Back To U

chapter Twelve

Greek dishes evoke a long history of culinary pleasures.





She’d gone through half a bottle of shampoo before the souvlaki odor washed out. She’d need to put dishwashing soap in her shower caddy. She left the bathroom in her fuzzy bathrobe and flip-flops, and saw the boys waiting at her door.

"We thought of something."

"Greaaaat."

Jason turned his hat the right way as if asking for a favor required some kind of civility. "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

October thirty-first. Halloween, an apparently major holiday she hadn’t celebrated in years. "Uh, passing out candy?"

"How about you pass out food? At Chi Omikron?" Bryan looked ready to fall to his knees and beg. "It would totally get us into the party. You’re amazing, Venus."

"Yeah, enough of the sucking up."

Hayden turned to Bryan. "Venus is getting feistier. Have you noticed that?"

"Yeah, I thought it was just me."

"I like it. I think she’s really adjusting."

Jason nodded slowly as if with great wisdom. She didn’t doubt his father employed just such a nod. "Clearly, we’re all adjusting."

The boys were too weirdly adorable to deny. "I’ll cook tomorrow night on two conditions."

"Name it."

"First, the fraternity has to buy some lamb." She smiled, knowing she’d solved Deb’s problem and one of her own. With just another day of lamb preparation, she’d be free for all eternity. "Second, nobody goes after the new girl."

Jason and Hayden nodded in agreement, but Bryan held up a hand. "We haven’t seen her yet. We can’t say no to a new girl if we haven’t even checked her out. What if she’s hot? Super hot?"

Jason seemed to withdraw his yes. "Nucular hot?"

Gwen turned to him. "That’s nuclear, and it doesn’t matter. I need your promise. All of you."

Hayden raised his hand. "I never get the girl. What do I have to lose?"

She made a soothing momma sound. "You will, honey, you will." She eyed the others. "Boy scout fingers from the two of you."

They complied.

"Good. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. You can help me carry the lamb carcasses to the frat house kitchen. The Greek house is goin’ Greek." She smelled her freshly shampooed hair. Why had she bothered to get the cardamom out?





"That's the last of it." Gwen handed a box over to Jason. "I'll meet you at the house." She slipped the check under Deb's door. Deb, who had been beyond overjoyed, whatever joy occurred after too much joy, offered to name the coffee pot after her. It may not be a degree, but she’d been awarded something from the university.

Bryan handed her a plastic bag and all three of them waited for her to look inside.

She saw a fold of white fabric that looked like…"A sheet?"

"It's your costume."

"A sheet is not my costume."

"It's not a sheet. It's a, you know..." Bryan made a flowing motion like a skirt.

Gwen mimicked him. "No."

"Venus, no one gets in without a costume. They won't let you in. And then you can't cook." Bryan’s voice rose, and she was afraid he’d lose his status as the cool one. "And then no one will let us in, and we'll never get to be Chi Omikrons!"

Hayden seemed to catch the panic and gripped her arm. "I will die a virgin!"

Bryan and Jason froze, and Gwen successfully eliminated all expression from her face, poor boy.

Hayden let go and cleared his throat. "Figuratively speaking. You know, after a couple of months it resets itself."

Bryan made a whistling sound. "Uh, no it doesn't."

"Yeah it does."

"Doesn't."

"Does."

Gwen held up the costume between them and herded them all down the hall. "Thanks, I'd love to wear a sheet."

Hayden, trying to recover, pointed to it. "Technically she's naked."

Gwen did not want to be part of a conversation about what did and didn't constitute virginity, but… "Who's naked?"

"Venus!" Bryan pointed at Hayden. "Even I know that one. It’s where she's standing in that giant clam."

Jason’s eyes lit up. "With all the nymphos around her?"

Gwen watched Hayden recover as he got back on familiar footing, the guy who knows stuff, the one you call when you’re on a game show and the categories are history, art, science, math, and things Oprah says.

He cleared his throat. "Actually, it’s Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus, and I think you mean nymphs."

The boys were really expanding their horizons… clamshells, nymphos, Botticelli. "Well, never say a liberal education isn’t worth the money."

"She’s naked." Jason shrugged. "It’s not like a guy forgets that kind of thing."

Bryan lifted a hand to Jason. "Burned into our retinas."

Jason high-fived him. "In a good way."

She smiled at the whole dopey lot of them. "I'd hate to think there were things burned badly into your retinas. Come on, I'll follow you to the frat house, and we'll get you in." If she'd had sons she'd want three just as wonderful and ridiculous as the boys.





The kitchen was surprisingly well-equipped. It shouldn't have surprised her since it supported a nearly hundred member house. She'd been kabobing, stuffing grape leaves, crumbling feta, and smelling the now overly familiar aroma of lamb for what felt like hours. It was all made oddly perfect in a Greek house with her flowing white robe, belted with a gold girdle and matching a gold laurel leaf crown in her hair. If Venus cooked, and God knew women who were born with those kind of breasts on the half shell, did not cook... but if Venus did cook, they might have been friends.

Just beyond the kitchen’s swinging doors, she could hear the sounds from the main room. There'd been kegs rolled in the back door and through the kitchen for a good half-an-hour. And at some point in the late afternoon, a pledge shared part of a counter top with her as he sliced a mountain of fruit. It went into a new, she was told, plastic garbage can. She did not want to know what that was about. They were mostly underage she was sure, and the house was dry by every college standard, so she was going to distance herself from all things stirred in a garbage can. She couldn't be liable based on providing lamb. She just hoped no one got hurt.

She looked up from her kabob skewers to see her mother swing through the door. "Gwennie, they said I’d find you here."

"Who said you’d find me here?"

"The boys. They are dears. Can I help?"

"Is it another parent's weekend?"

"Unofficially. I came to check on my girls."

"You saw Missy?"

"Had lunch with her."

Gwen felt a squeeze of pain. She’d been left out again, out of her own daughter's life. Well, she was done worrying about it. Okay, soon she'd be done worrying about it. Dammit, she was never, ever going to stop worrying about it.

Ellen must have seen the sulk on her face and countered with her own sulk, delivered with far more skill. "She'll be fine. You'll be fine. Who the hell cares about me?"

Gwen walked around the island and hugged her. "Hi, Mom."

Ellen sniffed. "Lord, you smell like Mr. Telekronos. Now, what can I do?"

"I'm good right now, but in about an hour everything will be up, and I'll need to plate and stock the buffet table. I'll need every free hand then."

"Good, because Bryan's taking me to get a costume. He said I could come as a grandmother, but I said I’m not that kind of girl."

"Good for you. Get something sexy, Mom, like Lady Godiva or Britney Spears." Gwen could see her childhood pass before her eyes, the too blonde hair, the tricked-out cleavage. Her mother might not have changed, but thank god she’d had to slow down a little during the senior years.

"Lady who?"

Of course her mother would know who Britney Spears was. "Find an appropriate costume and come back in an hour. How’s that?"

"Yeah, Mom, I was actually kidding about the Britney Spears costume."

"You were actually sarcastic, and I’m not Britney Spears. I’m Hannah Montana, although I don’t have panties on, and that’s something Britney did, wasn’t it? In that cab that I saw on the internet. What’s with all the shaving? In my day--"

"Mom!"

"What?"

"No underwear?"

"The lines showed too much, Gwennie. It ruined the whole look. I wish I’d thought ahead and brought my tummy controller, but if wishes were horses we’d all ride."

Gwen stood in the kitchen, the smell of lamb and brimstone around her and studied her mother’s long flowing blonde wig and sparkly outfit, a black appliqué guitar on the overly tight T-shirt. "Is that a child’s costume?"

"Yes. The women’s outfits were all so suggestive."

"Oh, sure, because that one’s not."

"And I couldn’t wear a bra with any of the other costumes. They were like yours."

Her mom pointed to the top of her Venus robe, where the only thing between her and the gods was a sheet. It wasn’t like she had a choice. The boys had given it to her, and she didn’t want to hurt their feelings or their chances of getting into the fraternity, plus who owned a strapless bra beyond the prom years? "The straps showed."

"I know, dear. That’s why I didn’t get one myself. Or the girl devil costume. Even the angel one had feathery strings holding the top up. At my age you need a bra or you’re tucking them in your waistband."

Gwen grimaced. "Really?"

"No, honey, momma made a joke. You come from sturdy stock. My grandmother kept her breasts well above her navel until she was ninety-five. And look at yours. Middle-aged and they are just served up on a plate." She put her palms beneath her own breasts to demonstrate.

Her mom’s breasts were pretty good in her little t-shirt. Gwen shifted the laurel leaf around her middle and glanced down at her own. Not bad. "It’s the belt. I can’t lower it or it cuts into my hip bone."

She heard Max’s voice behind her, "On you, it works."

She closed her eyes and didn’t turn to face him. "Quit doing that. Why do you always do that?"

"I don’t do anything but exactly what I’m told to do. Don’t I, Mrs. Ciarrochi?"

"Yes, you do. You’re a good boy, Max."

"Thank you, Mrs. Ciarrochi."

Of course she’d been worried that Bryan would find Missy. The one who'd found her at eighteen was the prototype for all the Bryans of the world, all the charming and nice-enough boys, who would still leave you in a heartbeat.

Ellen motioned to the platters that were already filled and garnished. "Can we start taking these out?"

It brought Gwen's attention back to the job at hand. "Yeah, that would be great." She watched her mother leave and turned to Max, who was dressed in his own flowing robe and laurel leaf crown. "You let the boys pick out your costume, didn’t you?"

"I actually had this little number in my closet and thought it would be perfect for the evening. It’s like the tuxedo you never get to wear."

"Julius Caesar was murdered, you know."

"I am Mark Antony, who, I believe had way more sex with Cleopatra."

"I’m not Cleopatra."

"I know." He gazed longingly toward the door and sighed. "But she’s out there somewhere."

"Find her with a tray in your hand." She motioned to an ornate silver platter stacked with skewers of golden lamb studded with cherry tomatoes and green zucchini. "Just follow Mrs. Montana. You know the yes, Mrs. Montana, whatever you say, Mrs. Montana. I’m just the nicest boy that ever walked the planet, Mrs. Montana."

Max closed the distance between them in a blink, and she backed into the stove, considered for a second what burners had been on. She hoped the front ones had cooled because if she didn't lean back she'd be toga to toga with the man.

He bent his knees just enough to lower his face eye level with her throat, and she felt his deep breath in. "The cardamom is making me crazy."

She drew her eyebrows together and looked at the top of his head. "You know cardamom?"

"It’s one of the major spices in Greek cooking."

"Yeah, but--"

"We’re in a Greek house and… Oh, my god. You’re not wearing a bra are you?" He slipped his finger under the lone shoulder strap.

"I beg your--"

"If you beg then we are definitely not going to be serving any food this evening." He tipped his head to the right. "Pantry, now."

"Ha." She hoped he didn’t hear the little wobble in her voice. Ha was a pretty good bluff, and she didn't really have a choice. She’d stick a skewer in her eye before she let him know how much he affected her.

He played with the tie at the top of her shoulder. "What is it with you and these little bows?"

"That’s a knot, not a bow."

"You’re changing the subject."

"I am not. I’m cooking, and you are…"

"Making you hot?"

"Distracting me."

"I’ll take that." He stood to his full height, looked down, and her body leaned an inch closer to him in anticipation of the kiss.

She realized what she’d done and wanted to back up, but he’d spot a retreat. What he honed in on, unfortunately, were her breasts touching his chest, the sheet between them only a kind of invitation.

"Damn, your mom was right. They are right up there. Like they were being served up on a golden platter."

She realized he wasn’t going to kiss her at all. He’d been bluffing just to get a rise out of her. Well, she wouldn’t be a kabob led to slaughter twice. She punched his arm and felt great satisfaction when he jumped back and rubbed the spot.

"What did I do?"

"I have work to do."

"Oh, you thought I was going to kiss you, and now you’re mad?"

She dismissed him with an eye roll and turned back to garnish the remaining trays and get on with the rest of her life, a life in which she would stop being rejected by men. Max. Steve. Max again. My god, had her lone date in high school even called her after prom?

He shook his head, taunting her by not looking sorry at all. "That’s sweet. But I’m actually trying to control my sexual impulses."

He was making this her problem? For years she hadn’t even had sexual impulses. It wasn't like she was the one who was pursuing him, the arrogant, son of a ... she grabbed him and pushed him against the stove with her hips against his. "You call this move control?"

He swallowed. "I call it sexy as hell, come here." He leaned down to kiss her and-- "Ahhh!"

He spun around, and she could see a couple of tiny holes burned into the rear end of his toga. The edges glowed red for another second, but appeared to be going out on their own, and she wondered if karma was a Greek invention. Hubris was.

"Huh," she studied the burn holes and the pink splotches of exposed skin that probably wouldn’t blister. "Guess it was the front burner."

He tried to see his back end, turning around in the kitchen like a dog chasing its tail, and it was already her favorite Halloween.

"Don’t worry. There’s not much of your ass showing." She pointed to the counter. "And you can start with those trays, Mr. Antony."





Max's Life - November 13th, 1989 Saturday



The frat party was only supposed to be foreplay, not that they needed any more of it. But Gwen had pulled him into the completely dark TV room while everybody else was around the keg in the backyard, and he didn’t want any more fore. He just wanted play.

He’d barely survived the night before at the Curtis Hotel. After making out with Gwen for four hours in the hot pools, he'd ended up sharing a room with nothing but guys. God, it had been awful. First the slippery water, and he knew for a fact it was slippery since he’d gotten his hands on Gwen anywhere he could. And after the epic case of blue balls, he'd had no sleep with Rob, who damn well did snore, and Justin, who didn’t cry but did hog the blankets.

Across the room, he heard Gwen sigh and found her like he had sonar. He pulled her into his arms, and she tilted her head to the side in the way she did when she wanted him to kiss her neck. She was like vanilla and hot all rolled up in a tight package, and he could breathe her in all night.

He rushed a hand up her shirt, felt her nipple get hard against his fingertips, and remembered he had a condom in his back pocket. If they just kept the lights out and everybody stayed outside and--

The door opened, the overhead light fizzed on, and he looked into Gwen’s wide eyes before he turned to kill whoever was there.

"Yo, Max." Rob yelled like he was too drunk to hear himself and took a crooked step into the room. Dammit, the guy was too drunk to hear himself. "We’re playing quarters, man."

Shit. He could feel Gwen laugh a little against him. Didn’t Rob know the rules? A guy didn’t knock another guy off second base. It just wasn't done.

Gwen kissed him, a friendly one and not at all like the kind he’d gotten just a second before. She smiled. "I’ll see you around, Max Holter."

He leaned away from her, had to let her go whether he wanted to or not. And he sure-as-hell didn’t want to let her go, maybe ever. But he had things to do, starting with getting Rob out of there while the lightweight could still walk.

He tried not to be too pissed at the interruption. It's not like he'd meant to try anything with Gwen at the party. It was just that she had a roommate, and he had a roommate… But a frat house was a really stupid idea. He laughed at himself. An idea involved thinking, and even he could admit he wasn’t doing much of that when it came to Gwen.

"Man, why don’t you just do her and move on?" Rob tripped trying to walk into the room.

He was trying to, wasn’t he? He looked out into the hall, thought he saw Gwen heading out the back door and hoped she hadn’t heard Rob. She was better than that. She deserved better than that, better than him probably. "Hey, Rob, let’s check out your dorm."

Rob seemed to slowly take that in. "You think there’s a party, man?"

"Yeah, I think maybe there is." And with any luck, he’d get Rob in his own bed before the guy passed out or barfed or both.





Back to U…



She spent the next few hours re-loading the buffet table and receiving accolades from Chi Omikrons who came through the kitchen to thank her. She might have oversold the contribution of the boys, but she didn’t think it could hurt. And when the last kabob had left the kitchen, she wiped down the counters and headed out to grab her mother for the dorm.

The music had been loud even from the kitchen, but when she stepped out into the party, only the noise of the crowd greeted her. The band seemed to have gone on break, and the small stage at the far end of the room held an abandoned electric guitar, keyboard, and drum set. She wondered if it was the House’s house band.

Looking around, she could understand why the boys wanted to be fraternity men. It was an impressive party without the crude and complete chaos she’d remembered from her own time or two at a frat house event. They’d never served food at anything she’d been to. Maybe the Chi Omikrons were onto something, limiting a party to invitation only so they didn’t have wall to wall partying humanity. Still, there were plenty of people, and the costumes were great.

She could see the standard angels and devils, of course, but they stood near a Methuselah, green-faced with rubber snakes in her hair. The girl managed to look sexy, an important element for the girls and guys. No one was dressed as a circus clown or anything. There were lots of Mardi gras masks and cat masks and dirty old men masks. The senior citizen Hannah Montana would still pretty much win the costume award, but Mark Antony, she had to admit, looked damn good. Even the three peek holes to his glutes were impressive.

"Gwen!" Annie, dressed as a chicken, came up to her and gave her a hug. "I didn’t know you were here."

"I did the cooking." She looked around. "You came with the guys?"

"I came with Guy. He’s a pledge." Annie glowed with pride.

"Guy’s a Chi Omikron?" That boy was just full of surprises. He’d gotten into a fraternity that had rejected the other boys, and he didn’t even speak English. Plus, he’d been a big part of bringing Annie out of hiding. "That’s great."

"He wired the house with a new speaker system for the home theater. Do not go in there, incidentally." Annie’s eyes widened, and Gwen had a vague memory of being with Max in a TV room. "And it’s because of Guy that the band sounds so great."

Gwen tried to find Guy in the crowd and spotted two Jackie Chans, who weren’t even a tiny bit Chinese looking. There was a gorilla costume, and Guy could be hiding in there or in the astronaut suit, or behind the shower curtain. She didn’t even want to know what the boy wore under that one.

When Colonel Sanders put his arm around the chicken, Gwen knew it had to be Guy. It just didn’t look like him. White hair, white skin, long white mustache. Even the string tie and white suit weren't him, but when the man who brought the world Kentucky fried smiled, she recognized the goofy grin they all loved. "Good one, you two, have fun. I’m gonna get my mom and go. Be careful, okay?"

"Happy Halloween." Annie looked as happy in a chicken suit as anyone she’d ever seen.

"Happy Halloween."

"Oh," Annie pointed toward the bar area. "I saw your mom over there. Hannah Montana, right?"

"Yep."

"No underwear?"

Gwen cringed. "Yep."

Heading across the room, she spotted Ellen near the fruit-filled garbage can, which had to be some kind of crazy punch bowl. It took her a minute to navigate the crowd and tap her on the shoulder. "Hey, Mom, ready to go?"

Ellen didn’t look anywhere close to leaving. She stood at the center of an entertained group of college kids, regaling them, no doubt, with a hilarious story of some inappropriate activity from the decade their grandparents began their sex lives. And despite all the food Gwen had furnished for the party, her mother was eating a handful of battered and red-tinged orange slices.

A wide-eyed guy, appropriately wearing zombie bandages, turned to her. "This your mom?"

"Yes. Yes, she is, and we’re all very proud."

"Nobody’s ever eaten that much before."

Gwen looked toward the now empty buffet table. "That much what?" Lord knew what would happen to her mother’s digestive system if she’d consumed too much feta.

One of the sexy angel-winged girls pointed into the garbage can. "Jungle Juice."

Gwen leaned over and was hit by alcohol fumes. Her eyes watering, she held her breath to check the bottom, empty except for a tiny puddle of red liquid and two apple pieces. Great. Her mom had broken a fraternity record for consuming alcohol-pickled fruit. "Yeah, we’re gonna go now."

But before she had a good grip on her mother, she felt Mark Antony’s arm around her waist. "Dance with me."

"But my mom..."

Max raised an eyebrow like she could make a better excuse than that and pulled her onto the dance floor and close to him before she could get a good grip on herself. "Your mother is the wildest woman over seventy I know. She was the wildest woman over fifty when I first met her, and I can only imagine her sixties were dangerous as well."

Gwen sighed, tried not to enjoy being held by a Greek god. "They were."

She’d hoped her mother would be the responsible one in the mother/daughter relationship, but by the time she’d had her tenth birthday and Ellen had brought home her tenth dream date, Gwen knew she had to let that go. "A couple of years ago she slept with two men in her Bunco club. There was nearly a duel."

"I thought Bunco was played with dice."

"Played with dice in the Shriner’s Temple."

When Max seemed to wait for more information, she shrugged. "It’s an ancient Arabic order. They’ve got swords, mister. They’ve got swords."

Not that her mother required weapons to incite men to riot. There’d been a classic story in town about Ellen breaking up the marriage of the high school principal. Unfortunately, he’d been Gwen's high school principal. She should give her mother a little bit of credit, though, he'd had his own hair, and she’d never brought him home. Maybe that affair was one of those urban myths. Her mother’s sex life was the alligator in the public water system.

For the first time in her life, she felt oddly proud of that. One of them ought to have lived a little in their prime. But maybe prime was relative. She let herself notice Max’s shoulders, the muscles hard and rolling as he moved them through the slow dance. Okay, she was engaged in dance floor foreplay and officially in denial. But, god, she was glad the song was slow. She had no idea what it was. The singer, though…

She studied the small raised stage now that the musicians animated the instruments. There was the standard drummer, naturally not in costume, because that wouldn’t be cool. Two guitarists had come without costumes or maybe they were dressed up as guitarists. It was hard to tell since all the best ones had a certain Halloween-like quality. The lead singer wore a beaded mask with feathers of all colors pluming out the sides. Her gown was dark and flowing without much to call attention to itself, but the voice… The voice Gwen would know anywhere.

She would have stopped and just listened to Missy sing, but Max pulled her closer and dipped his head to nuzzle the side of her neck. She felt her body respond but knew the second Missy noticed her. Even with Missy’s eyes hidden, they weren’t hidden enough for Gwen to miss the sharpening, the disapproval no one would blame her for, least of all Gwen, who’d lived through it herself.

Max must have felt her stiffen in his arms and lifted his head to see her, his face concerned, his head tilted just enough to ask the question. And what would she say? She hadn’t considered that her past life and present one could meet up in a fraternity house. It felt awkward to her, at would be ten-fold for Missy, and even worse for Max, a man who had clearly chosen a life minus parenthood.

She hesitated then pointed to the stage. "That’s my daughter."

He followed her gesture, listened to Missy sing with what looked like great concentration, and for moments she waited until he turned back, smiling. "She has a great voice."

That was nice, a nice thing for him to say. She let herself enjoy the truth of it, really take in the effortless range Missy seemed to soar over, tempered with an edge of roughness. She had a little bit of hoarseness in her tone that gave her voice such character and depth. It was a great voice. Gwen had forgotten that during the trauma of Missy declaring she wasn’t going to college. She’d forgotten that Missy was good at something already. Her girl might just be one of the lucky ones who knew at eighteen exactly what she was supposed to do with herself, however hard that road might be.

Max brought her attention back. "So, I should keep my hands above your waist?"

She met his easy smile. "You definitely should."

He led them across the dance floor to where a mass of other dancers hid them from the stage, and she felt his hands move up from her waist, higher and higher on her back until they were at shoulder blade level. Then, very subtly, they began to shift forward. She saw exactly where his hands were going and so did he. "I see from this superior view that you are aware of my destination, and you approve."

Gwen looked down her toga. Yep, there was a lot of cleavage in there and two very pointed nipples. Great.

"Don’t worry. I’ll only admire them with my eyes until we can take our turn in the TV room."

She fussed with the front of her toga to put less skin and more sheet on view. "You’ll have to find another coed to fondle. I’m both older and wiser and working on setting a good example."

He looked at her with such seriousness he made the gold laurel leaf crown seem less ironic. "I don’t think I want to fondle anybody else in there."

"Oh." She felt a little rush at his confession. Then closed the oh of surprise her mouth had made.

He took advantage of her disorientation, pulled her closer, and she felt him whisper against her ear. "I’m amazed you’d play hard to get after last weekend. You were half-naked in my bed."

"My bed!" She studied the couples around her to make sure she hadn’t said it too loudly. "And I was fully clothed."

"Gwen," Max shook his head. "Right now you’re practically topless in a frat house, and I can feel your interest even as I speak."

She managed to pull back a quarter of an inch from his body. "It’s cold in here. And quit poking your nose in my interest."

He put a hand on his forehead. "That offer made me a little dizzy." He grabbed her and pulled her closer again. "Help me stay upright."

Her pelvis bumped the front of his toga. "You don’t have any problem keeping it upright." And to be fair, she didn’t have any problem with her own physical response to the man. Of course, her response was the problem, but maybe she owed him the truth. "Okay, it’s Halloween, time for honesty."

"Halloween is a time to pretend you’re someone else and threaten people for candy."

"I know that we had, uh, a really long time ago, a certain attraction, and maybe it’s just nostalgia or, I don’t know, psychology, chemistry, biology, but whatever, you know… attraction is going on. I just don’t think it’s... I know it’s not. It’s, well, inappropriate for us to have sex." She tilted her head back to see his response, but all she could see were his green eyes with that deadly mix of amusement and arousal.

"Are we having sex? I have got to pay more attention. A guy doesn’t want to miss an event like that."

She felt her lips thin. The least he could do was be as honest about it as she was. "You want to have sex with me."

"Is that a trick question? If I say no, will you leave me here on the dance floor? If I say yes are you going to egg my house?"

It wouldn't be a trick question for him, but it was a trick question for her. It surprised her how much she wanted to sleep with him. God help her she really did. She could have taken him earlier in the kitchen, right against the stove. If, logistically speaking, that was possible and the burner had completely cooled. But she was at Belmar to get on the path not taken, wasn’t she?

Her life had gone to hell twenty years before when she’d had sex with Max and fallen all the way in love with him. But maybe, maybe, the fork in the road really was sex with Max. And after she did that again, she’d take the right road from there.

"Gwen? You’ve got a strange look on your face. Seriously, is my house in danger?"

"I think we should have sex." She sucked a breath in, more than a little surprised she’d blurted it out. But, hell, everybody else got naked with everybody else just because they felt like it, her senior mother, her husband for crying out loud, why not her?

"You think?" Max’s voice cracked a little. "You think? I’m ready to drag you off this dance floor despite the fact that we’re in a frat house where people still do it in TV rooms and your daughter is there," he pointed to the stage. "Oh. Your girl is staring at us. It’s not affecting her singing at all, which says some very good things about her skill, but she is really checking me out, in a bad way I’m thinking."

Gwen glanced over her shoulder, but Missy looked away. "Yeah, I think that’s accurate. She’s confused. I’m confused."

She felt Max relax his grip on her, and she knew it was the end of the dance. He seemed to let out a long held breath. "Everyone wants their parents to stay together."

She wasn’t going to respond to that. It was one thing to have her daughter in the same room with the man from her own eighteen-year-old universe. She wasn’t going to bring her marriage onto the dance floor too.

He stepped away from her as the song ended, and she caught a glimpse of her mother. "Oh, shit!"

She ran across the dance floor, dodging dancers and bouncing off the back of a Jackie Chan. She stopped at the buffet table where Hannah Montana in all her glory stood. Ellen gripped a TV remote in her hand. God only knew what she’d done and with whom in the TV room. Gwen moved closer as Hannah opened her mouth to sing, flipped her mane of blonde hair over her shoulder, lost her balance, and fell backward.

Gwen could recall a couple of slow motion moments in her life. There was that snowball in the face in third grade. In high school, the moment her braces came off, and she thought all her self-esteem issues would leave in the blind of a straight white smile. There’d been the last time she’d seen Max when she still thought he’d come back to her. There was the moment the doctor lifted Missy up and said, it’s a girl. And there was her mother's fall.

She watched Ellen's upper half go backward, her expression a surprising one of hilarity, then her lower torso followed, somewhat horizontal as her feet flew up, and Gwen could see the bottoms of what should have been pretty grippy walking shoes.

The band was too loud for her to hear the crash on the other side of the table, but she heard the alarm of disaster in her head. She ran the rest of the way around the table, Max unnoticed beside her. She kneeled beside her mother, who lay with her eyes closed, so peaceful, too peaceful. "Mom! Mom!"

Ellen opened her eyes, smiled. "Gwennie," and reached out her hand for a lift.

Max moved in front of her and picked Ellen up very carefully under her armpits.

Gwen heard a moan then, loud enough to be heard over the music. Beneath her mother Hayden sprawled, his nose gushing blood. Gwen and a couple of fraternity brothers got him to his feet. She gave him a handful of napkins to staunch the flood, and he mumbled something that sounded like I’m okay, which was good. Then my nobe, my nobe is boken, which was bad. She turned to Max. "We’ve got to get him to the hospital."

"And your mother," Max had Ellen’s arm over his shoulders, her right foot lifted in the air, already swollen to twice its normal size. It looked so painful, and she’d thought Hayden had taken the entire brunt of the fall.

Max seemed to sense her panic and smiled. "TV room, emergency room, I’m good either way."

Gwen shook her head. "I’m afraid you are."