Page 60 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
“Adam,” she starts again, but before she can continue, my father is suddenly standing over us.
“Millie,” he says firmly, “I think Paula and your mother need help with the appetizers in the kitchen.”
It’s a transparent excuse, but Millie has no choice but to nod and stand. She casts one last wounded look at me before heading toward the kitchen, her shoulders slumped in defeat.
I stare after her, then look up at my father. “Thanks,” I say again, genuinely confused by his intervention. “But why are you—”
“Just drink your bourbon, son,” he says, cutting me off with a small shake of his head. He returns to his seat without another word, leaving me puzzled.
Lauren leans over. “What was that about?”
“No idea,” I murmur. “Since when does Dad interfere with Mom’s matchmaking?”
“Maybe he’s finally come to his senses,” Jake suggests, his voice low. “Maybe he’s realized that if they continue pushing you at her, regardless of what you want, that they’re just going to lose you.”
I shrug, unconvinced. My father has never shown much interest in the emotional currents running through our family. He pays the bills, makes the occasional joke, and leaves the rest to my mother. Or at least, he always has before.
The next hour passes in a strange dance of approach and avoidance. Every time Millie moves toward me, my father finds a reason to intercept, asking me about work, drawing me into conversations with Lauren and Jake, or simply positioning himself between us. It’s so unlike him that even my mother notices, casting confused glances at her husband as her carefully choreographed reunion falls apart.
“Gerald,” she finally says, her voice tight, “could you help me with something in the dining room?”
My father rises obediently and follows her out. Through the archway, I can see them in the dining room, their heads bentclose together. My mother’s mouth moves rapidly, her hands gesturing in frustration. My father’s responses are shorter, his expression growing increasingly stubborn.
Lauren notices too. “Wonder what that’s about,” she murmurs.
“Nothing good,” I reply, watching as my mother’s face flushes with anger.
They return a moment later, my mother’s smile fixed and brittle, my father’s jaw set in a way I rarely see. She crosses directly to where Millie sits with Rhonda and takes the younger woman’s hand.
“Millie, dear,” she says, her voice syrupy sweet, “why don’t you tell Adam about the New Year’s Eve gala at the country club? I’m sure he’d love to hear all about it.”
“Oh, yes,” Rhonda chimes in, her eyes lighting up. “Millie’s on the planning committee this year. It’s going to be spectacular.”
My mother turns to me, her smile widening. “You should go, Adam. It would be good for you to get out and socialize. It would take your mind off things.”
“I won’t be able to make it,” I say, my voice flat. “I have other plans for New Year’s.”
“What plans?” My mother demands, skepticism clear in her tone.
“Just plans,” I reply, holding her gaze steadily.
My father clears his throat. “Paula,” he says, his voice unusually firm, “let the boy have his own plans. He’s thirty years old, for God’s sake.”
My mother whips around to face him, her eyes widening in surprise. “I’m simply suggesting—”
“You’re not suggesting,” my father interrupts. “You’re manipulating. As usual.”
The room goes silent. No one ever speaks to my mother this way, least of all my father. Rhonda looks scandalized. Hailey’s mouth hangs open. Lauren and Jake exchange startled glances.
“Gerald,” my mother says, her voice dangerously soft, “this is hardly the time or place—”
“It’s Christmas, Paula,” he continues, his tone weary. “Our son is here for Christmas dinner. Can’t we just enjoy that without trying to force him into a relationship he clearly doesn’t want?”
I stare at my father, stunned. Where is this coming from? This isn’t the passive, agreeable man I’ve known all my life. This is someone with a backbone, someone willing to stand up to my mother’s schemes.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you today,” my mother says, her face flushing. “But I would appreciate if you would stop embarrassing me in front of our guests.”
“And I would appreciate if you would stop trying to control our children’s lives,” my father returns, his voice rising slightly. “Look around, Paula. Look at their faces. They’re miserable. Is that what you want for Christmas? For everyone to be miserable but obedient?”
