I felt my muscles relax, as if I were sinking into a warm bath, swished back to a time when someone else made all the decisions, and life was safe and predictable.
Mom, wearing an apron with her grandchildren’s names embroidered on the front, embraced me. Her short salt-and-pepper hair, usually neatly coiffed, needed a trim. And I noticed bluish shadows beneath her eyes and a new frown line between her brows.
“I’m glad you could make it tonight,” she said. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”
“Just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.” I shouldn’t have told her. Now she would probably worry about me.
“Have you lost weight? You look awfully thin.”
“I wish. If anything, I could lose five pounds. Stop worrying.” I pulled flatware out of a drawer and headed to the dining room to set the table. An ecru lace cloth lay across the table’s rectangular surface, and three napkins sat in the center. My mother always insisted on cloth napkins, never mind the bother.
A few minutes later, Mom called out, “Vern, dinner,” then brought the sliced pot roast, mashed potatoes, and tossed green salad to the table. My parents sat at either end of the table, and I slipped into my usual chair, on my father’s right side.
Mom ladled extra gravy on my potatoes. “Now that Rob’s away, maybe we can do this more often.” Her eyes filled with love, but I wondered if a lecture on how they never saw me anymore was soon to follow.
“Sure, Mom, that would be nice,” I quickly said. I knew I got lucky in the parent department, and it wouldn’t hurt me to show my appreciation. “I’ve missed your great cooking.”
Dad cleared his throat. “Marguerite, any big sales in the works?”
“Things are picking up.” I was glad I had something hopeful to report.
He spoke again before I could continue. “Did I tell you your sister and Gregg are putting in a hot tub and a pickle-ball court?” Mom tried to pass him the salad, but he frowned and shook his head. “Everything should be finished in two months. That new house is going to be a doozy.”
“Yes, it is.” I knew all about it. Nicole kept me abreast of her recent purchases: the three-thousand-dollar convection oven, the state-of-the-art surveillance system, and the forty-eight-inch-screen TV. The eldest of three, I had been revered by my siblings while we were growing up, but not anymore.
“You probably heard about Eric’s promotion?” he added.
“Yes.” I also knew of my brother’s coup at work, but I tried to hear the three-month-old news with fresh ears. I sliced my pot roast and dropped a square of beef into my mouth. Dad was just sharing his happiness with someone he thought would be thrilled, I told myself as I chewed the meat, biting into a knot of gristle. Yet I felt uncomfortable, to put it mildly, when he gushed on. I’d been the child with great potential, a girl who could go far in the art world. What did my father think of me now? Was he as disappointed in me as I was in myself?
Half-listening to his words, I speared another piece of meat. I hadn’t done much with my life and had produced only one grandchild. And I was the only family member to be branded by divorce. Seldom mentioned in the Marsden household, it represented failure. During that ugly ordeal, I’d sometimes thought it would have been easier to wear the Scarlet Letter than to live with my father’s silent disapproval.
Mom served apple crisp for dessert, and I devoured a second helping, all the time telling myself apples were good for me. “No more, Mom, I’m going to burst,” I pleaded when she offered me more.
“Good dinner, Dorothy,” Dad said, then receded into the living room to finish the paper.
I cleared the table, stacking the plates into a dangerously high pile as I’d done as a child.
After several moments, Mom asked the dreaded question. “Are you dating anyone new?”
“No, but I may go out on a blind date,” I said without thinking it through. Now, I realized, I would have to call Susan and set it up. Or I could just wait a couple of weeks, then tell Mom things didn’t work out. That seemed the best plan.
“How exciting,” she said. “I hope he’s the right one.” Meaning marriage material.
“Mother, I haven’t even met the man.”
She transferred the leftover meat to a smaller platter and stowed it in the refrigerator. “How’s my oldest grandson?”
“Fine, and busy.” I placed two glasses in the dishwasher. “We don’t talk much. He turns off his cell phone most of the time so it doesn’t ring in class. I leave messages, but he rarely gets back to me. And I’ve given up asking him to return my e-mails.” I wedged the last glass into a tight spot. “You’d think he’d need me for something.”
“I remember when you started college.” She rearranged the glasses. “By the end of the first quarter, you acted as if you knew everything there was to know. You didn’t ask our advice for the next four years.”
“Sorry about that. I must have been a dreadful brat.” I crammed silverware into the rack. “I’m also sorry you and Dad wasted your money on my tuition.”
“Now, why would you say that? I’ll bet you’ve used your education in a thousand different ways.” She removed one of the knives, scrubbed its blade, then placed it back in.
“I haven’t accomplished anything the past twenty years,” I said.
“I don’t agree.” She sat at the kitchen table and patted for me to join her.
“You raised a fine son, didn’t you? You were always there for Rob
