When he turned toward me, I laughed silently. Carefully juggling a pan of steaming lasagna between potholders, he was completely out of his element with a stained apron around his waist and sauce down the front of his shirt. This was Brian, as I’d never seen him before. He was trying to be apologetic and amiable and as I watched him tread on unfamiliar territory; I couldn’t help but see it as a calculated move to attain the result he was after.
A part of me loved Brian and wanted to be his wife, but a slow-growing albeit larger part of me wanted to distance myself from the thought of it. In addition, my confusion didn’t end there. The insecurities that had plagued me most of my life kept telling me I was the one in the wrong. They told me that he was just trying to take care of me the best he knew how and I was playing the part of the spoiled brat.
How could I blame him for everything that was wrong between us? He was making an honest attempt to smooth the edges of our relationship tonight and I was secretly wishing for the evening to be over. I hadn’t uttered a word about my aunt or grandfather. The man I was supposed to love and marry, the man I would share the rest of my life with, but I didn’t feel comfortable sharing my family secrets with him. Was I being that incredibly selfish or was my decision to keep my personal business from him a not-so-subtle indication of the direction we were headed?
As I trudged my way to the bathroom to wash up, I decided that if I did nothing else this weekend, I would come to a decision on where my relationship with Brian stood.
~ ~ ~
With a playful lift in her voice, Cory snickered, “Someone looks like they went partying last night—you look like hell, girl.”
As I took my seat at the table, I pushed my hair back and shook my head. “Yesterday was anything but a party.”
“You do look like you’ve been through the grinder, Meg. Is everything alright?” Charlotte’s voice was heavy with concern.
“You have no idea.” Scanning the café for a waiter, I began, “We started the day off with an argument.” Motioning toward Charlotte, I said, “You knew that. Then there was a meeting at the bank, a mishap at work, an emotional visit with my aunt—who incidentally, is really my mother—and then my grandfather casually informed me that he is indeed the cold-blooded killer everyone says he is.” In an attempt to wipe the look of shock from their faces, I casually added, “But all of that did buy me a nice lasagna dinner.”
They looked at each other, then back to me, never saying a word. I knew they couldn’t figure out whether I was trying to be funny or whether I was mocking an unpleasant truth.
“I’m dead serious, yesterday had to be the busiest—and strangest—day of my life.”
Cory whispered, “Your aunt is your mother?”
I nodded solemnly.
“Your grandfather admitted to killing that guy—on purpose?” Charlotte asked.
I nodded again. I knew they’d have a million questions and I thought answering them might help me to organize the thoughts that were playing tag in my head.
“Meg?” Cory tried to keep her tone serious, but her eyes were already dancing with the good-humored charm people found endearing. Welcoming her question with my eyes, she let out something similar to a muffled laugh.
“If your aunt is really your mother… well… are you originally from one of those states where… you know, where everyone is like…” Holding her stomach, she stammered out her words. “Where your cousin is your grandfather and you somehow become your own sister?”
“Cory!” Annoyance danced in Charlotte’s eyes.
I burst out in laughter loud enough to draw the attention of nearby tables. I could have taken her remarks as insensitive but I needed to laugh. I craved something that could put my problems into perspective and—if only for lack of a better remedy—humor came the closest to making me feel sane.
Between fits of laughter, Cory said, “You’ve got to admit, it sounds a lot like a Springer show in the making.”
Reaching across the table to give her hand a squeeze, I said, “Charlotte, its okay.”
As our waiter stopped in front of our table, I looked past him and happened to catch a glimpse of the waiter from last weekend on the other side of the patio. I quickly looked away, not wanting the girls to know he was there. Today, I needed their attention; I needed the conversation to be about me, not some good-looking waiter who would undoubtedly take control of their interest once spotted.
We placed our order and immediately, the girls began to fire questions at me almost faster than I could answer them.
“How did you find out about your aunt?” Cory had gotten over the initial humor of the situation, sincerity now commanding her tone.