Something Blue

about being thin and beautiful and fun and carefree. A baby threatened all of that. I didn't know who I was going to become. And I certainly didn't feel like anyone's mother.

My own mother called me every other hour in those transitional weeks, just to check on me, her voice filled with pity and worry. Being without a man was a fate worse than death to her, so I finally put her out of her misery and told her that I had a new boyfriend.

I was at Marcus's apartment, talking on his phone while he ate a slice of pizza. I was skipping dinner, as I had far surpassed my carb and fat allocation for the day.

When I told her the good news, she said, 'That was fast,' with not a hint of disapproval. Only pride that I was back on my horse. 'What's his name?'

'Marcus,' I said, hoping that she wouldn't remember that there had been a groomsman named Marcus. I wanted to ease her into that part of the story. Of course, I had no intention of breaking the baby news anytime soon.

'Is he black? Marcus sounds like a black name.'

'No. He's white,' I said.

'Does he go by Mark?'

'No. Just Marcus,' I said, looking up at him and smiling.

'Marcus what?'

'Marcus Peter Lawson,' I said proudly.

'I like the full name. A lot. I was never too keen on the name Dexter. Were you?'

'Not really,' I said, even though I actually loved the name Dex. It had panache. But the name Marcus did too.

'What does he look like? Tell me all about him. How did you meet?'

'Well, Mother, how about you just meet him yourself? We're coming home this weekend. I got flights today.'

Marcus's head jerked up to look at me. This was news to him. I hadn't quite gotten around to telling him about our travel plans.

'Fantastic news!' she shouted.

I heard my father ask in the background if I was getting back with Dex. My mother covered the phone, but I could still hear her say, 'No, Hugh. Darcy has a new boyfriend.'

Marcus frantically whispered something. I held up my hand and shushed him. He took an imaginary golf swing and mumbled that he had plans.

I shook my head and mouthed, 'Cancel.'

'Well, just give me a short prelude,' my mom said. 'What does he look like?'

'He's handsome,' I said. 'You'll love him. And as a matter of fact, he's here right now. So I better run.'

'Oh! Let me say hello to him,' she said.

'No, Mom. You'll meet him soon enough!'

'I can't wait,' she said.

'You'll like him way more than Dex,' I said, winking at Marcus. 'I know you will.'

'Dex?' My mother giggled. 'Dex who?'

I smiled as I hung up the phone.

'What's the big idea?' Marcus demanded.

'I forgot to tell you,' I said breezily. 'I booked us flights to Indy.'

He threw his slice of pizza back into the greasy box and said, 'I'm not goin' to Indy this weekend.'

'I asked you if you had plans. Remember? You said you didn't.'

'You asked about Friday or Saturday nights. I'm golfing Saturday afternoon.'

'With whom? Dex?'

Marcus rolled his eyes. 'I have other friends in this town, ya know.'

Very few, I thought. Another problem in our relationship. When I was with Dex, we traveled in a pack, a big group of friends. But Marcus and I spent all of our time alone, most of it holed up in his apartment. I knew I needed to stage our coming-out party, but I wasn't quite ready for my discerning crowd to sit in judgment of my new boyfriend. And in any event, I needed to buy him some new clothes first.

Marcus continued, 'Darcy, you just can't book a trip like that without telling me. That's not cool.'

'C'mon, Marcus. This is really important. Just play ball on this one,' I said, using one of his many sports expressions.

He shook his head.

I smiled and said in my sweetest voice, 'You need to meet your in-laws. We need to get this show on the road.'

He sighed wearily and said, 'In the future, don't go signing me up for shit without asking me. But this time, I'll do it.'

As if you ever had a choice, I thought.

For the first time in my long dating history, I could tell my parents actually wanted to like the boy I was bringing home. Their instinct in the past was always to judge and disapprove. My father would follow the script of the living room interrogator, the staunch enforcer of curfews, the guardian of my virtue. Although I'm sure he really did have some protective instincts, I always had the feeling that it was mostly for show. I could tell my mother loved the routine by the way she would rehash it all later. 'Did you see the way your father put Blaine back on his heels?' she would ask me the morning after a date. I think it reminded her of her own teenage years, when she was the big prize in her sleepy Midwestern town and my grandfather had to chase away her suitors.

While my father was a tough customer on the outside, my mother was harsh in private, after being all sugar and spice to the boy's face. She had high standards for me. Specifically, any man of mine had to be as handsome as I was pretty. He had to be mainstream handsome at that. No quirky good looks would do. He also had to be smart, although she would let this one slide if he had money. And he had to have a certain well-mannered slickness. I called this 'show quality'-the 'impress the neighbors' factor. Dex had this one in spades. He passed with flying colors in every category.

Marcus, on the other hand, was far from perfect, but he had one significant thing going for him: my parents had a strong need to like him. What was their alternative? Have their daughter thirty and alone? I knew the thought made both of them shudder. Well, it made my mother shudder, and therefore it became my father's problem too. My mother loved that I had a glamorous job and made good money, but she made it perfectly clear that she thought I should get married, have babies, and live a life of leisure. She wasn't going to hear an argument from me over that game plan. My job could be fun, but not as much fun as a massage at Bliss, shopping at Bendel's, and lunch at Bolo.

So that Friday, Marcus and I flew to Indianapolis for the big introduction. We found my father waiting at baggage claim, all smiles. My father is what you would call polished. Full head of dark hair always in place, polo shirts and sweaters with pressed khakis, loafers with tassels. Glow-in-the-dark teeth befitting the best dentist in town.

'Daddy!' I squealed as we approached him.

'Hi, baby,' he said, opening his arms wide to embrace me. I inhaled his aftershave and could tell that he had just showered before his drive over.

'It's so good to see you,' I said in my 'daddy's little girl,' borderline baby-talk voice.

'You too, sweetie pie.'

My father and I didn't know any other way to interact. When we were alone for any length of time, we'd fall silent and awkward. But on the surface, in front of an audience, we fulfilled our conspicuously traditional roles-roles that made us both feel comfortable. I don't think I would have even noticed this dynamic but for watching Rachel with her own father. They talked like real friends, equals.

My dad and I separated as I turned to Marcus, who was shifting from foot to foot and looking most uncomfortable. 'Daddy, this is Marcus.'

My dad squared his shoulders, stepped forward, and gave Marcus's hand a hearty pump. 'Hello, Marcus.