“Oh, I know, sweetie. I don't mean anything by it. It's just, we're obviously so wrong for each other, and he must have something wrong with his down there not to want to have sex with me. Who in this day and age waits to be serious to make love?”
I shook my head, confused. “So who are you talking about, then?”
“Michael, of course! He dropped off Zoe last night and said he wanted to tell me that he's been seeing someone.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. And not only that, he's in love with her and is going to propose!” Rachel began wailing again and pounding the table. “How could this be happening to me?”
Trying to suppress a smile, I rubbed her back, comforting her. “But Rach, honey, I thought you hated Michael. The whole world thinks you hate Michael. Isn't he a big part of your seminar? You call him ‘Dog Man,‘ remember?”
“I know what I said. But I just wanted to make him suffer and be miserable without me for awhile, and then I'd take him back and incorporate the power of forgiveness into my speech. Zoe needs to be with her father.”
“Got it. Well, life has a funny way of working out for the best.”
“You plucked that one straight from Mom's phrase book. It doesn't sound like you talking.”
“Well, I'm starting to believe it.”
“Who could possibly want to marry that man?”
“Besides you, you mean?”
“She's probably some young tramp legal assistant. Or a bartender. They always go for the young, hot bartenders. Not that they have anything on me.”
“You mean, he didn't tell you who he was seeing?”
“I kicked him out. I don't want to know. I'll meet her soon enough, I suppose. Oh, God. Do you think he'll invite me to the wedding?”
“Have you considered that he might be dating a very nice person? Mature, even?”
“Please. I'm not an idiot. I'm going to go take two Tylenol and see if I can sleep for a few hours before dinner. Sorry I can't help.”
I had slumped over and considered calling the whole thing off when the doorbell rang. The Evangamoms had arrived early, as usual, and I didn't even feel guilty that the house was still a mess. My mothers would go into turbo-drive and have the whole place in tip-top shape before the dinner bell clanged.
“Aren't you a sight for sore eyes,” my mother said as she gave me the up-down, pleased at my selection of a warm gold dress. My father kissed me hello and handed me a bouquet of fall flowers for the table. Judith air-kissed me and breathed, “Oh, my,” upon seeing the scattered toys and general clutter in the house. The boys had cleaned up without my even asking, another sign that something strange was going on, but I had to give my mothers something to do, so I tossed a few balls and robots and action figures around the place for good measure.
“Barb, it's time to roll up our sleeves.”
“When isn't it, dear?”
“What would she ever do without us?”
And I'd actually wondered that myself, but my mothers needed to be needed, so I couldn't get well too quickly.
Two hours later, the house was clean, the table set, and the food ready to be gobbled up, minus a couple of key figures. After a half-hour of trying, my mother coaxed Rachel out of my bed, into the shower, and down to the table, hair wet and sans makeup. A very pregnant Zoya arrived wearing a sexy, red fitted dress with a plunging neckline that revealed most of her swollen bosom, and Donald couldn't keep his eyes off of it. It took all of my dad's strength not to stare, too.
I asked William to fetch da Vinci for dinner, but he returned with a red face wet with tears, fogging up his glasses. The rest of us were already seated at the table, including Joel's framed photo on his plate in his usual seat-Judith's idea. We did it every Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter. I'm not sure what Joel thought of his symbolic inclusion, but I could feel his energy making a sarcastic remark about it.
“What in Heavens?” my mother said, scooting her chair back.
“Thanksgiving isn't an Italian holiday,” Judith said, as if that explained everything.
William glared at me. “It's all your fault!” He pointed an accusing finger. “Da Vinci's not coming to dinner because of you!”
“This is juicy,” Rachel said, taking a gulp of her wine. “Do tell.”
Williams' tiny shoulders shook. “All we wanted was for you to be happy again, and you had to go and ruin it! Tell him you're sorry!”
I hugged my son, but he wriggled away. “Honey, I'm sorry. It's a grown-up thing.”
“Tell me what we can do to make you love da Vinci.” He looked at his older brother, who was slumped in his seat. “It didn't work, Bradley.”
“What do you mean, sweetie? Bradley, what's he talking about?”
Bradley mumbled. “It was William's idea. To get da Vinci to fall in love with you.”
The dinner guests moaned an “awww,” and I could feel my hair stand on end.
“ What? ” I looked at both boys and saw the shame on their faces. “Tell me exactly what you did.”
William continued to cry. “I told da Vinci that you liked him and that he should take you to the vineyard. And then I told him he should tell you he loved you, and I moved his things into Daddy's closet.”
“You what?” Judith asked.
“You what? ” I asked, gripping his little arm. “Why would you do all that?”
“We could tell that when he was around, you weren't so sad anymore, so we thought if you fell in love and married him that we could have a whole family again.”
“Honey, da Vinci and I do care for each other. I still like him, but we're not going to get married.”
“But you're pinned now!” He stomped his foot.
“You're what? ” Rachel asked. “As in, fraternity pin?”
“That's absurd,” Judith said, with a laugh.
I shot them all a warning glance to stay out of it. “So the pin was your idea, too?”
Bradley pointed to his brother, and William bobbed his head. “I thought you would think it was romantic. A pin is a promise.”
Judith and Barbara had tears in their eyes. “Come here, you.” I opened my arms, and William walked into them. “And you, too, bud,” I said to Bradley, and he joined us. I was too amazed at their compassion to be mad at them. “Even though da Vinci won't be around here as much anymore, he still wants to be your friends, okay?”
“But will you still be happy?” William asked.
“Yes, baby. Mommy is getting happier by the day. Don't I look happy?” I flashed him a big and surprisingly genuine smile. The world was a big, messed-up place, but I was happy. My joy jar was filling up with each passing hour.
William's tiny shoulders lifted. “I guess so. But I can see Oprah's point about the makeup.”
My moms laughed. “Well, she is one smart cookie.”
Judith took another sip of wine. “I propose a toast, then. To makeup and joy, however we find it,” she said.
“I'll toast to the joy part,” my father said.
Rachel reluctantly joined in. We toasted and I drank the wine, relishing the plum aftertaste, remembering that da Vinci had picked out the bottle at the vineyard, saying we should drink it on a special occasion. I had so much to be thankful for, including the awakening brought on by his arrival into my classroom and my life.
My father stood to cut the turkey. “Let's eat this bird before he catches a cold.”
I kissed my sons on the cheek. After we had begun eating, the clank of silverware and china, a familiar symphony of family togetherness, was when the doorbell rang again. I tried not to think about the ramifications of my son's confession. What did it matter now? If da Vinci had been nudged along by tiny cupids, he hadn't gone kicking and screaming. He was a willing partner. Did I mind that he may have said a few things or done a few things in the name of keeping me on the hook a while longer? It wasn't as if he used me, exactly. In fact, I had used him just as much. We had leaned on each other, propped each other up, fledglings now ready to fly on our own.