Winter Hopes (Seasons of Love) (22 page)

Henry nodded again. He was quiet for a minute.

“You disapprove of my pursuing her, I take it?” Sam said with a slight edge. “Like everyone else in there?” He gestured with his chin towards the house.

Henry shrugged. “I don’t know enough about it to form a
definite
opinion. I don’t know her, and I don’t know about her life. Who am I to judge? She's a very attractive woman, I saw that. She seemed nice.
And
if she's a friend of Melanie and Ryan's, she must be good people. I just know I haven’t seen you look like this since your early twenties.
You seem truly happy. So, she can’t be bad. I’m happy for you.”

Sam gazed thoughtfully at his father. His smile was broad and
appreciative. “Thank you,” he said, his voice deep with emotion.

Henry smiled and winked. Another cold breeze blew, hard enough this time to scatter dry brown leaves across the yard. “Come on,” he said. “Help your old man up and we’ll go inside. This is Alec’s house, there’s gotta be a glass of Macallan with my name on it in there somewhere.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Sam smiled, getting to his feet. He
clasped Henry’s hand in his and helped pull him to his feet.

Once upright, Henry didn't let go of his son's hand. He looked
his son in the eye and said quietly, “Sam… just be careful, alright? Don’t, um… well… ah hell, you know what I'm trying to say.
Right?”

Sam nodded. “Yes sir.” He squeezed his father's hand.

“Alright. Happy Thanksgiving,” Henry said. He affectionately clapped Sam on the back before the two of them turned towards the house.

THINKING OF YOU
,
Sam had written.
Have I texted you too many times today?

Lydia smiled to herself. She was curled up in the armchair next to the fireplace, enjoying a rare moment of peace with Andy still in the basement. She texted back:
Hell no. I like it. It's keeping me sane today. And I keep thinking of you too.

“Who have you been talking to all day?” Roslyn stood over Lydia, looking down at her with a curious frown. “Every time I look over at you today, you’re on that cell phone, texting away. Who’s so
important?”

“No one,” Lydia answered quickly. She felt like a teenager
who’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
Gotta go
, she texted, then stood quickly and gave her mother a forced smile.

Roslyn didn’t budge and eyed her younger daughter with
suspicion. “What’s that face? You got a boyfriend or something?”

“No,” Lydia said, but felt her cheeks betray her as they flushed.
She
shoved her cell phone into her pocket and walked away from her
mother, seeking escape.

“Wait a minute!” Roslyn cried, following her. “Ha! You were
never
a good liar, your face gives you away every time, instantly. Thank God.”

Lydia tried to ignore her. She kept walking. She headed for Jane, the strongest distraction tactic she could think of while flustered, and a certain refuge.

“Lydia! Don’t run away from me!” Roslyn insisted, only a few paces behind her.

“What’s going on?” Paul asked, looking up from the tremendous golden bird he’d been carving. He and Tyler were standing over the
turkey at the center island in the kitchen. Jane was at the sink,
rinsing a
few dishes. She caught the distressed look on Lydia’s face and
turned off the water.

“Lydia’s trying to escape me,” Roslyn announced, “because I just found out that she has a new boyfriend.”

“No I don’t,” Lydia snapped, but the blush on her cheeks
deepened and started to spread down her neck.

“Oh really?” Paul asked pointedly. “Then why are you blushing like that?”

“You never had much of a poker face, Lydia,” Roslyn added.

“Leave me alone,” Lydia muttered, turning her back to the room and gripping the edge of the sink. Jane sighed quietly and shot her a sideways look of support.

“HA! It’s true, then!” Roslyn crowed. “I figured it out, I was right!”

Lydia took a deep breath and turned back to her parents. “I
don’t have a boyfriend,” she said hotly. “I’m… just seeing someone.”

“You’re seeing someone already?” Paul asked. The disapproval
was abundantly clear in his tone, in the fixed focus of his watery
blue eyes. “But you just got divorced.”

“She's been on her own for over a year,” Jane said. "Just because
she
signed the papers a month ago doesn't mean she's been any less
alone. And now that it's final, she can do whatever she wants."

“Hhhmph,” Paul snorted. “Jumping in to your sister’s defense automatically, like clockwork.”

“Maybe if you didn’t put her in a position that often needs defending,” Jane snapped without hesitation, “I wouldn’t feel like I
had to do it.”

“Alright everyone,” Roslyn said, seeing how quickly the mood of the room was changing. “Let’s all just take a minute—“

“I love you, Janie,” Lydia said, ignoring her mother, “but in this
case, I don’t need defending.” She looked her father squarely in the
eyes
and said, “Jane’s right, though. Matt and I have been separated for
over a year. Now that the divorce is a done deal, I'm free in every sense of the word. I thought you knew and understood all that, Dad. Hell, I thought you were thrilled.”

Paul merely shrugged and went back to carving the turkey.
Lydia rolled her eyes and turned away.

“So wait,” Roslyn said, her voice hesitant and amicable, trying to
smooth things over. “So… you’re seeing someone. That’s nice.
What’s his name?”

Lydia sighed before she answered, “Sam.” She crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter. Jane didn’t move from her side, ignoring Tyler’s probing looks.

“Sam what?” Roslyn asked lightly. “Does he have a last name?”

“Forrester,” Lydia replied. “Sam Forrester.”

At this, Paul looked up. “Again with the goyim?”

“Oh my God,” Lydia groaned in disgust.

“Don’t ever change, Dad,” Jane said caustically. Even Tyler
pursed his lips in rigid disapproval.

“What?” Paul was instantly defensive. His eyes rounded as he looked around the kitchen, taking in the clear condemnation of
everyone there. He turned on Lydia and said in a sharp, accusing tone, “I’m wrong? It worked out so well for you the last time? No! You’re divorced. Just like I predicted.”

The room fell silent. Tyler looked out the window in discomfort. Lydia and Jane glared at their father. Roslyn stood as still as a statue, obviously distraught, her eyes wide.

“Happy Thanksgiving, everyone,” Tyler said softly. He shook his head and went to the refrigerator for a beer.

“You’re such a bigot,” Lydia seethed. “Matt and I didn't get divorced because he's Catholic and I'm Jewish. Matt and I got divorced because we couldn't stand each other. He was a lousy husband. Jewish men can be lousy husbands too. All men can—there isn't a religious predisposition that favors some men and makes others assholes, Dad. It goes right across the board.” Her temper boiling over, she added, “You're living proof.”

“You watch your mouth,” Paul spat at her. “I don’t care how old you are, I'm still your father.” He went back to carving the turkey, his mouth set in a thin line, intent on his task.

Lydia and Jane just looked at each other, their eyes silently expressing
volumes to each other. Jane rolled her eyes at her younger sister, attempting to break the tension. Lydia just shook her head in angry resignation.

“Um… so… tell us a little bit about him,” Roslyn said
awkwardly.

“What? Why bother?” Lydia spat. “He’s not Jewish, so he’s
worthless, right?”

“I didn’t say that,” Paul snapped, looking up again.

“You might as well have,” Lydia snapped back, seething as she again folded her arms over her chest. She put her icy hands under her armpits for warmth.

“Well, is that why you didn’t tell anyone about him?” Paul challenged.

Lydia snorted derisively. “I told Jane about him right away. I just didn’t tell the two of
you
. Can’t imagine why. I mean, you're so open-minded.”

Paul shook his head, gave his daughter a withering look, and
went
back to carving the turkey once again, attacking the carcass with
ferocity.

Jane watched Tyler open a bottle of Samuel Adams and said,
“Hey, husband, get me one too, will you?”

“Sure thing, dear,” Tyler answered casually. He handed her the bottle he’d opened and went back to the refrigerator to get a new one for himself. Jane took a hard swig of her beer.

“Lydia,” Roslyn began, wringing her hands.

“Save it,” Lydia said to her curtly. “Dad’s ignorant and mean, and you're a doormat. I'm outta here. I need to go check on my son.” She stormed out of the kitchen without a look back.

Roslyn closed her eyes, shook her head sadly, and sighed. She went and sank into one of the chairs in the kitchen nook.

“Why did you do that?” Jane demanded, immediately turning on her father. She almost slammed the bottle down on the counter.
Sparks flared in her eyes, ready for further battle. “Why do you
always have to do that to her?”

“Do what?” Paul said, not even looking up from the turkey. He carefully sliced a long, thin piece and put it on the serving platter.

“Insult her,” Jane snarled. “Pick fights with her. Try to take her down to remind her who's 'boss'. Lydia—your
daughter
—
is one of
the
sweetest people I’ve ever known. Why the hell is it so hard for you
to be nice to her for more than a few minutes at a time?”

Paul slammed down the carving knife and fork on the counter of the center island. Roslyn jumped in her seat, and even Jane gave a slight start. “You know what?” he roared, equally incensed. “I didn’t come here to be attacked. I’m such a terrible father? I'm ignorant and
mean? Fine. Do you want me to cut up this damn bird or what? Because
if I don’t finish slicing this up soon, you’ll all be eating
turkey at midnight.”

“I love these family get-togethers,” Jane sneered scornfully. She turned to look over at her mother. Roslyn was leaning on the table with her elbows, holding her head in her hands.

Jane said to her, “Hey, Roz. Just so you know, since you seem to
actually give a shit. This guy Lydia’s seeing, Sam? Seems to be a really
nice guy, from what I can tell. You should be happy for her. He’s obviously crazy about her. He’s been pursuing her for weeks,
despite the fact that
she’s just divorced and has a kid, because he obviously recognizes
how wonderful she is. And she’s been trying to hold him at arm’s length,
because her main concern is how and when it might affect Andy,
who is always her first priority. Not herself, not her own happiness—and by the way, she more than deserves some. But she doesn’t think of herself first. She puts her
son
first. Pretty admirable, if you ask me.”

“Enough with the melodrama already,” Paul sniffed with open contempt. He dismissively turned back to the turkey and began to slice another piece.

Jane grunted and didn’t stop staring her mother down. Her eyes narrowed, unrelenting.

“What?” Roslyn finally said to her. “What? I don't know what you want me to say.”

“How about standing up for your daughter?” Jane replied sharply, on the verge of screaming. “How about telling your
husband to shut his mouth when he spits out toxic things? He's just getting nastier as
he gets older. And you never say anything until after it's already
over. Lydia's right, you're his doormat. Doesn't it bother you that he can be such a bastard sometimes, especially to your own daughter?”

“That’s it!” Paul yelled, slamming down the carving knife and fork once more. He wiped his hands on a dish towel as he growled, “Your mother and I don’t have to listen to this. We're leaving.”

“Paul, no!” Roslyn cried, rising to her feet in alarm. Tyler stood where he was, silent.

“Yeah, that’s an answer,” Jane said, looking intently at her
father. “Very mature. You don't have to leave. You know that. But can’t you just back off? Can’t you keep yourself from picking a fight or taking a shot at Lydia every time you see an opening?”

“He doesn’t do that,” Roslyn said weakly.

“He most certainly does,” Jane said in a firm tone, whirling back
to look at her mother. “And he always has. And you know it, and
you let him. It wasn't always so constant, so blatantly obvious when we were growing up, but he did it then too. It just got a lot worse after she married Matt. Finally, a solid excuse to take shots at her: she had the nerve to marry someone who wasn't Jewish. You think she didn't know that? You think everyone else didn’t know it too? Nice bubble
you live in, Mom.” She turned her glare back to her father. “Your
grandson has half Catholic DNA. Does that mean you'll love him less? His mother is Jewish, that makes him Jewish, and he's being raised Jewish. You'd think that'd be enough for you, you racist. Are you ever going to enter the 21st century?"

Paul looked ready to explode. His face was slowly turning
scarlet, making his watery blue eyes that much more pronounced as they bulged with rage.

Tyler stealthily moved to the center island, next to Paul. He gave
Jane a pointed look and picked up the carving knife and fork. “I’ve got this, guys. Why don’t the three of you go out to the backyard and
work this out somehow before dinner starts, huh? For the kids’ sake. Go.”

Paul harrumphed and threw the back door open, charging
blindly
into the backyard. Roslyn, with sad and distressed eyes, quickly
followed him without a word. Jane threw her arm back and went to slam the door closed behind them.