found anything.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” Dad said.
“No, thanks,” I said, pacing mindlessly over to the edge of the kitchen, looking into the family room, comforted by the sight of so many familiar knickknacks, along with stacks of magazines and newspapers and paperback books. Though their tastes differed, my parents were both big readers—and the presence of books in every room (to actually read, rather than simply display) was one of the things I really missed about my childhood home.
“So what’s going on with you?” I asked as cheerfully as I could, prompting Mom to launch into a detailed, long-winded update of all their neighbors and friends. The Joneses just got back from a European riverboat cruise—six countries in ten days!…Mary Ellen had a hip replacement the same week John had a kidney stone—imagine that bad luck….The middle Clay girl got engaged to her longtime boyfriend….The Floyds had to put Sassafras down….Oh, and guess who I ran into at the grocery store this afternoon and might join us for dinner?
I mentally flagged her final run-on question as I glanced into the dining room and saw that the table was set for four.
“Oh, God, Mom. Who did you invite to dinner?” I said, my mind ticking through all the possibilities of people I did not want to see.
“Oh. He’s not coming for sure,” she said. “But—”
“Who, Mom?”
“Teddy,” she said with a little shrug.
“As in—my ex-boyfriend?” I said, knowing there was no other Teddy in our world.
“Yes!” she said. “That Teddy.”
I stared at her, doing my best not to show my annoyance and offset all the goodwill I’d created by coming home. “And why, exactly, did you invite Teddy over?”
“I told you. I ran into him at Food City.”
“And?” I said. “That just naturally segued into a dinner invitation?”
“More or less,” she said, not seeming the slightest bit sheepish—which was the most ridiculous part. At the very least she could have pretended to be apologetic.
“Can you explain that for me?” I said, exchanging a glance with my dad.
“Sure. So I saw him in the frozen vegetable aisle,” Mom said. “And I mentioned you were coming home….Then he said he hadn’t seen you in years. I said he should stop by and say hello if he was free….He said he was—and that he might just do that.”
“That doesn’t look like a might,” I said, gesturing toward the set table. “That looks like a definite.”
“Well, I hope so,” Mom said. “For his sake. He’s lonely, Nina.”
“He told you that?” I asked, feeling very certain that he had not. Except for a pathetic type, which Teddy had never been, it wasn’t the kind of thing a grown man would offer up to an ex-girlfriend’s mother in the aisle of a grocery store.
“Well, not specifically. But I could just tell he is,” she said, then went into further detail about how she had heard, through the grapevine, that Kara, his ex-wife, had remarried and moved to Charlotte with her new husband. “Apparently he got some big job. Teddy’s brokenhearted. He misses the boys so much.”
I had actually heard some of this through Julie, who had represented Teddy in a very straightforward divorce agreement, which included an amicable, flexible custody agreement and a clean division of minimal assets (or, as the case might be, debt). Their split had surprised me, if only because I’d heard that Kara was as Christian as Teddy, although I obviously knew religious couples divorced, too. I hadn’t pressed Julie for further details, knowing how closely she guarded the confidentiality of her clients. At least that was the excuse I made to myself, so I didn’t have to think about other reasons that the subject of Teddy made me uncomfortable.
“How often does he get to see his boys?” I said, feeling grateful that Finch was the age he was. Then again, maybe things would have been different for him if I had made the decision to leave Kirk sooner.
“Not often. It’s a really long drive. It’s just so sad.”
I murmured something noncommittal as my mother continued with further unsourced rumors about Teddy’s ex-wife’s current husband. She finished with a long sigh and “Anyway. There’s nothing quite as sad as a single man’s grocery cart.”
I exchanged another look with my dad, this one of the smirking variety as Dad asked, “Nothing, Judy? Really? Not war?…Cancer?…Death?”
“You know what I mean,” Mom said. “All those sad TV dinners and that lonely six-pack of Corona…I just had to invite him.”
I cut her some slack as I really did appreciate my mom’s compassion for the down-and-out—whether for a chained-up hound on an ASPCA commercial or a bachelor in a grocery store. She was proactive about her compassion, too. A giver, albeit a meddling giver. I knew this was just another example of those qualities—and that she wasn’t trying to put me in an awkward situation. I told myself it really wasn’t that awkward anyway. It wasn’t as if we’d just broken up or either of us held a candle for the other. At least I didn’t. And I assumed Teddy didn’t, either; otherwise he probably would have declined her invitation. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” I said. “It never takes a man long to remarry.”
“Yeah. Someone will scoop him up soon,” Mom continued. “He’s so nice-looking.”
“Maybe he’s already been scooped up,” I said, thinking dinner at our house didn’t preclude a relationship. After all, I was married—and it hadn’t stopped my mother.
“No,” Mom said, adamant. “He’s definitely single….Hey! I have an idea! Maybe you could set him up with one of your rich, divorced Nashville friends?”
There were multiple things that disturbed me about this suggestion (though I was surprised it had taken her more than ten minutes to use the word rich). “Um, Dad. Can you help me out here?”
“Judy,” Dad said, shaking his head and chuckling. “That’s a little bizarre, don’t you think? To assign Nina as matchmaker for Teddy?”
“Why is it bizarre?” Mom said as I wondered if she was pretending to be obtuse—or actually was. It was often a close call.
“Well…because…that’s like me setting up Patty,” Dad said, referring to his college sweetheart, who got way too much airtime. Not from Dad but from Mom, who clung to her jealous grudge after all these years. No matter that she had actually been the one to steal Dad from Patty. No matter that Dad had no contact with Patty whatsoever (Mom had friended her on Facebook). It made no sense—and was therefore a great source of amusement for Dad and me.
“It’s not the same thing at all,” Mom said.
“Oh? Why isn’t it?” Dad said.
“Yeah, Mom,” I chimed in. “Why isn’t it?”
“Because,” Mom said, trying to suppress a mischievous grin. “Patty is a hag.”
Dad shook his head as I burst into laughter. “Oh my God, Mom. A hag? You’re terrible.”
“I speak the truth,” Mom said. “She is a hag, and you both know it.”
“Well, put out another place setting!” I said in the voice of a game-show host, complete with Bob Barker–like gestures. “Because guess what? I invited that hag to dinner!”
“Now why would you go and do that?” Mom said, helping me set up my joke further.
“Because I felt sorry for her haggedyness. Her cart was so sad. Filled with Entenmann’s coffee cake and prune juice.”
Dad laughed as Mom pretended to be mad—all part of her anti-Patty schtick.
“So…what time ‘might’ Teddy arrive?” I said, glancing at the clock on the microwave.
“Six o’clock,” she said proudly. “So any minute!”
“Ugh. I’ll be right bac
k,” I muttered then retreated to the back hall to get my purse. I ducked into the powder room to brush my hair and touch up my makeup. It wasn’t that I specifically wanted to look good for Teddy; it was something I’d do for any guest, particularly someone I hadn’t seen in several years. A simple matter of pride.
The doorbell rang as I was returning to the kitchen.
“You should get it,” Mom said.
“Why should I get it? You’re the one who invited him.”
“Nina,” my mom said, her voice rising in a warning. “Be nice.”
I sighed, then went to the door, trying to remember the last time I’d seen Teddy, deciding it would be our first topic of conversation. An icebreaker, if you will.
“Hi, Teddy,” I said, swinging open the screen door and smiling at a middle-aged stranger who, but for those ice-blue eyes, bore little resemblance to the boy I used to date. Don’t get me wrong—it’s not that he looked bad. He was still in decent shape—or at least hadn’t gained much weight—perhaps a function of being tall and having an active profession as a police officer. His hairline had receded more than I’d expected, but with a strong jaw and a nice-shaped head, he could pull it off. If anything, I thought he looked a little better now, having finally shed his aw-shucks boyishness.
“Hi, Nina,” he said, looking and sounding uneasy. “I’m sorry about this. Your mom wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
I laughed and rolled my eyes, saying, “Believe me, I know.” Then, worrying that my statement might have come off as rude, I leaned in and gave him a quick hug. “It’s really good to see you again,” I said.
“You, too,” Teddy said, giving me a big smile, which instantly transformed him back to his old teenage self. Too sweet for me, I thought, thinking of all the Boy Scout clichés that had defined his character because they were things he actually did. How whenever he found a spider in the house, he’d catch it in a container, setting it free outside. How he had shoveled snow for the old lady on his street without charging her—or even taking credit for it. How he never cussed, using ridiculous substitute words like dagnabbit and jackwagon. How he prayed before every meal, including breakfast and lunch, but did it quickly and discreetly so as not to make anyone uncomfortable. He was sort of the opposite of Kathie, come to think of it. Pure of heart without any showiness.
“So, it’s been a while,” I said, as I led him into the kitchen.
“Sure has,” he replied, then exchanged robust hellos with Dad, the two of them shaking hands with a simultaneous back clap.
“Good to see you, buddy,” Dad said as my mother descended upon Teddy, giving him an embrace that looked more like the kind you’d give a relative who’d just returned from Afghanistan than like the way you’d greet your daughter’s ancient-history ex-boyfriend.
“It’s been since our ten-year, right?” I said, milking the topic, remembering that I’d missed our twentieth reunion for Melanie’s fortieth-birthday trip to St. Barths, a source of slight contention with Julie, who had wanted me to press Mel for a date change. It was one of the rare times I disagreed with Julie, insisting to her that benchmark birthdays of close friends trumped school reunions.
Teddy shook his head. “No. I’ve seen you since then….Remember? At Cootie Brown’s a few years back?”
“That’s right,” I said, remembering the brief encounter we’d had at one of the most popular barbecue restaurants in town. I think I’d been back to see Julie’s girls’ ballet recital. Regardless, Teddy had been with his wife and sons, and they’d all seemed happy. I remembered feeling vaguely embarrassed for him. I think it must have had something to do with his still living in Bristol, still going to Cootie Brown’s. For some reason, I made an exception for Julie, as I knew her worldview was constantly evolving and that no part of her mindset ever felt provincial.
“When was that, anyway?” I asked, trying to distract Teddy from my mother’s awkward, trancelike beaming. “Four or five years ago, right?”
“Six, actually,” he quickly replied, then hesitated and added, “It was right after my brother had his first kid.”
“How are they doing?” I asked.
“Good. Great. They had another baby. A girl.”
“That’s great,” I said as Mom, slipping on her oven mitts to check her fries, chimed in with “I saw photos of her on Facebook. Quite the head of red hair! Which side does she get that from, anyway?”
“Dad’s side,” Teddy said. “His mother—my grandma—had red hair.”
Mom closed the oven but kept her mitts on, pointing at Teddy with one. It looked like a foam hand from a sporting event. “You know what? I bet the two of you would have had redheads,” she said, then glanced at me. “It runs on my side, too, you know….”
“Wow, Mom,” I said under my breath as Teddy’s ears and cheeks turned a bright pink. I’d forgotten how easily he blushed.
“Well, he was almost my son-in-law,” she announced, making it even worse.
Dad chuckled and said, “Sorry, Teddy. I’m sure you recall that my wife lacks a filter.”
“Yes, sir. I actually do remember that about my almost mother-in-law,” Teddy replied with a wink.
None of us had expected this joke—at least I hadn’t—and I laughed out loud, feeling myself relax. Teddy seemed to loosen up, too, going on to ask about my brother.
“What’s Max up to these days?” he said.
“He’s still living in New York,” Mom said. “Still single.”
Teddy nodded and smiled.
“Can I get you a drink, Teddy?” I said, opening the fridge to find a six-pack of Corona, clearly purchased after my mom took note of his cart contents. Quite the thoughtful touch.
“Sure,” he said. “If you’re having one.”
I hadn’t planned on it but took two bottles out, putting them on the counter as I washed my hands and then took a lime from our always-stocked fruit bowl. (Mom tried to make up for her lackluster cooking with a bounty of fresh produce.)
As I listened to her grill Teddy about all the latest crimes in town, I sliced the lime into wedges, picked the two best, and tucked them into the tops of the bottles.
“Cheers,” I said, holding up my beer as I handed him the other.
Teddy smiled back at me, tapping the neck of his bottle against mine, and said, “To reunions.”
“And Sunday supper,” I added, as we both plunged the limes into our beers and took long sips.
Mom sighed a loud, wistful sigh and said to Dad, as if we couldn’t hear, “Those two…they were always so cute together.”
* * *
—
SUPPER TURNED OUT to be stress-free, even pleasant, the topics flowing easily from Bristol happenings to larger current events, including politics, one of Dad’s favorite subjects. Everyone stayed calm and unusually neutral, as I realized that I had no clue about Teddy’s political leanings. On paper, I would have guessed he was a Republican, but I couldn’t recall a single conversation I’d ever had with him about politics.
Then, right at the end of the meal we all simultaneously ran out of topics, creating an awkward silence and a frightening vacuum for my mother to fill.
“So,” she began, rising to the occasion. “How is Kirk? You haven’t mentioned him at all.”
On the surface, it was a fine question, but I could tell by her expression that it was loaded and at least partially merlot-induced.
“He’s fine,” I said, then imprudently added, “I guess.”
She seized on my hesitation. “You guess?” she said.
“He’s been in Dallas,” I said.
“Doing what?”
“Just…business-type stuff,” I said, sounding either cagey or dim-witted.
“Hmmm. He sure does travel a lot lately,” Mom said, as I caught Dad shooting her a look. I think Teddy must have noticed it, to
o, because he conspicuously glanced away.
“Right. Well. Maybe you’re onto something there, Mom,” I said, throwing her a curveball.
She looked a little stunned—or maybe just confused. “What does that mean?”
I hesitated, thinking of all the ways I could change the subject, then made a spur-of-the-moment decision that I was finished with small talk and surface conversation and diversions and lies of any kind, no matter how small. At least for right now, as I sat at my parents’ dining room table, with a kind man who had once loved me, and who still prayed to God before supper.
“It means,” I finally said, gathering strength I didn’t know I had, “I am filing for divorce.”
So it actually happened. I had sex with Finch. He would forever be the second person on my list. The act itself lasted only a couple of minutes, but that was okay. I think I actually preferred it on the quicker side—at least for our first time. For one, there was absolutely no mistaking how turned on he was. For another, it got us to my favorite part faster—which was just lying there together in the dark, feeling his chest rise and fall against mine.
“Wow, that was good,” he finally said, running his fingers through my hair.
“Yeah,” I murmured, more thrilled with every passing second.
“I’m sorry it was so…quick,” he said—which I thought was really sweet of him.
“No. It was great,” I said. “It was perfect.”
“Your body is perfect,” he said, kissing the top of my head.
The compliment melted me, but before I could thank him, we heard the basement door open and a woman’s voice.
“Finch?” she said, as light spilled down the steps, illuminating our bodies, reminding me of just how naked we were.
We both jumped, then froze. Finch put one finger to his lips, instructing me not to make a sound. I responded with a telepathic blink, praying that the door would close. After an agonizing few seconds, it did, darkness hiding us once again.
“Hurry. Get dressed,” Finch whispered, as we both bolted upright, frantically searching for our clothes. One of his elbows jabbed me in the side, and I could feel fluid running out of me, down my leg, but those were the least of my concerns.