“Are you? I mean, I think you are, but only you can say for sure.”
I nod. “I am.”
“But they’re still worried, aren’t they?”
“Maybe a little.”
“That I’m taking advantage of you?”
I point to the house. “Hey, what do you say we shelve this deep-feely stuff for now and go chow down? I swear they’re going to be nice to you. They really like you.”
She folds her arms over her ample chest and side-eyes me. “Okay, I’ll agree because I’m famished. So you get a break now, but we’re discussing this later.”
When we get out of the car she retrieves the dessert she baked from the backseat.
“So is that your apple pie?” I ask, my mouth already watering.
“No, this time I made strawberry cheesecake.”
My eyebrows arch and let out a low whistle. “See there, we haven’t even finished the first quarter and you’re already ahead in the game.”
“Oh my goodness gracious!” Ma exclaims as she clasps her hands over her heart. Her cheeks are pink and she looks positively blissful. “You shouldn’t have, Elle! You should be resting, not baking.”
Ma really should’ve been an opera singer. She’s so theatrical with her booming voice and dramatic gestures.
“But baking is relaxing to me, Mrs. McNeill. Besides, Paul told me strawberries are your favorite.”
“They are indeed. Come in, come in, and call me Millie, lass.”
There’s a little bustle at first with all of the overly exaggerated greetings. Finally Dad gets Elle settled on the couch with a glass of water, and so far there’s no weird vibe. Even Patrick doesn’t seem totally awkward about seeing her again.
During dinner, Dad keeps passing the lamb chops to Elle and I’ve lost count how many she’s eaten. It’s starting to get a little obscene.
Meanwhile Patrick and Dad are talking about the stock market while I watch Elle eat. Suddenly Trisha pipes up.
“Hey, Paul, did you hear who Ma ran into at the bank?”
I look over at my mother, who’s busy buttering her bread. She gives Trisha a stern look and shakes her head, then glances at Elle. Ma’s reaction makes me curious as to what’s going on.
“Nope. Who was it?”
“Melanie Milstead,” Trisha replies with an edge of defiance in her voice.
Ma’s eyes grow wide with fury. My sister has a knack for stirring things up.
The intensity of the feelings that buzz through me is surprising, a mix of intrigue, frustration, and longing. Melanie Milstead . . . the girl that got away. Even after all these years hearing her name still gets to me.
Ma lifts up the big bowl to her right. “More mashed potatoes anyone?” she asks with an exasperated expression. Dad picks up the cue and grabs the bowl and offers more to Elle.
Patrick sets down his fork. “Hey, I remember that girl. You had a big crush on Melanie Milstead in high school. You talked about her all the time.”
“Um, yeah. That was a lifetime ago,” I respond.
He nods. “Wow. How’s she doing?”
Ma sighs with resignation. “She seems fine. She’s just moved back to L.A. after working in New York for a few years. I think she said in design.”
“Yes, she’s a graphic designer,” I say.
Elle looks over at me with a curious expression.
“So Ma says she asked all about you,” Trisha teases.
“Really?”
Ma shrugs. “I told her you were working for Sater and Gates and she was impressed.”
“That’s nice,” I say, my palms sweating. I can’t believe just the idea of that girl still makes me nervous.
“She gave Ma her information so you could contact her,” Trisha states.
“Contact her? Like a date? Are you going to do that?” Patrick asks like it’s a column of numbers that aren’t adding up.
“No! I’m not going to ask her on a date!” I answer emphatically.
“Why not?” inquires Elle, seeming genuinely intrigued.
My mouth twists as I try to think how to change the subject. “Well . . .”
“Ask her out,” Elle says.
I lean back. I sort of thought that Elle wouldn’t want me dating other women, while I’m helping her with her baby-centric life.
“Really?” I ask.
“Sure.”
I study her face and see no sign that she’d care if I go out with Melanie. It bugs me. I want her to care.
Elle gives me a smile. It looks a little forced, but I’m not sure.
“It might be fun to see her.”
“Lots of fun,” Trisha comments.
“Maybe I will,” I reply, testing the dark and murky waters. I don’t share that I could never get Melanie to go out with me before, so I’m not sure why she would now.
“Good.” Elle says as she finally pushes her dinner away. Her plate has enough bones to qualify as an archeology site.
“Maybe she’ll be a good design contact,” Ma suggests.
“You said she really has her life together. Didn’t you, Ma?” Trisha says.
Ma scowls at her.
From the way Elle’s eyes darken I can tell she’s taken offense. She smooths her napkin over her lap. “You should definitely be dating a woman who has her life together,” she says in a clipped tone.
“And you two aren’t a couple, right?” Trisha asks, gesturing toward Elle and me. My sister is ever the helpful one. Maybe this was her idea to test us to see if we could be a potential couple, and Elle and I have failed.
“Oh no! Not together in any way. We’re just friends,” Elle assures her.
I don’t like the tone of Elle’s voice . . . like being with me would be about as much fun as a root canal.
“I’ll call her tomorrow,” I say with a tone indicating that I’m done with them figuring out my life while I sit and chew on a lamb chop.
After dinner Dad and I do the dishes. I suspect he’s as relieved as I am to get away from all the female hormones for a while. We left Patrick in there, but I’m sure it’s a chance for him to learn fascinating new things about that perplexing species.
When we rejoin the clan Ma has pulled out the photo albums and is showing Elle our baby pictures.
“Oh, Paul. You were the cutest baby! I mean look at these chubby cheeks!” Elle exclaims.
I shake my head. “Yeah, I’ve seen those. I think I’ll pass.”
“Look at those thick thighs,” Ma coos. “He was insatiable, I could never feed him enough.”
“Do you even hear what you’re saying?” I ask, not hiding the frustration in my tone. “I’m going to hurl that album out the window if you go on any more about my insatiable feeding for fuck’s sake.”
“Paul!” Dad snaps.
“I love seeing these pictures of you,” Elle says. “You look like you were such a happy baby, and your mom told me all about your delivery.”
“You were already trying to get out before we got to the hospital, Paulie. You were always on the go.”
“Why is no one listening to me?” I say into the void.
“Is your baby’s daddy a big, strong man like our Paul?” Ma asks.
Elle studies me like she’s sizing me up.
“Well, he’s taller, but not built like Paul. He’s long and lean.”
Ma nods. “I prefer a big man, but as long as he isn’t fat. Because a fat man will only get fatter.”
“Word to the wise,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.
“Well, you were right,” Elle says as she buckles her seatbelt.
“See, I told you they would be welcoming. I think Ma was in heaven talking about babies all night.”
“They really couldn’t have been nicer. I really like your family, Paul.”
“Well you can have them.”
“Don’t be that way. I mean I know the breastfeeding thing must have been awkward for you, but I think it’s kind of cute.”
“Cute? What in the world is cute about breastfeeding?”
“I’m going to breastfeed the baby.”
Alarmed, I look over at her. “Why would you do that when bottles make so much sense?”
“Make sense? Don’t you know how much healthier it is for the baby? Look how good you turned out.”
“Just promise me you won’t keep doing it to where it becomes a freak show. When the kid can come up and tell you he wants it, and then lifts your shirt and yanks at your bra, it’s time to stop.”