Emily Giffin - Baby proof

I smile, remembering what I liked most about my first boyfriend-his knee-jerk response was always, "Why not?" He was uncomplicated and upbeat and easy. At one point, I might have thought these traits made him a simpleton, but now I think they just translate to happiness. After all, he is the one with a family. He is the one buying hygiene products for his spouse. And I'm the one who is divorced, with my father waiting for me in the car outside.

"So what's doin'?" Charlie says with a big smile.

"Not much," I say and try to deflect with a question about his son. "Is this your oldest?"

"No!" Charlie says. "This is my youngest, Jake… Jake, this is Claudia."

Jake and I shake hands, and I pray that we're winding up, but then Charlie asks, "How's Ben?"

"Actually, we got a divorce," I say.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I say. "He's getting remarried."

Then I laugh at my own joke. Charlie does, too, but it is the awkward sort of pity-laugh, not a ha-ha laugh. We exchange a few more pleasantries, both of us promising to tell our families hello. All the while, I can tell he's thinking, I knew it. I knew she was in for a sad life when she told me after our prom that she didn't want kids .

Daphne has everything under control when my father and I arrive at her house. But by under control, I don't mean Maura's version of polished perfection. On the contrary, Daphne's house is in a state of noisy disarray. The kitchen is a mess, and Tony's football game is competing with Daphne's favorite Enrique Iglesias CD and their frantic Yorkies. Still, everything smells good and feels comfortable. Daphne is standing at the stove, all four burners ablaze. She is wearing her GOT CARBS? apron and looks relaxed. My father joins Tony in the family room, and I put my pies and Cool Whip in the refrigerator and say, "Hope you have dessert backup."

"Of course I do," Daphne says, smiling proudly and pointing to a freshly rolled-out pie crust on the counter.

"So," I say, settling onto a bar stool. "Have you heard from Maura? Is he coming?"

Daphne knows I'm referring to Scott. She sets about peeling a Granny Smith apple and tells me that as of this morning, Maura hadn't decided whether to let him come or stay home alone. She was pleased to know that Scott's parents and sister's family had already booked a trip to Disney World for the holiday-so if she chose to exclude him, he'd have no backup plan.

A moment later we hear my mother and Dwight at the front door.

"Hell- ooo ?" my mother trills as she sails into the kitchen, heavily perfumed, wearing a flowing St. John ensemble with navy pumps. Her outfit conjures the phrase "dressy casual," which is her favorite dress-code designation for her own parties. Despite her allergies to dogs, she gathers up Daphne's Yorkies and allows them to lick her mouth. "He-wo, Gary! He-wo, Anna!" she croons as I think that baby talk to dogs is only slightly more annoying than baby talk to babies.

Dwight is also dressy casual. He is sporting tasseled loafers, Ray Bans, and a jacket with shiny, gold buttons. He takes off his glasses and presents three bottles of merlot to Daphne. Then he rubs his hands together vigorously enough to start a fire. "Soo, ladies, what's shakin'?" he says, surveying the simmering pots. "Smells good in here, Daph!"

Then, as I watch him strut around the kitchen, I think of how Ben used to imitate his walk and say, "Ever notice the way Dwight's pelvis enters a room about five minutes before he does?" I always liked when he made fun of Dwight, yet the thought that Ben might share such observations about my family (even my mother's husband) with his bride-to-be has the strangest effect of creating loyalty where none existed before. Dwight isn't a bad guy, I think, as I kiss him hello for what very well could be the first time ever. I wait for my mother to put down the dogs, wash her hands, and use her inhaler. Then I give her a hug.

"So good of you to dress up," she whispers in my ear.

I smile and say, "Yes. But you'll be happy to know that should there be an accident and I am disrobed by a paramedic, I am wearing my best underwear."

She smiles as if to say, I taught you well .

The doorbell rings, and we all glance at each other nervously, a question hanging in the air: Will Scott show up with his family ?

Even my mother is subdued.

"You get the door," Daphne says as she nervously reties her apron.

I head to the door. When I open it, I am genuinely surprised to see Scott. I really thought Maura was leaning toward banishment. Hillary Clinton's quote about Bill pops into my head: "He's a hard dog to keep on the porch." Clearly the same can be said of Scott. Although here he is, back on the porch with Maura.

"Hi, guys," I say, bending down to hug the kids first. Zoe points to her stitches-or more accurately, the spot where they once were. "They disappeared," she says. "Just like Dr. Steve said they would!"

I laugh and hug her again.

When I stand, I look right into Scott's eyes. For once, they don't look smug or beady. Instead, he is more chagrined and contrite than he was on Saturday night. And Maura looks even peppier. I think to myself, Carefree, confident, popular girl is on a date with ever-grateful, second-tier wannabe . It is role reversal for them, and I am filled with a sense of nostalgia, remembering that was how my sister used to be, in the days before Scott. I wonder what happened first. Did Scott's behavior change Maura into a victim and put her in a constant state of anxiety? Or did her priorities somehow get skewed, so that she could allow someone like Scott in her life?

I give him a chilly hello and then kiss my sister. More tense hellos are exchanged in the kitchen. Then we all move into the family room to watch the football game that only Tony really cares about. I keep my mind off Ben by observing Scott and Maura. He is pandering to her every need-refilling her wine glass, rubbing her shoulders, handling the kids when they act up-and I find myself thinking of one of Annie's theories on relationships that she calls the "benevolent dictator" theory. She says that in an ideal relationship, the balance of power is equal. But if someone has to have more power, that someone needs to be the woman. Her reasoning is that when most men wield the power, they abuse it and succumb to their innately self-serving, self-indulgent instincts. Women who have power, on the other hand, tend to rule in the interest of the family unit rather than their own self-interest. Which is why matriarchal societies are peaceful, harmonious ones. And why societies ruled by males are ultimately destroyed in war.

Of course when Annie first shared this theory with me in college, I tried to debunk it with tales of my own parents. I told her my mother held all the power-and was all about self-interest-while my father was the well-intentioned good guy. Yet, upon looking around, I had to begrudgingly admit that Annie was onto something and that my family seemed to be the exception to the rule. My friends with divorced parents almost all had passive martyrs for mothers; and the ones with parents in strong marriages all seemed to have forceful mothers and doting husbands.

I watch Maura now, imagining her coronation as benevolent dictator. The ruler who could have cruelly left Scott at home with a Swanson frozen dinner after usurping him from the throne. Instead, she brought him along to our family feast. She showed him a drop of grace and at least short-term clemency. Some might say this makes her a fool or a coward. I might have said the same thing last week. But as I watch her today, I think it has more to do with strength of spirit, of wanting to do what is best for her children and struggling to find that answer. Still, children or no children, I also know that she's reached the end of the line. If Scott is lucky enough to survive this incident, I am certain that she will not tolerate another betrayal, even a small hint of one. This is his final, final chance at redemption. I can tell Scott knows it, too.