Anne Tyler - Back When We Were Grownups

“He stole her when we were out and didn’t even leave us a note,” Beatrice said. She spoke pleasantly, almost perkily; she was the cheeriest Rebecca had yet seen her. “We came home and called, ‘Flopsy?’ No Flopsy. So my mom phoned my dad; we knew it had to be him. She told him she was calling the police, and do you know what he did? He lied and said he hadn’t the least idea what she was talking about. Then he opened his door and let Flopsy run off on her own, when everybody knows she’s got a terrible sense of direction. It’s lucky she wasn’t killed.”

“I was sad, all right?” Will said. “I was having a difficult time.”

“Like it wasn’t difficult for Mom and me.”

“Look: it was a momentary lapse. I already said I was sorry. How many times can I apologize? I went looking for her myself, in the middle of a rainstorm; I was out half the night hunting her; I brought her back in my new car even though she was covered with mud—”

“Well, just so you realize,” Beatrice told Rebecca. Then she rose and slid her chair neatly against the table. She gave her father a scornful stare down the length of her studded nose. “You can call me tomorrow about the e-mail account,” she said.

She walked out, clicking briskly in her hard-soled black leather boots.

After they heard the front door shut, Will and Rebecca looked across the table at each other. “I guess that wasn’t very successful,” Will said.

“Nonsense; it went fine.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,” Will said, shaking his head.

“Girls that age are impossible,” she told him. “ My daughter? When she was your daughter’s age? Her most cherished dream was to grow up to be a bartender.”

Will didn’t seem impressed. Rebecca went further; she said, “And she always fell for the scariest boys. Boys you wouldn’t trust in your house, even! I worried what would become of her. But then she married the nicest man possible. Several nice men, in fact.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Will went on saying.

“Will. Believe me. She’s going to be fine.”

He glanced up, then, from under his white eyebrows. “About the dog,” he said. “I’m sorry to say she was right: I behaved very badly there, for a while.”

“Well, no wonder! You were distraught.”

“What Laura said first was, she just needed a little space. To do some thinking, she said. I accommodated her in every way; moved out immediately. I was so agreeable! Then she called me on the phone and announced she was making it permanent. It kind of… floored me. I went over to talk about it, and when I found they weren’t at home, why, I must have gone a little nuts. But it was only that one occasion.”

“And you did bring the dog back,” she said.

“Yes, you should have seen the state of my car seats!” He grabbed another handful of his hair. “Well, enough of this. Can I offer you more to eat?”

“No, thanks. I’m stuffed,” she said.

“Let’s go into the living room, then.”

“Can’t I help with the dishes?”

“Absolutely not,” he said.

She didn’t argue. The undercooked grain was making her feel sort of logy; she envisioned dragging her stomach like a watermelon from table to sink.

He rose and came over behind her and slid her chair back. When she was standing, he took her gently by the shoulders and turned her to face him. Then he kissed her. This was not the light kiss they normally exchanged. It was more pressing and intense, more insistent, and she didn’t know why she felt no response. Mainly, she felt embarrassed. She drew away. She reached up to touch one of her barrettes. “Well!” she said. “Gracious!”

“Rebecca,” he said, still holding on to her shoulders.

But she said, “I should be going, I guess. It’s getting late.”

“Oh. Right,” he said, and he released her.

In fact it was not yet seven o’clock, but he didn’t point that out.

They walked through the living room, skirting newspapers. At the front door, Rebecca turned and gave him a brilliant smile. “Thanks so much for dinner,” she said.

“It wasn’t very good, I’m afraid.”

“It was delicious. Really.”

“If I’d only known Beatrice had gone back to eating meat,” he said, “I could have served my chili. I have several extra containers now from the times when I’ve eaten at your house. I could have used them tonight and had the week’s supply come out even again.”

She laughed as she stepped onto the landing. But later, driving home, she was grim-faced and preoccupied, and when she parked and got out of her car, her body felt so heavy — so unspeakably burdensome — that she knew she couldn’t blame it solely on the casserole.

She saw now what she was up against: he was still mourning his marriage. He was grieving every bit as deeply as if he’d been widowed. That explained the missteps in their first few conversations, and his tendency to talk on and on about Laura, and his sad, unconfident manner. A man who kidnapped his wife’s dog was a man who still felt connected.

Not that he was aware of it himself, Rebecca supposed. For he called her two days later to ask, “Seeing as how you’ve met my family now, what little of it there is, don’t you think I should meet yours?”

“Mine? Well…”

“So far I’ve bumped into, what? Two or three of them,” he said, “but I’d love to meet the others.”

“Well, I guess I could have everyone to dinner.”

“That would be great!” he said.

His eagerness was so uncharacteristic that she suspected he might be forcing it. She imagined his steeling himself before he picked up the phone to call her — squaring his shoulders, gathering resolve. “You know,” she told him, “the Davitches can be kind of daunting, taken in a bunch. You could meet them just a few at a time, if you’d rather.”

“No! I think this will be fun!” he said.

She recognized that glittery tone of voice. She had used it herself, many a time.

* * *

They settled on the coming Saturday. It could have been Thursday instead, but Rebecca didn’t want one of those haphazard Thursday potlucks — some chaotic free-for-all where Will could be overwhelmed. No, this would be organized and sedate. People would arrive at a prearranged time and talk about civilized topics. She considered hiring Alice Farmer to serve, but Alice Farmer was fully capable of sitting down to interview Will — interrogate him, really, making sure he passed muster — while Rebecca herself did the serving. She decided against it.

Min Foo was the first one she called. “I’m inviting you to dinner this Saturday, October second,” she said. “Just you and Hakim. No children.”

“No children!”

“At eight o’clock sharp. And dress up.”

“Why can’t we bring the children?”

“It’s a grownup affair. I want you to meet the man in my life.”

This was the phrase she had selected ahead of time — so much more dignified than other terms she might use. It rolled off her tongue fairly easily, she felt, but was met by a silence as sharp as a crack at the other end of the line.

Min Foo said, “You have a man in your life.”

“Right,” Rebecca said.

“You never told me that!”

“Well, you must have heard a man was coming around, now and then.”

“I thought that was just a friend! Why are you springing this on me now ?”

“Min Foo! I’m not springing anything on you! It’s not about you!”

This wasn’t going at all the way she had planned.

With NoNo, the focus was different. She wanted to know why a Saturday. “Is business really that bad?” she asked. “You’re never free on a Saturday! Is the Open Arms going under?”