VINCE
November 16, 2014
Introducing Sienna to my mother required a level of commitment on my part not much different than marriage. In my lifetime, only one other woman had met my mother, and it was my ex-wife. In inviting Sienna into my mother’s home, I was not only inviting her into my life, but into my mother’s life. As far as I was concerned, this would make Sienna part of the family.
In a short period of time, I beat myself up about her meeting my mother, and cancelled the Sunday plans, and simply left Thanksgiving as the meeting day. Sienna was ready, I was afraid I was not so ready.
“So, you ready for this?” I asked. “Just a few more days. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”
He glanced upward and stared for a moment. It appeared he intended to be attentive, but eventually his eyes fell closed and he lowered his head. Apparently I was boring him with my subject matter, and he was about to fall asleep.
“You fucking prick. Don’t you dare pass out before I’m done, you rude son-of-a-bitch. When I’m talking, you good and god damned well better listen, understand?” I seethed.
He shook his head violently, no doubt attempting to prevent himself from falling asleep. He slowly shifted his eyes to meet mine, blinked a few times, and lowered his chin slightly.
“So anyway, she’s pretty to look at, but she’s also pretty damned smart. She reads more books than Pop and me combined,” I said.
He blinked his eyes again and stared, apparently waiting for me to continue
“Hard to believe, I know, but she reads half a dozen books a week. And, she’s thin. Not one of the unhealthy skinny bitches like you see on television or in those fucking magazines, but just naturally thin, like a supermodel. And her hair? Wait ‘till you see it. It’s perfect. Her eyebrows are hit and miss, but don’t you dare stare at ‘em, got it?”
I paused and shifted my eyes to meet his.
Fast asleep and lightly snoring, it was obvious he had very little interest in knowing anything about Sienna before she made her grand entrance for Thanksgiving dinner.
I turned toward the sound of the front door opening, and met my mother’s gaze as she peered toward the porch swing where we were seated.
“I can’t believe this weather we’re having,” she said. “It’s so nice out here. Now you two need to come in here for dinner, it’s ready.”
I stood from the porch swing and shrugged my shoulders. “He’s asleep.”
She shook her head lightly and sighed signature sigh of frustration. “He’s going to be mad if he misses dinner, just wake him up.”
“Bradley!” I shouted. “Dinner’s ready.”
He opened his eyes, jumped from the porch swing, and ran toward the front door.
“He was tired of listening to your stories, that’s all,” she said over her shoulder as she walked away.
“He’s the only one in this house that pays attention to me. He just fell asleep,” I said as I followed her into the house.
Bradley and I followed her into the dining room. As she pulled her chair away from the table she shifted her eyes toward me and sighed again. “I listen to what you say.”
I pulled my chair away from the table, sat down, and placed my napkin in my lap. “You listen to what I say, but Bradley hears me.”
“Who’s saying grace?” she asked.
“I said it last week,” I said.
“You sure did,” she responded as she reached toward the plate of roast beef.
After picking up a piece of meat large enough to choke a horse, she held it to the side and shook it. Within a few seconds she had Bradley’s full attention. Having performed this ritual no less than a thousand times, he knew just what to do.
He situated himself directly beside her, sat, and tilted his head back.
“It’s your turn to say grace, Bradley,” she said.
“Woof!” Bradley barked as he stared up at the roast beef.
“Amen,” my mother said as she dropped the piece of meat.
“Amen,” I said.
“So, finally. What’s it been? A year? And you’re finally bringing her to meet us,” she said as she began to spoon mashed potatoes onto her plate.
“I met her in June. And we didn’t start seeing each other until I took her those flowers, and I think that was in August,” I said.
“It was July. The fouth,” she said.
I shook my head as I loaded my plate with meat. “August.”
“That’s exactly why Bradley falls asleep when you talk to him. He gets tired of the fibs you tell,” she said.
“He falls asleep because he’s fat and unhealthy,” I said, knowing what I said would irritate her.
She turned and glared at me over the top of her fork full of mashed potatoes. “Stephen Vincent! Take it back.”
“It’s true,” I said.
“Every word out of your mouth is a fib. Bradley’s not fat, he’s muscular. And it was right after you got beat up, because you had those stitches in your face. It was July Fourth, and we were eating fried chicken. Right here,” she said as she pointed at the table.
“I know where we were, Mother. Whatever, Okay, July. Fine,” I said.
“So, six months ago you started seeing her, and just now I get to meet her. I think it’s sad,” she said.
“Well, you won’t have anything else to complain about here in about ten days,” I said.
She wagged her fork in my direction and cleared her throat. “They’re not complaints, they’re observations. Now, eat your dinner.”
“Well, I’m excited to finally meet her,” she said. “And if you’ve been seeing her all year, and if you truly love her, you should…”
She paused and took a bite of bread.
“I should what?” I asked.
She handed Bradley another piece of roast beef, glanced upward, and shook her head as we made eye contact. “Never mind. I’m excited to meet her, that’s all.”
I forced a sigh of sarcasm and continued to eat. I was pretty sure I knew fully what my mother intended to say. She was a master at hinting at what she wanted, expected, or believed she deserved, but not actually saying it.
And, in time, I was pretty sure I would grant her wish.