Taking Chances (6 page)

“Who said I was taking yours?” Maggie joked. She draped both coats over her arm and left the kitchen.

Patrick took my hand. “Don’t be nervous, okay?”

“I’m not,” I lied.

“Good.”

We left the kitchen the same way Maggie had, but turned right. The long carpet-lined hallway ended at a curved arch that served as the entry to the dining room. Both of his parents had their backs to us when we approached. The carpet had muffled our footsteps. They were examining the contents of the top drawer of a china cabinet.

“Sean, you take the silverware and I’ll get the napkins.” Patrick’s mother handed his father a large, black velvet silverware box. He accepted it and noticed us standing in the doorway. 

“Hey, Dad.”

Mrs. Murphy turned from the cabinet holding white cloth napkins. She dropped them on the large mahogany table when she saw us.

“Finally, Patrick! Come here.”

We advanced into the room and made our way around the table so that Patrick could greet his parents properly. His mother hugged and kissed him on both cheeks. His father shook his hand and gave him a brief hug. It was obvious where Maggie got her red hair and figure. She and Mrs. Murphy looked remarkably alike. Mrs. Murphy had her red hair tied back at the nape of her neck and wore an apron over dark slacks and a white blouse.

She and Patrick had the same eyes, but he looked more like his father. Mr. Murphy was tall and broad with dark hair that, like his wife’s, was peppered with gray. As their eyes traveled from Patrick to me I noticed their surprise. Brief, but surprise nonetheless. I gave myself a silent reminder to kill Patrick later.

“Mom and Dad, this is my girlfriend, Chloe.”

Mr. Murphy recovered first. “It’s good to finally meet you, Chloe.”

“You too. Thanks for having me.”

Mrs. Murphy smiled, but still didn’t seem to be over the initial shock. “It’s not a problem. Nice to have you here. Patrick has told us many good things about you.” She then gave her son a look that clearly stated he hadn’t told quite enough. If Patrick noticed the look it didn’t show.

Mrs. Murphy refused any and all help in setting the silverware and napkins around the table and instead suggested we head out to the backyard to see the rest of the family. The remaining introductions were a blur and I had trouble keeping everyone straight. Thomas and Kellam were both firefighters, similar in look and build to their dad and Patrick, and married with a teenage son each. Their wives, Mary and Nicole, were nice enough and we exchanged small talk while the men talked football.

At some point Catherine had arrived and it turned out she and Maggie were identical twins except Catherine wore her red hair cut short. She was, by far, my favorite.

“Call me Cate,” she’d said after hugging me like we were old friends.

I was in the family room watching as Liam played with the kids across the room when Cate approached. 

“I love my nephews, but I’m around children all day as a pediatrician. Mind if I hang out here?” Before I could respond she’d already sat down next to me on the loveseat, handing me a glass of wine.

Cate visibly shuddered and took a healthy sip of her wine every time the twins squealed with laughter. Liam was the sole male redhead in the family. He was short and stocky and stood apart from the rest of his siblings. Liam seemed to be more outgoing than the rest. We’d only had time to exchange a few small pleasantries before his nephews were begging him to play. It was easy to see why they were so anxious for his attention. He was like a big kid himself, rolling around the family room making animal noises. 

Cate leaned towards me and whispered, “I’m telling you, out of the four of us left, Liam will be the next one to have children.  It sure won’t be me and my parents would shit kittens if it were Charlotte. Have you met Charlotte yet?”

“Uh, yes,” I replied, taking a big sip of my own wine to keep from saying any more. Loud shrieking from the twins distracted Cate from asking another question. She jumped at the noise and spilled her wine. 

“Yeah, definitely won’t be me. Are you and Patrick…?” She left the question in the air and it took me a moment to figure out where she was going with it. 

“Oh! No. We just started. I mean, we’re not—”

Cate let out a loud belly laugh. “I’m just teasing you. Relax. Though it is good practice for the inquisition I’m sure will be coming from my mother. I think when she was a little girl all she wanted to be when she grew up was a grandmother. Trust me, by the time you leave she’ll already have your wedding dress picked out and be trying to shove prenatal vitamins down your throat.  Better you than me. So let me officially thank you for showing up to this family gathering and taking the pressure off yours truly.”

Somehow, I seriously doubted I needed to worry about that. Everyone seemed very cordial towards me, and I felt at ease except whenever Mrs. Murphy entered the room. She barely spoke to me and, when she did, it seemed she had trouble looking me in the eye. She’d thanked me for the muffins and sat the box next to several cooling pies before declining my offer for help in the kitchen.

I felt uncomfortable, but didn’t want to read too much into it. Instead, I concentrated on getting to know everyone else. Mr. Murphy appeared very interested in my work at Braxton and Lloyd and listened intently as I explained what I did. He reminded me of Patrick in that he took a genuine interest in what you had to say. I noticed he was like that with each of his kids as well. I was standing near the fireplace, speaking with Thomas’s wife Mary, when Mrs. Murphy announced dinner would be served in ten minutes.

A familiar voice behind me whispered, “We gotta stop meeting like this.”

I turned and there was Paul smiling back at me. Relief at seeing a familiar face draped over me. I might have even audibly sighed as I hugged him hello.

“Chloe, this is my mother Virginia.”

Paul’s mother was a thin woman with brown hair and she strongly resembled Paul. “Nice to meet you. Paul told me what a wonderful time he had with you and your family yesterday.”

“Oh, it was great to have him over. I’m glad you had fun,” I said, turning back to Paul.

“Chloe, come with me out to the car? I left the cake.”

“Sure.”

Paul and I exited out the front door and headed for a minivan parked at the curb.

“I did that on purpose, left the cake in the car. I just had to find out what you thought of the Murphys and I knew I needed to get you alone to do that.”

I laughed loudly and was even more grateful Paul was there. We walked around the far side of the van and leaned against it so anyone watching from the house couldn’t see us. Like two kids, we began to gossip.

“Well, to be honest, I’m having trouble keeping up with names.  Maggie and her boys are kind of easy to remember because they all start with M.”

“Yeah, her husband’s name is Mitchell, but he probably won’t be here. Theresa told my mother that they were having problems. What do you think of everyone else?”

“Cate is a blast. She’s so funny. I really like her.”

“Yeah, she’s my favorite. After Patrick, of course.”

“Of course. Liam seems nice. We haven’t spoken that much though. I can’t get a read on the older brothers.”

“Hmmm, Tommy and Kellam. I never really had a chance to get to know them that well. They were already grown and out the house when we were growing up. Has anyone mentioned Charlotte yet?”

“Not really and it’s so weird. It’s like you would think someone would ask where she’s at or if she’s coming. Aside from Cate asking if I’d met her, it’s like she doesn’t exist.”

“Well, according to my mother, Theresa’s in denial. She really believes that Charlotte is just extremely busy with school. That’s how she is, though. She likes to put a nice shine on shit, as my father used to say. For instance, this whole thing with Maggie and her husband—she insists that it’s no big deal, but everyone has seen him around town with another woman, a younger one at that.”

“You are too much!”

“I am a journalist, you know. It’s in my blood. Now come on, let’s get back in there before they miss us.”

As we made our way back inside, I asked myself why I hadn’t admitted to Paul the arctic chill I felt from Patrick’s mother. By the time we sat down to eat I’d decided that gossiping about the family was one thing, but admitting that Mrs. Murphy didn’t care for me was another entirely. I didn’t even want to admit the possibility to myself, and was holding out hope that it was all my over-active imagination. 

Sitting between Patrick and Paul at dinner I didn’t have time to give it further thought. The meal was wonderful; lots of traditional Irish dishes I’d never heard of, like colcannon, oyster stuffing, and black pudding, plus the traditional Thanksgiving fare. My earlier impressions seemed to hold true; Cate was still the funniest and most easygoing, followed by Liam, who offered to give Patrick and me a ride home as he had plans to meet some friends in the city later that evening.

“It’s a shame Charlotte couldn’t make it.” Patrick’s mother said. “I suppose school is keeping her quite busy.”

I could feel Patrick tense next to me as he looked down the table at his parents; his mother was transfixed on her plate and Mr. Murphy had reached over to place a hand on her shoulder. Everyone else at the table seemed to be occupied with the food on their plates as well. No one was willing to point out the obvious: no matter how busy Charlotte might be with school, it was Thanksgiving break and she should have been there.

Once the subject was changed and the conversation could drown out what he was saying, Paul leaned over and whispered, “Denial flows at this table more than the gravy.”

He wasn’t kidding. Patrick seemed to have lost his appetite and I knew he was worrying about the news he had to break regarding Charlotte. I reached under the table and held his hand. He squeezed mine in return and smiled. It was a nice moment totally ruined by the strained look on Mrs. Murphy’s face as she noticed.

After dinner most everyone gathered in the family room to watch the home videos of Thomas’s most recent vacation with his wife and son. Paul’s mother had decided she was ready to call it an evening and asked Paul if he’d mind driving her home.

“Chloe, want to ride with me? It may give Patrick a chance to talk about that which remains unspoken, if you know what I mean.”

I excused myself to find Patrick to let him know I’d be leaving. Just as I was about to enter the kitchen, hearing my own name made me pause.

“So, you don’t like Chloe?” I heard Patrick ask. His voice sounded tense.

“It’s not that I don’t like her. I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell us she was… African American,” his mother said.

“Because I didn’t think it would matter. Does it?”

I knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help it. They were talking about me, so I justified to myself that it somewhat acceptable.

“Of course it matters.” Her answer shocked not only me, but Patrick as well as I heard him gasp.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m being realistic. Stop looking at me like I’m some kind of… racist.”

“You said it, not me.”

“Patrick! What has gotten into you? Since when do you talk to me that way?”

“Since I come home with my girlfriend, who happens to be an amazing girl, and you feel the need to pull me in the kitchen and ask if I’d considered the consequences of such an inappropriate relationship. That is how you put it, isn’t it? Inappropriate relationship?”

“If you would just let me explain. I’m sure she’s a nice girl. It’s just I want the best for you and—“