Rub rub rub rub—oh, Jesus Christ, somebody just bring me a loofah!
“Um, hmm. Well, you see, Mellie, we just moved to a new neighborhood as well as the new school and we really haven’t gotten a chance to meet too many people …” I trailed off.
“Oh, you poor thing—that is a lot of change all at once. Rocco probably just needs a few more weeks to get in the swing of things, then. Is he getting a chance to see any of his old friends?”
Crap. How did one explain this? Of course my five-year-old has friends! There’s his uncle who is great fun and is always offering to share his Playboy collection. Sure, his brain could probably be traded with an orangutan and nobody would notice, but who doesn’t like monkeys, right? And then there are Rocco’s grandparents! His grandma lets him help grade exams and tells him all sorts of interesting tidbits about late twentieth-century American history—what kid doesn’t love to chat about Vietnam?! Let’s not forget Grandpa either—he takes Rocco to the Farm and Fleet to talk to the three-fingered manager about riding mowers, because that guy is the one to ask about machines with sharp blades. And, sure, a couple of these besties just moved four hours away, but there’s always Skype and everyone knows that is interactive as hell—nothing parallel in sight!
Rub.
Yeah, that wasn’t going to go over well. Time to fess up.
“The truth is, Mellie, what you’re talking about has pretty much always been the case. He’s not really been into kids his own age. He’s an only child and has always seemed content to hang out with adults. I’ve tried not to worry about it before. I guess I just hoped it would resolve on its own.” How could I have missed this apparently huge red flag?
“I understand. And, again, I don’t want you to worry. But maybe we could try to help things along a little more. Why don’t you ask him if there’s a child in the class he would want to have a playdate with? Then you could arrange it at your house so Rocco would be more comfortable and see what happens from there,” she suggested.
“That’s a really good idea. I will definitely talk to him about it.” I switched hands so the other cheek could get in on the action.
“Okay, good.”
“And thank you for calling about this, Mellie. It’s reassuring to know that you guys are looking out for the kids so carefully.” I truly did appreciate it even if this particular phone call added one more turd on the shit sandwich that was my motherhood resumé.
“Of course. You have a great night, Laney, and we’ll see you and Rocco tomorrow!” she finished brightly, proving once again that people who work in daycare are born with a different set of genes than the rest of us.
Chapter Four
Keep Calm and Go Irish
NATE
“Lookin’ good, old man!” I said to my father as he lounged in his favorite black leather recliner. This was the first time I’d seen him in regular clothes instead of pajamas since the heart attack, and I was relieved to see more color in his cheeks. It had been two weeks since my return to town and almost a week since I’d been back to my folks’ house. Work was a shitstorm and I’d been doing my best not to bother my dad any more than necessary, but it was nearly impossible to decipher whatever organizational puzzle he worked by. Bailey and I were having a hell of a time keeping our heads above water. Not that we would ever tell him that.
Remote in hand, he paused the football game he was watching and turned to me with a hopeful expression. “For the love of God, please tell me you brought something to eat that doesn’t taste like cardboard.” It was no secret that my mom’s cooking wasn’t stellar on a good day, so I could only imagine what it tasted like with all the salt removed.
“Sorry.” I held my hands up to show they were empty. “Mom only let me visit on the condition I brought nothing into the house that you might find even remotely edible. I got a TSA pat-down from her in the foyer.”
“Eh, I figured as much.” He settled back into the chair. “Distract me, then. Tell me what’s going on at work. Did Mark get that permit squared away? I’ve got the number of that guy at the—”
“All taken care of,” I interrupted.
“Yeah, but we’ll be in deep shit if every ‘i’ isn’t dotted on that one,” he insisted.
“I know. Mark and Doug have both been a big help, and Bailey knows a lot more than she led us to believe, so we’re handling it. I promise we’ll keep you in the loop and let you know if we need help. I’ve already called you a dozen times with questions, and I may be permanently banned from the house if Mom catches us talking shop,” I warned. “That was another condition for my visit. She should consider a stint with the Secret Service if this whole retirement thing doesn’t work out. Was she such a ball-buster with her students? If so, I’m starting to worry about what may have actually been in all those homemade cookies they used to send home with her.” That got a smile out of him.
“Your mother’s a saint.” He un-paused the game.
“Yeah, I know. What’s the score? Are we winning?”
He gave me a disgusted look. “Of course we’re winning. We’re the Irish.”
At halftime I went in search of my mom and some doctor-approved refreshments. She sat at the kitchen table swiping at her iPad.
“Hey, Mom.”
She held up her hand as if to stop me while her eyes stayed on the tablet. “Nathan, don’t even think about asking for a beer. Your dad cannot have alcohol no matter what kind of pathetic faces he tries to make.”
I grinned and went over to kiss the top of her head. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I reassured. “What are you reading?”
“Oh, just looking for some healthy recipe ideas. Nothing I’ve made so far has been a hit and I never realized how much sodium is in pre-packaged food. It’s ridiculous!”
She shifted her attention my way and caught my eyes. “Sorry—enough of that. I want to hear about you. How are you, Nate? Are you and Bailey hanging in there?”
“By our fingernails, but yeah, we’re doing fine. Don’t worry.”
“Anything I can do to help?” She tilted her blond head.
“Sure. You can get one of those stupid ‘Hang in there’ cat posters and give it to Bailey—it’ll be hilarious to watch her try to be polite when she opens it.” I smiled.
She slapped the back of my hand and scoffed, “Don’t torture your sister.”
“I’ll consider it. I suppose it would free up some time in my schedule.”
Her hand went to my arm more gently this time. “I know your dad can’t say it yet, but you need to know that we both appreciate so much that you came home to take over.” Okay, I guess it was time for the serious portion of the visit. “It’s no secret that this wasn’t your plan, at least not yet, so I wanted to say thank you again. I don’t know what we would do without you.” She started to tear up.
“Whoa, whoa—no need to get all mushy. You know I’m happy to do it. And besides, I’m not really taking over. Dad will be back when he’s feeling better.” She scowled at me so I hurried on, “I mean, I know it won’t be full-time like before, but still.”
My mother shifted in her chair. “I know. There is no way he’ll give up the business completely, but you know your dad doesn’t do things by half measure. I’m just afraid he’ll gradually ramp things up until we’re right back where we started, and we may not be so lucky next time.” She had a point. “So that’s why we need to use this recovery time to find him some hobbies.”
Say what?
“The doctor said there are plenty of activities he can do that are great for keeping blood pressure down and can be quite engaging. I’m hoping if he becomes interested in something else he might not be so eager to dive back into the deep end.”
“Like what?” I asked, picturing my dad playing croquet or painting tiny military figurines with a little brush and a monocle. Inside my head I chuckled—outside I was the picture of serious reflection.
“Oh, you know, putting together jigsaw puzzles or collecting coins or stamps. Or painting landscapes. There are all sorts of things.” Her excitement was palpable.
Oh wow. This was going to be fun.
“I’ve got one,” Bailey howled. “We can get him some gardening clogs and a subscription to Home and Garden.” Bailey and I were swapping new hobby ideas for Dad between fits of hilarity, picturing the ultra-masculine force of nature we knew as our father in an array of awkward scenarios. All of them included our mom cheering on the sidelines. So far the best one involved the Westminster Kennel Club and some dog trimming shears.
“You cannot tell Mom about this conversation,” I reiterated, sitting across from her desk and trying to school my features.
“Duh, you shit head,” came her clever response.
It was Monday morning and we were supposed to be going over some bid paperwork for an upcoming meeting with a potential client, but I could not resist sharing our mom’s plan from the weekend.
“Oh,” Bailey started, finally getting us back to business, “I forgot to tell you. Doug called with some potentially troublesome news about the foreclosure properties on Old Oak Ridge. It seems the neighbors are not taking too kindly to having a commercial property in their midst. In his words, ‘Trouble is a-brewin’.”
I waved her off. “Tell them to take it up with the zoning office. Everything is in order on our end. If they don’t like it, tough. Tell them to move.”
“No, dear brother of mine, you get to tell them all of that. Why do you think I’m telling you? You’re going to be there anyway when the crew starts the tear down on Thursday so there’s no need for little old me to butt in.” She smiled sweetly.
“Thanks.” I smiled back, a tad less sweetly.
Meetings concluded for the day and all phone calls and e-mails returned, I finally walked in the door of my apartment just after eight o’clock. I had done a grocery run the night before so at least I knew there would be something to eat in the fridge. And beer, thank Christ. As anticipated, I had yet to get my hands dirty since I’d been back in town and it was making me irritable. I just needed a night to sit on the couch, watch some TV, and drink a beer.