Sometime Soon (17 page)

I examine the line when I arrive
and see Katie standing in the middle of it. As she turns to greet me, she
smacks the guy behind her with her oversized handbag. She looks great in a
spaghetti strap sundress with her hair pulled back in a high ponytail.

“Hey,” we say to each other in
greeting as we hug.

The man Katie hit with her handbag
glares at me as I get in line beside her.

“You look nice,” she tells me
smiling wide.

I’m wearing a tank top over a
flowery print skirt that stops just above my knees. I have my favorite
flip-flops on my feet and now that the humid summer air has dried up, the only
good thing about the impending fall season is that I can wear my hair down with
some confidence. The tight, frizzy curls of summer have loosened into shiny
waves, making my hair suddenly appear several inches longer. I always receive
compliments on my hair in the fall and winter. Unfortunately, they only serve
to confirm my belief that my hair looks terrible the rest of the year.

“You look great yourself.” I return
her compliment and mean it. “How was your doctor appointment?”

“Good, everything is fine. I
started my prenatal vitamins this morning.”

We shuffle forward a few inches
with the rest of the line.

“How do you feel? Any morning
sickness?”

She shakes her head; her ponytail
sways behind her. “Not yet. But it’s still early.”

The line shifts again, and we are
now inside the sandwich shop. The distinctive deli aroma, a combination of
pickles and salted meats, surrounds us. Katie leans in close to me. “I’m
telling him tonight,” she informs me quietly with a smile.

“Oh, great,” I say. Although, I’m
not sure whether it is or not.

“I’m too happy to keep this to
myself for another day. I have to tell him about the baby.”

I smile at her. Her joy is
contagious.

“No matter what Mike says or
thinks, I’m thrilled about the baby. That won’t change,” she declares.

Katie’s tune has evolved from
indecisive and insecure to optimistic and overjoyed. Perhaps the baby has
become more real for her now that she’s been to the doctor. I feel both
relieved and apprehensive for her.

The line inches forward again, and
it’s finally our turn. Katie orders a warm eggplant submarine sandwich because
pregnant ladies can’t eat deli meat she explains, something about catching
listeria. I choose to live on the edge and order a possibly listeria-laden
turkey on rye with lettuce, mustard, and a half-sour pickle on the side. We
have them bag our food and we walk toward the Commons, intending to sit on the
grass with our makeshift picnic.

“Mike said he might come by. I told
him we’d be by the swan boats,” Katie informs me.

“He’s in town?”

She nods, and her blonde ponytail
bounces behind her. “He’s at his office today.”

We find a shady spot that provides
a view of the swan boats. I haven’t been for a ride on a swan boat since grade
school. It’s calming to watch their slow, steady progression across the still
pond.

The grass is warm and soft beneath
us. The breeze forces us to anchor our napkins as we attempt to bite into our
oversized sandwiches. I want to ask Katie what she’ll do if Mike isn’t happy
about the baby, but I don’t want to dampen her mood.

As we eat, she inquires about the
state of my job, nodding her understanding of the situation. Then she asks if
I’ve seen Ryan again. Since Thursday I’ve been checking my cell phone for
messages far too often, still not quite believing that I’ve been blown off by
him. But there has been no sign of Ryan since our day at the beach. I tell
Katie that I haven’t seen him, and I redirect the conversation back to her. I’m
not really interested in talking about it. Talking about things never makes me
feel better about them. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Repressing my
feelings is what keeps me going most of the time.

I’m crumpling my empty sandwich bag
in my hands when Katie glances up and grins at someone behind me.

“Hello, ladies.” I hear.

“You found us,” Katie calls as she
hoists herself up.

I turn my head to find Mike
towering over me in a pair of casual, well-worn khakis and a short-sleeve
button-down shirt. His stylishly long, wheat-colored hair blows in the breeze.
His magnetism is palpable, and I notice that every female in the vicinity is
aware of him.

Katie kisses him and then pulls him
over to where she was sitting. Mike lowers himself onto the grass beside me.
  

“Hey, Andy.” He reaches across me
and tugs on my shoulder to bring me in for a cheek kiss.

I compliantly peck his scruffy
cheek, and then I pull back and smile my hello to him.

His hand lingers a moment longer as
he gives me a quick shoulder rub. Then he turns his attention to the remnants
of our lunch. “Where’s mine?” he asks.

Katie’s eyes go wide. “When I asked
you this morning, you told me not to get you anything because you weren’t sure
if you’d make it.”

Mike places his hands behind him on
the grass and he looks up into the clear sky. “I don’t remember saying that.”

Katie blinks her surprise at him.
“Well, you did. Do you want me to go get you something now?”

He shakes his head. “No, don’t
bother. But when you asked me to meet you in the park for lunch, I thought you
were bringing lunch.” He shrugs and closes his eyes as he soaks up the warm
rays of the sun.

Beside him, Katie’s hands are
clenched in her lap. “You must be hungry. Let’s walk back to the sandwich shop
and get you something,” she says as she begins to gather her things.

“I’m headed that way, too,” I offer
in an effort to help.

“Nah. I’ll just head back to the
office. I can grab something from the vending machine.”

 “That’s not lunch, Mike,” she
says. “Come on. The place is right there.”

“It’s fine,” he insists. “I really
didn’t have a lot of time anyway.” He stands suddenly and brushes at the seat
of his pants.

Katie and I stand, too, but I can
tell from the look on her face that she’s not finished. She is about to
continue arguing when Mike drives his point home by kissing me on the cheek again.

“Bye, Andy. Good to see you”

“You, too,” I reply hesitantly with
my eyes on Katie.

He turns and pecks her on the lips.
“See you at home,” he says before pushing his hands into his pockets and
sauntering back the way he came.

Katie sighs and shakes her head.
“He told me not to get him lunch.”

I nudge her shoulder with mine.
“Don’t feel badly. Your wires got crossed.”

“I guess.”

We toss away our trash and head
back toward Arlington Street. Katie is quiet. Her peppy mood from earlier has
all but disappeared. It was just lunch, but still, it feels as though Mike has
manipulated her into feeling this way. I want to talk to her about it. I want
to do some serious Mike bashing, but I won’t. Both her expression and her
current situation do not welcome any further commentary from me.

When we part ways that afternoon, I
hug Katie I and make her promise to call me tomorrow to let me know how Mike
takes the baby news.  

Barbecue day dawns clear and cool.
 The plan is to drive over to Laura and Jonathan’s apartment and then
leave together from there. Safety in numbers is the general idea. Making an
early escape is another idea.

Mom and Dad always encourage us to
invite our friends to the barbeque, but we know without asking that none of our
friends would be interested in attending. With mostly friends of my parents,
and relatives who suffer from various physical ailments and want nothing more
than to describe them in detail to us, my sister and
I
don’t even want
to be there, never mind torturing our friends.

“Will your mom have some backup
food this time?” Jonathan asks. He’s driving. Laura sits beside him and I’m in
the back.

“Maybe we can convince Dad to let
you man the grill this year,” Laura suggests.

This is Jonathan’s second appearance
at the barbecue. Last year, when he noticed my dad putting cooked hamburgers
back on the same plate he had retrieved them from when they were raw, his
half-eaten burger nearly made a reappearance.

“Please don’t suggest it,” Jonathan
pleads, a hint of panic in his voice.

“Okay, I won’t. Relax.” Laura
replies, sounding annoyed. From the backseat, I can picture her rolling her
eyes at him.

For some reason, Jonathan believes
that my father doesn’t like him. Jonathan is a friendly, gregarious person--as
is his entire family from what I can tell. He seems to think that because my
father never speaks to him or acknowledges him, that my father doesn’t like
him. We’ve explained that my father never really speaks to anyone, including
us, but that hasn’t changed his opinion.

Cars are already filling the
driveway when we arrive. We take a spot on the street, and I lead the way,
carrying the flowers we’ve bought for my mother. When I pull open the screen
door and step into the foyer, I can hear voices coming from the backyard, and I
smell something cooking that I can’t quite identify. We find my mother in the
steamy kitchen donning a white apron and looking frazzled.

“Hi,” I say, surprising her.

She turns abruptly, her
disingenuous smile disappearing once she realizes it’s us.

“What’s going on?” Laura asks
beside me.

Mom wipes a hand across her
forehead and places the spatula she’s been holding on the counter. I see pots
on the stove behind her. “Ask your father,” she scowls.

“What do you mean?”

She places a hand on her hip. “I
asked him to check the grill last week. Then I asked him again yesterday. With
everything going with the wedding, we haven’t had a chance to use it this
summer. So, I asked him to please check to make sure it was working. What do
you think he did?”

“He didn’t check it,” we mumble in
unison.

“No, he didn’t.”

“It’s not working,” I say
needlessly.

“Of course it isn’t!” She picks up
her spatula again.

“Do you want Jonathan to take a
look at it?” Laura offers.

“No, it doesn’t matter now.” She turns
back toward the stove. Obviously, the barbecue has moved inside. At least the
cooking part has. On the stove, hot dogs are boiling in one pot,
corn-on-the-cob in another. The hamburgers are sizzling inside the oven.

Quietly tiptoeing around Mom as though
she’ll ignite and explode if we get too close, we apply ourselves to helping.
Laura lifts a vat of potato salad and takes it outside. Jonathan follows
wordlessly. I put down the flowers and grab two soda bottles. Then I make my
way to the backyard.

 A handful of bridge tables
covered in red-checkered tablecloths are spread across the grass. People are
milling around with drinks in their hands. I spot Dad leaning against the
useless grill with an amber bottle of beer in his hand. The grill itself is a marvel
of modern technology. It’s a silver gargantuan covered in dials and indicators.
I’m surprised Dad can ever even work it at all.

I wade through a sea of cheek
kisses that I’m sure leave lip-shaped impressions all over my face. I field
questions about my job and my new townhouse, and I try to answer politely
without having to stop and chat for too long. Finally, I reach Dad. He’s
drinking his beer, his usual placid expression in place, but I can see that the
muscles around his mouth are tight.

“I hear you’re in the doghouse,” I
comment.

He shrugs. “I don’t see why we have
to have this barbecue every year. It’s too much work.”

“Not for you--today,” I say. Then I
narrow my eyes at him. “You didn’t sabotage the grill, did you?”

He laughs and shakes his head.

“Hello Laura. I hear
congratulations are in order.”

I turn to see Uncle Jerry squinting
at me. Laura is nowhere in sight.

“I’m Andrea.”

He appears confused for a moment,
but recovers quickly and grins at me. “Oh, Andrea. How are you?”
“I’m good. How are you?”

He purses his lips together. Above
them, a pair of thick glasses balance on the bridge of his red bulbous nose.
“You know. Doing the best I can.”

“That’s all any of us can do,” I
tell him.

“Don’t get old Andrea,” he instructs,
pointing a weathered crooked finger at me.

“It’s better than the alternative,”
I suggest.

Uncle Jerry blinks at me, looking
confused again behind his coke bottle glasses. He’s my dad’s uncle, which makes
him my great uncle. I glance over at Dad, trying to make eye contact with him,
hoping for a rescue. But he is oblivious to my discomfort as he takes another
pull on his beer.

“How’s Ashley?” I ask Uncle Jerry
after a brief conversation lull. Ashley is his twenty-something granddaughter,
rumored to have an alcohol problem, who never turns up to family events.

“Good. Very good. She’s working at
the registry of motor vehicles. Saving money to go to college.”
“That’s great.”

“She wants to be a teacher.”

“How nice.” I glance around,
thinking of a way to escape.

“Her boyfriend works for the
registry, too. He got her the job,” he continues.

“Oh, lucky for her.”

Uncle Jerry nods. “How about you?”
he asks.

“What about me?” I answer,
distracted as I spot Laura coming toward me.

“Have you got a boyfriend?”

“No,” I smile sweetly. “Excuse me.
I think my sister is looking for me.” I turn before leaving and say, “Hey Dad,
did you know that Ashley is now working for the registry of motor vehicles?”
Uncle Jerry moves toward him, more than happy to expound on the topic. That’s
when I grab Laura’s elbow and turn back to the house with her. “Good timing,” I
whisper.

“Mom wants us to cut up the fruit
for her.”