Page 58 of Big Stick Energy
Eric shuts out the lamp and tucks himself into bed beneath me. “You okay up there?”
“Never better. It’s like summer camp, but with better food and a nice Côtes du Rhône.”
He chuckles softly.
“It’s beautiful here. But I can see why you don’t come back that often. I understand why it’s painful.”
“You’re right,” he says quietly. “It’s both.”
I fall asleep listening to the gentle sound of the waves.
The next morning, his mother makes us a big brunch, while I help out in the kitchen. The meal goes well enough, but I can tell Eric is eager to get out of the house by the way he carries my bag down to the front door well in advance of our departure time.
His mother pours me another cup of coffee and asks me about my classes at school. It’s all very friendly until she happens to say, “You know, I got some photographs of Danny to bring to the wedding. But I can’t decide on the frame. Why don’t I show them to you so you can help me choose?”
My eyes widen as she opens a sideboard to pull out two large pictures—the same photo in two different frames.
“Which one do you think?” She struggles to hold them both up at the same time. That’s how large they are. “The white frame is pretty, but the light wood is warmer.”
“Um…” I don’t remember this photograph of Danny from the dining room wall. He’s wearing a light blue suit. The kind you’d wear on Easter, maybe.
Or to yourownwedding.
“And this is for…?” I ask, confused.
“The wedding,” she repeats. “Danny should be there, too. It’s only right.”
“Um,” I say again.
Eric enters the room, then takes one look at the photos his mother is holding and goes rigid. There’s no other word for it. “Mom, did Maribelaskfor this?”
“She’s averybusy girl,” his mother says. “Weddings are a lot.”
Eric’s face goes instantly stormy. Like he’s about to explode. He wasn’t this distressed even during game four, when Merritt got crosschecked and the ref didn’t call it. “Mom, you’d need Maribel’spermissionfor this. Explicit permission.”
“Watch your tone, Eric,” his mother says slowly.
Oh, hell.A door opens somewhere and Mr. Tremaine approaches. He’s probably wondering what all the fuss is about.
Miraculously, my phone starts to ring loudly with my mother’s ringtone. “Excuse me,” I say brightly. “I’d better get this.”
I slip out the kitchen door, and I don’t think anyone notices. “Hi, Mom.” I walk quickly down the driveway toward Eric’s car, so she won’t hear the argument in the background. “What’s up?”
“Just wondered if you’d come to your senses,” she says.
Apparently, it’sMothers Behaving Badly Day, and nobody showed me the memo. “I’m in Massachusetts for the wedding, if that’s what you mean.”
“Oh, honey.” She sighs. “Would your father make the same effort for you?”
“That’s a question I try not to ask myself, and I’m a little miffed that you’re pointing it out.”
“God, I’m sorry to make you feel bad. That’s never my intention. It just burns me—the way he wants to put on a show, with his family gathered at his feet.”
“Maybe,” I say dully. “But it turns out that the bride is a friend of a friend. She seems lovely, and I’m trying to keep an open mind.”
“Just don’t buy them a wedding gift,” she says sourly. “They have more money than God.”
“I’m pretty sure that misses the point of gifting.”
