She’s not the sort to make a scene about what’s happened. At barbecues and fundraisers, she’s always one to play the game—all smiles and cheek-kisses—even with those she loathes. I’ve never been worried about any public display of her disapproval as much as passive-aggressive commentary about what Eric and I have done, which I’m sure must be her own internal judgment aboutus.
As she approaches, she never reveals any sign of tension or uncertainty. She’s confident as she puts her arm around me and offers a hug the way she would have before all this transpired. She pulls away. “Jesse, good to see you again. How are you? It’s been too long.” Her words convince me she has her fake-enthusiasm setting on about as high as my bullshitdetector.
I hold up a bottle of wine, my peace offering. “I broughtChardonnay.”
She takes the bottle, extending a polite thank-you as she invites us into the kitchen, where she has a couple of brown paper bags of food she’s ordered for our dinner. Tricia’s never been much of a cook, nor has she felt any obligation to changethat.
“You two are just in time. The delivery guy came not ten minutes before you arrived. I was planning to change and set out some plates.” Her remarks remind me of the way Stan might get when he hasn’t had time to set thetable.
“That’s fine, Mom,” Ty assures her from behind me. I peek over my shoulder, exchanging smiles with him before he pops his eyes open wide, and I can imagine him saying,Here wego…
“Yeah, we’re not in any rush,” I add, returning my attention to Tricia as she approaches the bags on thecounter.
“Jesse, if you want to pour us some wine, then Ty can help me get started on thetable.”
“Of course,” Irespond.
We begin our work, and as they set the table, Ty asks, “How’ve you been, Mom? Those kids at the center giving you anygrief?”
She laughs as she transfers slices of chicken breast from a box onto a plate. “Those ‘kids’ have been really good. I’ve been working with this man named Geoffrey. We’re learning French through an onlineprogram.”
Tricia works with senior citizens at a retirement community nearby. She’s part of a rehabilitation program to encourage some of the members with more serious health problems, helping them regain their sense of autonomy. It’s a pretty cool job, one she’s been doing for severalyears.
By the time she’s finished chatting about some of the clients she’s working with, the table is set and we’re all eagerly sipping Chardonnay down like it’s going out of style. For sure, each of us wants a little something to soothe the discomfort brought about by those unspoken subjects bubbling under the surface of these more pleasant discussions Tricia is managing to make. After some more back-and-forth about her job, she shifts the conversation, asking, “What about you guys? I want to hear what you’ve been up to lately. You start playing flag football about now,right?”
“We have a few scrimmage games,” Ty replies, “and we’ll start playing in the league nextmonth.”
“Put the dates on the calendar so I can come watch a few,” Triciasays.
“You know I will,” Ty says like he’s offended she would even suggest hewouldn’t.
She smiles, as though she appreciates his certainty aboutthat.
I can see her genuine love for her son, but knowing her history, particularly with not telling Eric or Ty about one another and how that affected their relationship, makes it difficult for me to think fondly of her. Certainly she’s not the worst mother in the world. Not perfect by any means either, and what she did was a dick move, but she’s always been there for Ty, and I’ve learned from my own life that it’s not always easy to find a parent who will even do that much. Some of us had to go through a long line of crap foster parents to find the rightmatch.
“How are things going with that guy you’re training?” Tricia asksTy.
Of course, nearly as soon as I was giving her the benefit of the doubt, her question reminds me of her disapproval toward Ty leaving his current position at his company. She’s worried about him, I understand that, and it’s lovely that she’s asking, but even in the crack of her voice, I can hear her skepticism…like she thinks he’s potentially walking away from a good thing. She’s trying, I tellmyself.
“Doing fine. He’s no me,” Ty says with a charming wink, even though it’s at least partly how he really feels. Ty goes on, expressing some of his concerns about Peter before Tricia asks, “And what about you,Jesse?”
Tricia cuts a slice of lemon-pepper breast and takes a bite. Based on the expression on her face—seemingly authentic interest in her question and not a trace of curiosity about what I’m doing with the father of her son—I would never guess she knows the truth about Eric and me. However, I’m one hundred percent sure that she does from everything Eric and Ty have shared with me about their conversations with her. In some way, her acting as though she’s oblivious makes it easier, because we can almost pretend nothing’s happened since the last time I sawher.
“Same old, same old,” I say with a slight chuckle. I don’t realize how strange the laugh sounds until it tails off. Must’ve been some nervous tic. I clear my throat and go on. “I’ve had a few projects at work that I’ve been on a tight budget with, but they’re coming along. I have a good team, which makes all that easier.” I tell her a little about the issue that went down the other week, and soon the conversation shifts to what movies areout.
“We should all see a movie together soon,” shesuggests.
“For sure,” I reply. I assume she means the three of us, without Eric, but if I were with anyone other than him, I doubt it would be an issue for them to tag along. She never had a problem with Whitney seeing movies withus.
My wineglass is almost empty, so I grab the bottle and start pouring for Ty, thenTricia.
“And how’s Eric?” Tricia goeson.
“Oh—” I start, some sort of automatic response. I close my mouth as my gaze shifts toher.
She’s looking at Ty because, obviously, she was asking him about his father. Why the hell would I think she was asking me that? I bite my tongue as Ty’s face turns a deep shade ofred.
Tricia turns to me, her eyes wide in apparent shock as she struggles to maintain the cool attitude she greeted me with at thedoor.
