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Beyond Eighteen(29)

By:Gretchen de la O


“Oh, my God! Did he do it?” Camille gasped.

Mom chuckled. Tears escaped the ledges of her eyelids as she nodded, yes.

“Dad stole that basket from Pellegrino’s?” I asked. Funny, I never thought my dad would steal anything. He was such a stickler about stealing. We would have had our asses whipped if we were found stealing anything…and I mean any little thing.

“Well, that’s a shock. I never thought Dad had the balls to steal something,” Calvin added in a nervous laugh. Mom shot him a look before she turned back and finished the story.

“Well, actually, come to find out, he never stole it. While I went to the ladies’ room, your father paid the waiter for the basket. I’ll never forget how brazen he was, though, when he shoved the basket under his arm, took my hand, and walked right out of the restaurant. I couldn’t believe it.”

“That’s sounds just like him,” Camille said as she picked up the salad and dished herself some.

“Remember the time Dad convinced Calvin he was found under a rock?” I said to Camille, laughing.

“Oh my God, that’s right. He told me that he traded his watch and fifty cents to a band of gypsies for me,” Camille blurted out as she passed the salad to Dan.

I looked over at Wilson. She was comfortably watching our family interact, her eyes glossy with tears. Her laughter was my home. Somehow I was no longer worried about the news Dan had tucked away. It didn’t matter what was going to happen tomorrow; tonight was reserved for good-humored memories of our father. I pressed my lips to the side of her head and inhaled her essence.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“Me too,” she said.

Calvin’s voice roared behind his laugh. “Yeah, well, that wasn’t funny; I’m still going to therapy over that one.”

“And that’s a big bill, let me tell you…” Mom teased.

“Well, Daddy used to say that Max was delivered next day air, by the UPS man. Or was it that you belonged to the UPS man?” Camille snorted.

“Oh, that’s just because I dated a guy who worked for the post office before I met your father,” Mom interceded before she grabbed Wilson’s hand. “Oh, dear, I hope these hooligans aren’t scaring you away from our family.”

Everyone at the table was laughing, and suddenly took a collective breath, as if it was planned.

“No. I feel right at home,” Wilson sighed.

Mom smiled at her before nodding. Her brown hair, that always framed her face perfectly, swished forward before she looked over at me. “She’s a keeper, Maxi.”

“I know,” I answered.

Then the table was quiet and the only thing we heard was the clinking of forks and knives against the plates. Calvin was humming as he ate, and Dan smacked his lips as he chewed his food. We were home. As home as we could be without my dad.

“Nancy, how did you and Frank meet?” Wilson asked just above a whisper.

I looked up from my plate at my mom. All of us at the table stopped eating.

Mom put down her fork, pulled the white cloth napkin from her lap and stared at the chair my father was supposed to occupy for dinner.

“Well, Frank and I met in college. He was the T.A. for Professor Hall, my Algebra instructor. It was my first year at Georgetown. I’ll never forget that day: I was running late for class, I can’t remember why. Frank was instructed to take over the class until Professor Hall got there. Oh, heavens, there must have been seventy five to a hundred people shuffling into the room at once. My foot caught the threshold of the door and I stumbled forward and flew right into his arms. Oh, God, our eyes met, he smiled, and I melted. From that day forward I sat in the front row because at least two days a week Frank would take over the class. Your dad says the moment I landed in his arms he knew I was going to be there for the rest of my life.”

Mom stopped telling the story, choked by the memories of how she fell in love with Dad. Her chin reflected her battle to keep from losing it; her eyes squeezed shut to hold back her tears. It took a minute for her to compose herself enough to continue the story.

“He always told me he knew, that very first day, I was going to be his bride.” Tears soaked her cheeks as the battle was lost. She dabbed her face with her napkin and struggled to continue without sobbing. Wilson reached over and touched my mom’s arm. She smiled and laid her hand on top of Wilson’s.

“Ha, right, little did he know, I wasn’t that easy to get. He’d ask me out; I’d always make up excuses. You know, I had to wash my hair, had homework, girlfriend drama, anything that kept him just far enough away to stay interested. Until one day when he showed up at my dorm room with an armful of flowers, claiming he picked them from the Chancellor’s private garden. He was romantic that way,” she pressed her hand to her lips as she began to cry again.