Wilson Mooney Eighteen at Last (13 page)

“
Oh, sweetie, you okay? I
don’t want you choking on your birthday.” Nancy pointed at my
glass.

Camille kept stuffing her face while
Frank stood up, ready to save me if I didn’t get a handle on the
situation.

“
You okay?” Max asked as
he rubbed his hand across my back.

“
I’m okay, too big of a
bite,” I said with a raspy voice. My eyes were watering, and I
could feel my face flush red.

It was beyond me that she
went and ordered food from Italy.
How do
you even go about doing that?
I took
several gulps of my water before I could speak clearly.

“
You ordered the ravioli
from another country?” I asked, breathless.

“
Oh no, sweetie, I
actually ordered them from Il Mulino, downtown,” Nancy
said.

“
These aren’t even
available on their regular menu. But that’s Mom—able to charm
anyone into doing what she wants,” Camille said.

Max leaned over and whispered in my
ear, “I thought it was a bit of overkill myself, specially ordering
them from the head chef at Il Mulino, but she was insistent on
doing this for you. How was I going to argue?” He pressed his
forehead against the side of my temple. I waited for his lips to
meet my cheek, and of course, they did.

“
Helicopter rides, limos,
and custom-ordered ravioli—you would think it’s someone’s birthday
today,” Frank teased. “Now if we could just get you to win a game
of pool…”

“
Oh, Frank. Wilson, you
don’t have to play pool ever again with these hooligans,” Nancy
smiled.

I forced a smile back.
What could I say? I
wanted
to play pool with these hooligans again. I
wanted
the limo ride and
specially ordered ravioli. I
wanted
everything the Goldsteins were willing to give
me. Because everything I experienced with them meant I was that
much more woven into the fabric of their family. Sure, the
extravagance was over the top. But come on, who wouldn’t love the
attention they were lavishing over me?

“
Nancy, Frank—thank you
for making this birthday so amazing, I will
never
forget this day.” I felt a
bubble rise in my chest, making its way to the base of my
windpipe.

“
You are more than
welcome, sweetheart.” Nancy puckered her lips as her eyes became
misty.

“
For Pete’s sake, Nancy.
Come on now. You’re making the kid all teary-eyed. You’re not
supposed to cry at birthdays. Funerals and weddings—now
those
are legitimate
tear-fests.” Frank coughed intentionally before continuing,
“Remember Camille and Dan’s wedding? Not a dry eye in the place. Of
course, I cried at the price tag that hung from that
shin-dig.”

“
Yeah right, Dad. You were
a bawling like a baby.” Camille flung a glance his way before
turning to her mom. “Remember when Daddy and I had our dance? The
shoulder of my dress was drenched and—”

“
Well, that’s because I
had something in my eye.” Frank swung his hands in the air at her
as he chimed in with an excuse to her story. “Now stop all this
mushy stuff. Wilson, whereabouts in California did you grow up?”
Frank strategically changed the subject.

My heart pounded
recklessly in my chest.
Here it
comes.
I could feel my body answer before
my mind had time to comprehend his question. Suddenly, the room
became stiflingly hot as sweat pushed through every hair follicle
on my body. My throat tightened and I couldn’t formulate a coherent
pair of words to save my life.

“
Dad,” Max snapped. I felt
him grab my hand under the table and squeeze before he continued.
“Don’t put Wilson on the spot.” He stared at his father, but it was
too late. At that moment, six pairs of eyes burned through my skin,
searching to discover what made me tick. Max slowly turned and
looked at me, his electric green eyes meeting mine, apologizing for
what was about to happen. And I knew right then the Frank Goldstein
Inquisition had begun.

“
I’m not putting her on
the spot, Max. I want to learn more about this sweet girl who’s
stealing our hearts. Are you uncomfortable with telling me about
yourself, Wilson?” Frank spoke with authority.

Where did I put that hole?
The one I could curl up in and disappear? If there’s one topic I
hate talking about, it’s how I got dumped on my grandparents’
doorstep by my druggy mom and how my grandparents had to sacrifice
their golden years to raise me.

I glanced at Max and shook my head; I
didn’t want him to change his relationship with his father to
protect my feelings. I looked at Frank, then Nancy, Camille, and
back to Frank.

“
I was born in Northern
California,” I responded, trying to clear the words that got stuck
somewhere between my dignity and my tongue. Frank’s eyes widened,
asking for more details. I swallowed and continued, “Fort Bragg,
California—on the Northern California coast.”

“
I know where Fort Bragg
is. Cute little town. How long did you live there?” Camille fueled
the quest to get me to talk.

I dropped my hands to my
lap and clenched my napkin. It took everything I had not to wipe
the sweat beads that had formed across my forehead.
I don’t like this—I don’t want them to see this
side of me.

“
Well, I didn’t. I was
born there, but my mother, Candi. and I lived in Willits—a tiny
town about thirty-five miles inland.” I could see the questions
begin to brew in their heads.

Why? What is so
interesting about my life that they would want to know? Do they
really want to hear about how messed up my life has been? How my
mother chose to get high instead of being with
me
?
How I didn’t
really ever know my father? Maybe they just wanted to know what my
grandparents were like. That’s it—I gotta talk about my
grandparents.

“
I was only in Willits for
a little over seven years. When I was eight years old, I went to
live with my grandparents in Mendocino,” I rambled.

“
Oh, did you and…Candi
move in with your grandparents?” Nancy asked automatically. I could
see her heart peeling from her sleeve.

“
No. She went back to
Willits,” I said intentionally. I didn’t want to cry. I wanted to
get past this inquisition as quickly as possible.

“
So your father wasn’t in
the picture during the first eight years of your life?” Frank asked
in a practical tone.

“
Dad!” Max blurted out as
he pushed his hand forward.

“
It’s okay.” I grabbed
Max’s hand and pulled it under the table. I didn’t let go as I
began to tell the story of my abnormal life. “I never knew my
biological father. When Candi got pregnant she was a freshman high
school. When his parents found out, they picked up and moved away.
Candi was rebellious so, when my grandparents were at their wits’
end, they sent her to live in a home for pregnant teenagers. Once I
was born, she and I lived at a home for unwed mothers until she
wore out her welcome there too. Then, one day, I guess I became too
much to handle. She had used up the last of her friends’ help, so
she decided to drive to Mendocino and dropped me off at my
grandparents’ house. I never saw her again. I was seven and a
half.”

Surprisingly, I didn’t have that
heartbeat that thrashed in my ears or the pressure that built in my
esophagus telling me I wanted to throw up. My eyes didn’t burn with
scorching or searing tears. I was okay. Max, on the other hand, was
fuming. He knew my story—the whole dirty, crappy thing. He knew how
painful it was for me, not knowing my father and being abandoned by
my mother. He knew opening that part of my life was like inviting
Satan to sit next to me in church. Some things are better left in
the past. I could hear him breathing deeply. I could feel his
energy pulsing to protect me.

I remember the day I
summoned up the guts to ask my grandma about my mother abandoning
me on her doorstep. I had just turned sixteen, and felt I could
handle anything she would tell me. She filled all the hollow spots
in my limited
little girl
memories of that day. We sat at the worn, dark
brown drop-leaf table off the kitchen. Grandma pushed a
cream-colored coffee mug toward me, chipped around the rim and
spider webbed with black lines. It was filled with peppermint tea.
She sat down, took a sip, and told me what she knew. I remember the
smell of peppermint as it clung to the air, and the feeling of
desperate hope that it would settle my stomach. I remember the
scalding hot mug. I had pressed my fingers against it, wanting to
feel something other than hate. I will never forget the look she
gave me as she told me about the desperate phone call she’d gotten
from my mother and the heart wrenching decision she had to make
that day. The devastating beliefs my grandma had about raising her
daughter, the guilt she had for sending her away, and all the
mistakes she didn’t want to make with me explained every lonely
moment I’d spent away from home at Wesley.

“
Well we are so glad
you’re here, isn’t that right, Frank?” Nancy smoothed the waters
swelling and swirling between Max and his father.

“
Oh, well of course,”
Frank stated.

“
Thank you,” I
mumbled.

“
How is college life? Cal
State East Bay, right?” Camille asked, trying to change the subject
to something more upbeat.

At first it didn’t
register what she was asking until I remembered that we’d told his
family I was in college.
Oh my God, I
think I might throw up. I must look like a frickin’ idiot! I knew
there were going to be questions that would test me—things I knew
I’d have to straight-up lie about—I just didn’t think…heck, what am
I saying? I just didn’t think period. I knew this lie was going to
bite me in the ass.

“
Good,” I swallowed
roughly.

“
How long is your break?”
Camille continued pressing.

“
Well, um. I…ahh—think
just ‘til after New Years,” I stammered.

“
Really? Not six weeks,
huh?”

“
No, she only has a
two-week break,” Max said.

“
Oh, that’s right; you’re
in the accelerated program. They don’t give you much time off,”
Camille answered her own question.

“
Yeah, something like
that,” Max said. I just nodded.

Oh God, we are soooo going
to hell.

“
Well, neither does that
fancy school Max teaches at. They wouldn’t even let him off for
Hanukkah. That really upset your mother,” Frank’s voice filled the
room.

“
Well, Dad, Hanukkah
didn’t land on the same schedule as winter break this year. There
was no way I could take off any time at the beginning of December,
I had finals,” Max defended his choices.

“
We know, honey. Your
father was just disappointed you couldn’t come celebrate with us,
that’s all,” Nancy crooned.

I leaned against Max and whispered in
his ear. “Doesn’t Hanukkah happen at the same time as
Christmas?”

“
Not always,” Max stated
before he turned to his mom to refute her account of who was
disappointed. That’s when Frank spoke up and answered my
question.

“
Wilson, Hanukkah follows
the Hebrew calendar. Every new moon represents the beginning of a
Jewish lunar month; that’s why our holidays tend to move around
every year.”

“
So Hanukkah can be any
time of the year? Not just December?” I asked.

“
No, it might creep into
the end of November but most of the time it hops around December,”
Frank clarified.

I had to admit, I didn’t
know much about Judaism. I knew they didn’t celebrate anything
relating to Jesus, but—hello, I never really understood the whole
thing about how Jesus
was
a Jew, yet he died for the sins of Christians.
And was he really a carpenter? Really? Because the Bible never
mentioned him building anything.

“
So do you believe in
Jesus?” I asked Frank.

I noticed how Max shifted his weight
back and forth on his chair and his expression became stoic; I
guess the religious conversation Frank and I were having was making
him uncomfortable. I, on the other hand, felt informed. Finally, I
was learning something about his faith.

“
Not as the son of God or
our Messiah,” Frank said without hesitation.

I watched as Nancy grabbed Max’s plate
and her own and took them into the kitchen.

“
Here, Mom, let me help
you. Are you finished, Wilson?” Camille asked as she popped up and
reached for my plate.

“
Yeah, thank you,” I
answered before I turned back to Frank. Max stood up and grabbed
his dad’s plate and joined his mother and sister in the
kitchen.

Wow, do Frank and I know
how to clear a room or what?

Frank didn’t skip a beat. “So how does
it feel to have December 25th all to yourself?”