“I’m not really supposed to drink, because I’m on medications and—”
“Beer,” Ronnie says, and then we are drinking beers on his deck as Emily sits in her father’s lap and sucks on a bottle filled with watered-down apple juice.
“It’s good to have a beer with you,” Ronnie says, just before clinking his Yuengling Lager bottle against mine.
“Who’s coming over for dinner?”
“Veronica’s sister, Tiffany.”
“Tiffany and Tommy?” I say, remembering Tiffany’s husband from Ronnie and Veronica’s wedding.
“Just Tiffany.”
“Where’s Tommy?”
Ronnie takes a long swig of his beer, looks up at the setting sun, and says, “Tommy died some time ago.”
“What?” I say, because I hadn’t heard. “God, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Just make sure you don’t bring up Tommy tonight, okay?”
“Sure,” I say, and then drink a few large gulps of my beer. “So how did he die?”
“How did who die?” says a woman’s voice.
“Hi, Tiffany,” Ronnie says, and suddenly she is standing with us on the porch. Tiffany’s wearing a black evening dress, heels, and a diamond necklace, and her makeup and hair look too perfect to me—as if she is trying too hard to look attractive, like old ladies sometimes do. “You remember Pat, right?”
I stand, and as we shake hands, the way Tiffany looks into my eyes makes me feel really funny.
We move back into the house, and after some small talk, Tiffany and I are left alone on opposite ends of the living-room couch as Veronica finishes cooking the meal and Ronnie puts Emily to bed.
“You look very pretty tonight,” I say when the silence grows awkward.
Before apart time began, I never ever complimented Nikki on her looks, and I think this really hurt her self-esteem. I figure I can now practice complimenting women on their looks so it will come naturally to me when Nikki returns, although Tiffany really does look pretty, even if she is trying too hard with the makeup. She is a few years older than me, but has a fit body and long, silky black hair.
“What happened to your cheek?” Tiffany asks without looking at me.
“Weight-lifting accident.”
She just stares at her hands, which are folded in her lap. Her nails have been recently painted a blood red.
“So where are you working now?” I say, thinking this is a safe question.
Her nose crinkles, as if I had farted. “I got fired from my job a few months ago.”
“Why?”
“Does it really matter?” she says, then stands and walks into the kitchen.
I down the remainder of my second beer and wait for Ronnie to come back.
Dinner is elegant, with candles going and fancy plates and special silverware, but awkward, as Tiffany and I are completely silent while Veronica and Ronnie talk about us as if we aren’t there.
“Pat is a big history buff. He knows everything about every single U.S. president. Go ahead. Ask him anything,” Ronnie says.
When Tiffany fails to look up from her food, Veronica says, “My sister is a modern dancer and has a recital in two months. You should see her dance, Pat. So beautiful. My God, I wish I could dance like my sister. If she allows us this year, we’re all going to her recital, and you should definitely come with us.”
I nod carefully when Tiffany looks up for my response, thinking I’ll go just so I can practice being kind. Also, Nikki would probably want to go to a dance recital, and I want to do the things Nikki likes from now on.
“Pat and I are going to work out together,” Ronnie says. “Look how fit my buddy is. He puts me to shame. I need to get in that basement with you, Pat.”
“Tiffany loves the shore, don’t you, Tiff? The four of us should take Emily to the beach one weekend in September after the crowds have left. We could have a picnic. Do you like picnics, Pat? Tiffany loves picnics. Don’t you, Tiff?”
Ronnie and Veronica trade facts about their guests for almost fifteen minutes straight, and then finally there’s a lull, so I ask if any of them knows anything about the Vet being imploded, and to my surprise Ronnie and Veronica both confirm that it was demolished years ago, just like my father said, which worries me tremendously because I have no memory of this or the years that have supposedly transpired since. I think about asking how long ago Emily was born, because I remember getting a letter and picture from Ronnie soon after her birth, but I get scared and do not ask.
“I hate football,” Tiffany offers. “More than anything in the world.”
And then we all eat without saying anything for a while.