Learning to Swim (12 page)

“Girls,” Alice said loudly, breaking up the fight before things got ugly. “We should finish up and go.”

“Is that all you're eating?” Doris looked at Alice's plate.

But the question was rhetorical. We knew there was absolutely no chance that Alice (or any of us, for that matter) wouldn't go back for seconds, thirds, and fourths. Because that was what we did. We'd get tiny portions and then go back for “a little bit more.” And then a little bit more. And then just another bite (after all, we might as well get our money's worth). There was a lot of talk about how we weren't going to eat lunch the next day, and sometimes we'd even talk about how we weren't going to eat lunch
or
dinner. And then we'd go back and get dessert.

“I'm just not that hungry,” Alice replied.

We all sat there, too stunned to reply. Doris broke our silence. “You'd think you were the one in love, instead of Steffie.”

My ears perked up. How did we get back on that subject? I looked at Alice for help, but she was studying her noodles as if they had suddenly turned into a plate of worms.

“I think they put too much pepper in here,” Alice said, horrified.

“Then go get another plate,” I suggested.

Alice shook her head, just like I knew she would. Alice
hated
to waste food. One thing I learned from sharing so many meals with Alice was that I needed to finish whatever was on my plate. She wouldn't actually force-feed me, but if I didn't gobble everything up, she'd just look so upset that I'd will myself to finish. It was kind of confusing because my mother encouraged me to do just the opposite.
“It's a great way to manage your weight,”
Barbie had once said.
“Don't deprive yourself of anything, just take two bites and throw the rest out.”

“I just can't get over the fact that our little Steffie is in love with Mora's boyfriend.” Doris shook her head and chomped down on a piece of broccoli. A tiny piece of it got caught in her dentures. “My, my, my.”

“I'm not in love with anyone's boyfriend.” I jabbed at my egg roll with my fork.

“I can't eat this,” Alice said as she began to cough. She tapped her chest and said, “It's so peppery, I can barely breathe.”

“Then go get something else,” I repeated, mildly annoyed. I mean, I knew Alice hated to waste food and
all, but hello? Didn't she notice that I was getting the third degree? I could have used some assistance.

“I never understood what Keith saw in Mora in the first place,” Doris said. She spent a lot of time at Tippecanoe playing Yahtzee and gossiping with a group of widows Alice called the Gold Rush Girls (because they were around at the time of the gold rush—ha!).

“No one did,” Thelma added as she sipped on some wonton soup.

“Why did they put all that pepper in there?” Alice groaned. “They ruined it!”

Doris ignored Alice. “I say: Good for you!” she exclaimed.

Thelma applauded.

“For the last time,” I said. “It was a swim meet. Not an invitation to the prom.”

Everyone just stared at me. Everyone but Alice, who was still looking at her plate.

“If he asks me again, I'll go.” I took another bite of lo mein.

“
If
he asks again,” Thelma said.

“What do you mean,
if he asks
?” I choked on a noodle.

“Well, you did turn him down,” Doris said. “And you know men. Their egos are—”

“Fragile,” Thelma interrupted.

I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Maybe these wacky old broads were right. Maybe Keith
would never ask me out again. Ever. “What do you think, Alice?” I asked. “Do you think he'll ask me out again?”

But Alice wasn't paying attention to me. She was fiddling with her chopsticks, looking as if she might cry.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“I'm sorry, girls,” she mumbled. “But I think I'm going to go home.”

“But we haven't even played bingo yet!” I said.

“I know, but I…” She stopped and looked at me. “I'm just feeling a little tired tonight.”

“But Alice, it's bingo night,” I whined.

“You don't have to go home by yourself,” Doris said. “We can all go. We don't have to play bingo.”

I had turned down an opportunity to hang out with Keith for
this
?

“No,” Alice insisted. “Please stay and have fun. I'll be perfectly fine.” Then she turned to Thelma and said, “Would you mind driving Steffie home?”

“Maybe some more iced tea would perk you up,” I suggested helpfully to Alice.

She shot me a weak smile as she rose from the table. “Win a round for me tonight, okay? I'll see you tomorrow at work.”

As Alice walked out, I put down my fork, suffering from a sudden sense of déjà vu.

“What was that all about?” I asked Thelma.

Thelma just shrugged. “That's Alice for you.”

But that wasn't Alice. At least, not the Alice I knew. I was going through kind of a hard time here. I needed her. Why would she just up and leave because she was feeling tired? And suddenly I realized where all that déjà vu was coming from. This was something Barbie would have done.

“Well,” Doris said in a forced cheery voice. “Should we check out the desserts before we go?” But even though they had some really good-looking trifle desserts (I loved vanilla pudding and I loved yellow cake— especially when they were mixed together), I had only one serving.

After dinner, the three of us piled into Thelma's fancy schmancy black Lincoln sedan and drove to the bingo hall. It definitely was not as good as being with Keith, but as I had mentioned, I liked bingo. Each player donated one dollar to the winner's till, and there were always at least a hundred people, so this was serious business. I'd had amazing luck and had won five games out of the twenty we'd played.

The three of us staked out a spot as the ladies talked about Roy Gilroy, the bingo director. A small man with a walrus mustache, Roy was the Keith McKnight of the Alice generation. Roy took his seat on a director's chair and began pulling letters out of the big black box in front of him. When Alice, Doris, Thelma, or I won, it was a big deal, but if we lost, it was a
really big
sucktastic
deal. And wouldn't you know it, we lost. Every single one of us.

Unfortunately for me, my night was about to get worse. Much worse.

Because when I walked into my apartment, I was welcomed home by the sight of my mother making out with none other than Ludwig van Beethoven.

She was standing in the main entrance, hungrily kissing him as if his lips were covered in Cheesy Nacho Hamburger Helper. I knew I should've just been thankful that they both had their clothes on. Unfortunately for them, however, I wasn't feeling grateful.

“Steffie!” Barbie untangled herself and tucked her almost sheer black blouse into her snug jeans. “You're back early!”

Ludwig was tall and attractive, with blue eyes and thick black hair peppered with gray. He kept his cool, nodding as I gave him the once-over. “You must be Steffie,” he said, sticking out his hand.

I thought about dissing him and shoving my hand in my pocket, but unfortunately, I thought about it after I had already shaken his. I was relieved to discover that he had a nice firm handshake, not clammy or sweaty.

“I'm Tom,” he said, stopping short of giving his last name.

“Hi,” I said tersely.

He let go of my hand quickly. “I should get going.”

“I'll walk you out,” my mom said while escorting him to his car.

I felt my face go hot. Sure, there had to be a first time for everything, but did I really have to meet one of my mother's boyfriends that night? I was having a hard enough time with my own love lunacy problems.

“So how was bingo?” my mother asked, reappearing a few minutes later with her blouse untucked once again.

It was as clear as Scotch tape that Barbie was an optimist. Case in point: thinking that there was a chance of my
not
mentioning that I had just interrupted a giant smooching session was damn near crazy optimistic.

“It sucked,” I replied.

“Oh no!” Barbie was trying to act disappointed, but it was such a big crock. My mom hated my bingo nights. At first she'd thought it was kind of funny that I was playing bingo at the senior center, but then when I started really getting into it, she began to get annoyed. On bingo nights, she'd started offering to take me to the movies or out to dinner at the Red Lobster (I had a thing for their hush puppies) just so I'd cancel. But it hadn't worked because, as I'd explained to her, I needed to make my own friends. She'd replied
that she wanted me to make my own friends too, which was why she didn't like to see me hanging out with a bunch of “grandmas.”

“The whole apartment reeks of Polo Sport,” I announced. Barbie started tidying up the pillows on the couch and ignored me. So I got right in her face. “I hope he didn't hurry off on my account. Was his wife expecting him home? Did he need to go back and tuck his kids into bed?”

“Don't start, Steffie,” she said quietly.

Just go to bed
, I commanded myself. After all, did I really want to get into a big fight with her tonight? “In the future,” I said, “I'd appreciate it if you didn't bring your men around here.”

“My
men
?” Barbie said.

Normally I would've had enough common sense to abort. But again, I was in a terrible mood. Maybe a big blowout fight was just what I needed.

“It makes me sick to think about them, never mind meet them,” I said through gritted teeth.

My mother glared at me and crossed her arms. “Well, I would think you, of all people, would be willing to cut me some slack. Especially considering your present situation.”

I stopped still. “What present situation?”

“Oh, please, Steffie. Everyone at the club knows you have the hots for Mora Cooper's boyfriend.”

“That's ridiculous!” I forced a laugh (which came out sounding like a crazy cackle).

Barbie stared me down. “Then why did Mora throw a drink at you?”

I was speechless. How had this confrontation ended up being about me and my love life? “Mora happened to spill her drink while I was there. I cleaned it up. It's what I'm hired to do. End of subject.”

“You're not interested in Keith McKnight?” she asked, peering at me suspiciously.

At times like these, I really wished I was a better liar. I just stood there, trying to shake my head.

My mother exhaled long and slow. “All these years, when you kept asking me why I dated married men and I kept telling you that you can't control who you love…”

“This isn't like that,” I said quickly.

“Of course not. Because now it's happening to you.”

“I don't have to put up with this,” I said. And then, just to make it crystal clear, I spun around and headed for the door. “I'm leaving.”

“Don't you dare walk out on me, young lady!” Barbie yelled.

I slammed the door behind me and jumped on my bike. I pedaled to Alice's house as fast as I could, tears stinging my eyes block after block. How could my mother act as if she had done nothing wrong? How
could she be so blasé about screwing with my life? How could she accuse me of making the same mistake she had made over and over again? I pulled into Alice's front yard and jumped off my bike.

“Alice!” I called out as I banged on the door.

Just then, headlights filled the driveway as a car pulled in front of me. I squinted against the glare as Keith stepped out of his Lexus in all his button-down-shirt and relaxed-jeans glory. His sudden arrival caught me by surprise and was enough to make me momentarily forget all my problems with Barbie. (It was, quite frankly, enough to make me forget about everything.) “What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I just took Alice to Thelma's,” he said. “She was worried that she had forgotten to lock the back door, so I told her I'd come back and check it.”

“Alice called you and asked you to take her to Thelma's?” I said, surprised.

“I stopped by to ask her if she wanted me to trim her hedges this week, and she said she needed to go to Thelma's and she couldn't drive her car. Maybe there's something wrong with it.” He shrugged and took a step closer. “Are you okay? You look upset.”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” I said, wiping my eyes.

He paused for a moment and then said, “Want to walk around back with me? I have to check that door.”

I nodded and followed him around the side of the
house. The full moon reflected off the creek, cloaking everything in a soft, surreal glow.

“How was bingo?” he asked.

Bingo? It seemed like a million years ago. “Good,” I said as he tugged on the door.

“Locked.” He motioned toward the white patio chairs on the back porch. “Want to sit down for a minute?” he asked.

I shrugged and plopped down on the hard, cool plastic.

He took a seat beside me. “Are you sure you're okay?”

I sighed and said, “I just met my mother's boyfriend.”

Keith winced. “Yikes. Not good, huh?”

I was so anxious I couldn't stop my teeth from chattering. “I just… I don't understand how my mother can do this. He has a wife.”

“Maybe things with his wife aren't great.”

I looked at him, surprised. Was he defending my mother's affair? “So what? It doesn't make it right. The woman is a professional home wrecker.”

Keith sighed. “I don't know, Stef. I think it's more complicated than that. Maybe this guy hasn't been happy for a long time and when he met your mother, she made him realize just how unhappy he was.”

“So why doesn't he divorce his wife?”

“Who knows? Perhaps he will.”

I bowed my head in submission. “Great, then I'll have a cheater for a stepfather.”

“That's pretty harsh. He could be a good guy. Maybe he didn't plan on any of this. Sometimes life just takes you by surprise, you know? You have everything all planned out, and then you meet someone and then crap happens.”

The weird thing was that by the sound of Keith's voice, he didn't seem to be talking about my mother anymore. It felt as though he was talking about us.

“You don't understand,” I said, looking up and returning his gaze. “She does this all the time. And she always gets hurt. I can't watch her do this to herself again.”