Chapter 10
792 Words
Chapter 10Simon
The mere fact that we stayed at the table for three hours should tell you how much my mother liked Evan. He was probably a great dinner guest no matter what: well informed, well educated, witty, good natured, and with no apparent axes to grind. On this occasion, of course, he was trying to make a good impression, which was extremely satisfying to me. The only reason you try to impress a boyfriend’s parent is because you want to remain their boyfriend and possibly take the relationship further.
I was positive we were taking this further.
Mom got him talking about his family, in a segue from telling him about my dad and my brother. I knew he had siblings and the outline of their relationships, but whether it was her excellent coffee, the very fancy wine I’d provided, the meal in general, or the stupefyingly good pavlova (how does a math wizard from Virginia come up with a pavlova for Christmas dinner?), Evan opened up a lot. At the end of a story about selling his parents’ house, he said, “It’s kind of the best-case scenario that my sibs and I would be on better terms at the end of this process. We all cared about each other in this abstract way, you know. But we really had to pull together to get through everything with our mental health intact, and now I feel like I could plan a vacation near any of them and include some real family time. It’s new, so it feels weird, but I like it.”
“That’s a good thing,” Mom said. “My sisters and I used to write and call all the time. Once it was just me left, Simon stepped in with a daily email or whatever. I have friends in the neighborhood, but you get a different kind of support from family. Even if you’re not always on the best terms.”
“Did you and Simon ever disagree?”
“Oh Lord, did we!”
I cackled. Evan grinned at me, then transferred the smile to Mom. “Anything you want to share?”
“Well, let’s see.” She made a show of counting off her fingers. “There was that boy in high school, the one from marching band, with his Sammy Hagar hair.” Evan and I both laughed. “And his cigarettes! The boys all wanted to smoke then, they thought it was cool. Simon knew better, but peer pressure is a thing!”
“It is a thing,” Evan agreed. Then he asked me, “Were you in the band too?”
“No, I was a groupie. I was on the school paper and I used to go to all the games, pretend I cared about the sports, and use half my column inches to talk up the band. That boy was a legit star,” I said to Mom, half-serious. “He made a dozen records.”
“His band played at county fairs and road houses,” she said tartly. “You had bigger fish to fry.”
“I did,” I told Evan confidingly, “but those are stories my mother shouldn’t hear.” She flapped her napkin at me, rolling her eyes.
“So not the band. No music? I was in my high school’s jazz band.”
“Ooh, real jazz?”
Evan snorted out a laugh. “Not much. Instrumental versions of standards, mostly, with Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five” for our senior concert.”
“Gotcha. Well, I was in the swing choir, which is a very misleading name, because we did not swing and we were not a choir. We were a dozen misfits who could just about carry a tune and occasionally meet up somewhere close to harmony, doing cheese-tastic renditions of pop songs at pep rallies and nursing homes.” I was completely serious. Mom was losing it, she was laughing so hard, and Evan was laughing along with her.
This was, no lie, one of the best dates of my life. Who gets to say that about Christmas dinner with your mother?
We started this madness before noon, and Evan didn’t leave until almost eight o’clock. I said, “You’d better get out of here, honey, you’ve got a big day at the store tomorrow.” He agreed, with what seemed to be sincere reluctance. Hugged Mom, thanked her for a wonderful dinner, waved off her thanks for helping me wash dishes, and said he hoped to see her again soon.
We made out in the driveway until Mom started flashing the porch light on and off. I swear it felt like being fifteen again.
- Writer
