Sometime Soon

thirteen



After work on Thursday, I arrive at my parents’ house just before dinner, as requested. I stopped at home briefly to change out of my shorts and short-sleeved sweater and into a sleeveless dress. We’re all dressed up tonight since we’re crashing a black tie corporate event being held at the Marriot Hotel about a half an hour away. In honor of my presence at dinner, Mom serves some of my favorite dishes, telling me that I’m too thin and I don’t eat enough.

Between bites, I fill Mom in on the latest with Katie and Mike. She really is a good sounding board when it comes to talking about my friends. It’s only when my own personal life is the topic of conversation that I become uncomfortable. I also update them on the Napa buyout of BTS. I actually have a job interview scheduled for next week. It’s with a small local software company at their offices a few miles from where I work now. The job itself and the salary especially don’t sound very promising. But it will be good interview practice, and I can pop over on my lunch hour.

I notice that Dad, who was yawning when the topic of conversation was my friends, now hangs on my every word. With a mortgage to pay each month, he seems to worry about me more. He doesn’t talk much. He never has. And he hardly ever initiates a conversation, but these days he always seemed to ask, “Are you doing okay for money?” In turn, I always assure him that I am. I think he’s afraid that he’ll end up having to pay my mortgage in addition to his own. But I really am doing fine, and I even have a small, but growing savings account in case my job disappears.

The sun is slipping below the horizon when we finally pile into the car to head over to the hotel. From the darkness of the backseat, I watch headlights strobe by from the other lane. I always feel about thirteen-years-old when I sit in the backseat of my parents’ car.

Mom turns back to me from the passenger seat. “Laura said she wasn’t sure if you would be able to come with us tonight because you had a date.”

Laura is in serious trouble. “I didn’t have a date.”

“She said it was with the boy you got into a car accident with.”

I sigh. “It was supposed to be. Yes.”

“You didn’t cancel, did you?”

“No, he never called to arrange it.”

“Oh,” she says, her lips forming a tiny circle.

I see her thinking this over, and I’m not optimistic enough to believe she’ll drop it and turn back around. She is desperate for me to find someone. Here I am doing a favor for Laura, and she has broken the unspoken rule of never telling Mom about my private life. I want to absolutely strangle her. “Maybe something happened and he couldn’t call you,” she suggests after moment, raising her eyebrows at me.

“Maybe,” I said noncommittally.

“An emergency could have come up.”

“Anything is possible,” I smile grimly, desperate for a change in topic.

“You’re upset at him for not calling,” she states.

Despite my clipped monotone responses, she’s not taking the hint to drop the subject. I sigh again. “I’m not anything. I hardly know him. He said he would call and he didn’t. That’s all.”

“You could give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“Yes, I could.”

She narrows her eyes at my swift agreement, wondering if I’m being sarcastic with her. Of course, I am.

“Who is this?” Dad asks.

“No one,” I reply quickly.

He looks at Mom questioningly. She turns to him and puts on her long-suffering she’s your daughter expression.

We arrive at the hotel within ten minutes of our targeted time. A sign balanced on an easel inside the lobby doors of the Marriott points the way to the Winsted Corporation Annual Awards Dinner. The dinner has already taken place, and JB of JB and the Enthusiasts, whose name is actually Joe I’ve learned, has instructed my parents to arrive after nine to see the band. We can already hear the music as we approach the open doors of the function room. As we get closer, the melody of “New York, New York” becomes clear. Hovering in the doorway, we peer in at a typical hotel function room with crystal chandeliers, walls papered in shimmering gold, and round tables surrounding a parquet dance floor. To the left of the dance floor is a platform that serves as a stage for the band. The band has several pieces, including a horn section. Beside me, my dad is subtly swaying to the music. “Pretty good,” he comments, raising his voice to be heard. “New York, New York” is his kind of tune.

To the band’s credit, the dance floor is full. But its occupants appear to be Wall Street refugees who have been enjoying the open bar for several hours. Of course, Laura and Jonathan’s friends aren’t that different from this group. After “New York, New York” finishes, they go right into “What a Wonderful World.”

“They’re terrific.” Dad smiles at me.

“They’re the most expensive one on the list,” Mom comments, obviously not pleased that Dad likes them so much.

This dampens his enthusiasm.

“What do you think?” Mom asks me. We’re still standing in the doorway.

I am far from an expert on live music, but I know the playlist hasn’t interested me so far. I shrug noncommittally.

“They are pretty good,” she admits.

“Do they play any songs written in the last fifty years?” I ask. The entire band seems to be playing music from their own youth.

“You don’t think they’re contemporary enough?”

“They’re not contemporary at all.”

“Did you like the other band better, Jack?” she asks my dad.

He shakes his head. “Not particularly.”

“I can ask them if they play more contemporary music for the kids,” Mom offers.

“Good idea,” I answer, trying not to grin at the thought of Laura, Jonathan, and their friends being referred to as the kids. But I’m soon distracted from my thoughts when the band starts playing their next tune. The horn section suddenly comes alive, and the room buzzes with excitement as people pour onto the already crowded dance floor. I now recognize the song as “25 or 6 to 4” by Chicago.

I look to Mom and Dad for their reactions. Dad cringes and Mom put her hands to her ears. “Too loud,” she mouths.

At that point, they decide they’ve seen enough. If I had known we weren’t even going to enter the function room, I wouldn’t have changed into a dress.

“They were terrific up until that last song,” Dad muses once we’re back in the quiet of the parking lot.

My ears are still buzzing from the noise. “I thought they were great on the last song.” It may be a foolhardy move, but I’ve decided to go ahead and offer an opinion. “Did you see how the dance floor filled up? Everyone loved it.”

“It was awfully loud. Wasn’t it, Jack?” Mom asks with obvious distaste.

Dad nods.

“It looks like they can play different types of music though,” I offer.

“Those first two songs were great.” Dad softly hums “New York, New York” as he unlocks the car for us.

“We’ll have to decide if they’re worth the extra money,” Mom states. Then she turns to me and asks, “You’ll call Laura and tell her what you thought?”

“Sure. Would you like to tell me what I thought before I call her?”

I hear Dad chuckle.

Mom narrows her eyes at me--not the first time tonight. “Very funny, Andrea.”

Laura really has to try to see the humor in this process if she’s ever going to survive it.



Laura calls me from her car. It’s nearly eleven, and I’m about to call it a night.

“How was the closing?” I ask, stifling a yawn.

“Fine. No surprises. How was the band?”

“They were pretty good. Dad loved them until they belted out a loud Chicago song. Before that, they played some sedate Frank Sinatra and Louis Armstrong tunes. But I don’t think Mom liked them overall.”

“Well, that’s it then. They’re off the list. Glad I didn’t waste my time on them. Thank you for going.”

“My pleasure. Are you almost home?”

“Nearly there. Andy.” She hesitates before continuing. “I’m sorry Ryan didn’t call.”

“It’s no big deal,” I lie. “And I thought you knew better than to mention it to Mom.”

“When you weren’t sure if you could make it, I had to tell them something.”

“I just don’t want to be asked about it by Mom. Even if I never hear from Ryan again, she’ll be questioning me about him for the next decade.”

“Sorry,” she mutters weakly. “Can I ask you something without your getting mad or saying no right away?”

“No.”

“Andy, come on.”

“What is it?”

“There’s an attorney I’ve seen at a few closings. He’s very nice and smart and he’s single. I think you’d really like him.”

I switch off my bedside light, snuggle under the covers, and blink in the darkness until my eyes gradually adjust enough to discern the dark familiar shape of my bedroom. I feel Tiger curl up beside me. “Is there a question in there?” I ask.

“You know what the question is.”

I sigh. “Not interested.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not. Thanks anyway.”

“Andy,” she whines.

“Not now Laur. I’m tired, okay?”

“Okay, fine. But promise me you’ll think about it.”

“Fine. I’ll think about it.” I relent to end the conversation. “Good night and drive carefully.”

“I will. Your time will come, Andy. He’s out there somewhere,” she says softly, sounding disappointed for me.

A tight knot of frustration forms in my stomach, and I feel my anger bubbling to the surface. “Good night,” I repeat before ending the call.

I roll over abruptly and startle Tiger into jumping off the bed. I’ve made a successful career for myself. I’ve worked hard and bought my own home. I am generally a happy and contented person, but as far as my family is concerned, unless I get married and have a family of my own, I will never truly be successful. As for me, I can’t even begin to think about what I want. It’s as though I have no control over that part of my life. I’ve been dating for years. That’s the only part of my life in which I can’t manage to find success, and I’m afraid that if I let myself want it too badly it won’t be for the right reasons anymore. I believe that I’m actually happier when I’m not dating and being disappointed over and over again. What’s so bad about saying that I’m simply done for a while? I could take a dating sabbatical for a few years. I’ve really applied myself and I just can’t make it work right now. I can give up for a bit if I want to. Can’t I?

Sleep does not come as I lay there in the darkness in that place between slumber and wakefulness. It’s only when I purposely put those thoughts away that I finally drift off.