“Lisa,” Evan said.
“Lisa. It’s terrible to think what might have happened to Lisa.”
“Theirs not to reason why . . . ” her father said earnestly. Her father, now retired from teaching for ten-plus years, always had a line of poetry at the ready when he was without something of his own to say. She’d noticed that it had gotten worse since retirement, but he’d done it before, too. This particular “theirs not to reason why” had always been one of his go-to sentiments, an easy fallback, close enough to be relevant in most situations. Had he said it to her mother twenty years ago, after her cancer diagnosis?
“Really?” Claire said. “That’s all you’ve got?” She made sure she was smiling when she said it so that everyone would know she was not having a nervous breakdown but was merely being funny. “Already trotting out the Longfellow? It’s only six o’clock.”
“It’s Tennyson,” Evan said with his mouth full.
“That’s my boy,” her father said. He pointed his fork at her. “It is Tennyson. He’s been listening in class.”
“See?” Claire said to Mark. “Poetry—yet another talent. Maybe he could be an English major.”
?
When she’d finished putting away the leftovers—a job she happily accepted—Claire glanced into the living room. Mark and Evan and her father were watching a football game. Where was Nancy? She went upstairs to Meredith’s room. The door was two-thirds closed but she could see Nancy in there, sitting on the corner of Meredith’s bed petting the tolerant cat. Claire backed herself against the wall so she could listen without being seen.
“You’re lucky to have a sweet kitty,” Nancy said.
“Yeah,” Meredith said. Claire could only see Meredith’s feet, or the shape of them, under her blanket.
“I had a sweet kitty a long time ago, when the boys were still at home. Long, long ago. She was sweet but such a pest.”
“Yeah,” Meredith said.
“Once she spent the night in the car. She slipped in while we were taking out grocery bags and no one saw her. She tore up the backseat with her claws. You would have thought there was a bear in there.”
“Wow,” Meredith said.
A for effort, Claire thought. Just sit on the corner of that bed forever talking about your sweet kitty. Be my guest, Grandma. Just see how far you get. She knocked lightly on the door and stuck her head into the room.
“Anyone for pie?” she asked.
?
“When did you learn to cook like this?” her father asked, admiring the bite on his fork. “My god. This pie is extraordinary.”
“It’s from the bakery,” Claire said.
“Ah,” her father said.
“Someone call the baker,” Evan said. “Tell him Grandpa likes the pie.”
It was silent for a moment, until Nancy said, “I always say, why spend hours and hours baking a pie when you can get something everyone loves at a bakery.”
“No argument from me,” Mark said.
Claire was acutely aware that Nancy had spent the last eighteen years trying to make things up to her. She could not recall a single instance in the almost two decades where this woman across the table in her festive holiday sweater had been anything but supportive and friendly, about everything from childrearing to pie buying. It seemed to Claire now that their relationship had been one long, sustained apology, which was made doubly awful by the fact that they both knew very well that there was nothing to apologize for.
“And what are you all doing tomorrow?” Nancy asked.
“I’m going shopping with my friends,” Meredith said.
“You are?” Claire said. “With who?”
“With Becca.”
“Becca who?”
“Becca my friend Becca. Becca Nichols. You don’t need to quiz me. You just say yes.” Meredith smiled tightly, to indicate that she might be cleverly playing the role of the obnoxious teenager or she might actually be the obnoxious teenager. The line between the two, the role and the reality, was no longer visible. “No questioning necessary. Just a simple yes will do.”
The table was silent until Evan dramatically cleared his throat. “Let me just say, as the elder child: that’s probably not the best way to get the result you want.”
“I don’t even know this Becca,” Claire said. “I’ve never met her.”
Meredith glared at her. “She was at Lisa’s house the day you were there, so technically, yes, you have met her.”
She was emboldened somehow. Could this have been brought on by her grandparents? What exactly about her father and Nancy was emboldening? Had their empty, grandparent-ly platitudes, their kitty stories and their assurances—just like riding a bike!—given her some kind of bizarre confidence?
“We can talk about it later,” she said. “I don’t think this is the time.”
“Speaking of time,” Nancy said. “We have had a lo-o-o-ong day. But we’ll see you in the morning? I hope?”
“Probably not me,” Evan said. “I’ll be at the gym.”
“Well, I’m not going to be the person who stands between you and your workout,” her father said, standing. He shook Evan’s hand, as if Evan were a man who was now making manly decisions. Why don’t you ask him about college? Claire thought. Why don’t you ask him if he’s filled out any applications? Why don’t you suggest that instead of rolling a ball off the roof he spend a bit of time working on his personal statement?
After they’d gathered their coats and left, Claire went back into the kitchen and found Evan and Meredith still sitting at the dining-room table, Evan eating pie straight from the serving plate, Meredith making designs in the remnants of her dessert with the tines of her fork.
“Well, that was embarrassing,” Claire said.
“Agreed,” Meredith said, not looking up from the table.
“I hear that you’re angry,” Claire said, bracing herself against one of the dining-room chairs for support. “Okay? I hear that. What I don’t understand is why you’re so angry at me. You talk as if—”
“I have a life, okay?” Meredith said. “I have friends. I have things to do. I have plans. I don’t know why you can’t accept that.”
“I don’t know why you think I can’t accept that. All I said was that I didn’t know a certain person and—”
“Becca. Her name is Becca. Becca Nichols. She’s my best friend.”
“Since when?” Evan asked, finishing the last bite of pie.
“Since now,” Meredith said. “Since right this second. Since—”
“That’s fine,” Claire said. “I’m happy she’s your friend. I just don’t know why you—”
“Hey, let’s all cool down,” Mark said. He’d come in behind her and she sensed he was about to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, so she quickly took two steps to the right. “Let’s all just—”
“I don’t need to cool down,” she said. “I asked a perfectly reasonable question. I asked, ‘With who?’ I don’t think that’s an extraordinary thing to want to know. It’s just simple common sense that—”