Chapter Nine
Lila
“Lila, it’s so good to see you,” Pastor Rick says, putting a hand on my shoulder as I sit beside my mom and dad in the church basement, enjoying the weekly breakfast after mass.
“Great to see you too,” I say, guilt rising. It’s been years since I’ve been here. Usually Luke and I spent Sunday mornings saying God in a very, very different way. I try to tell myself not to blush at the thought. “It’s been getting—er, I mean—I’ve been busy.”
Having sex instead of coming to church, and lounging in pajamas drinking extra coffee.
Oh, Lord. That isn’t helping the blushing scenario.
“We understand,” the elderly pastor says, no judgment passing. It does make me wish I’d come here more frequently, his kind eyes reminding me why church was never a chore for me.
“Well, I hope God does,” Mom chimes in, offering a weak smile at the end so Pastor Rick thinks she’s being funny. I know better.
I shove in another bite of my glazed doughnut ring, eyeing Grandma Claire. She’s wearing her hot pink dress that plunges a bit too low to be tasteful for church. Who is going to question her, though, at her age?
Still, I shake my head and smile as I see her leaning in way too close to the twentysomething missionary from Colombia who is here for the month. He looks terrified, and I can’t blame him. I think about saving him—and myself from my mother’s comments—by walking over and distracting Grandma.
I don’t get the chance.
“Oh, well look at this. Hi, Sophie. It’s so good to see you. What a surprise. I know you usually go to the Saturday evening mass, but look at this. Lila, you remember Joseph, don’t you?”
I look up to see Sophie and Joseph “Sniffs” Goodman standing beside me. I’m taken back, way back, to high school, when Joseph had a crush on me and announced it over the PA system at school, making me the laughingstock of the district my senior year. I try not to visibly shudder, reminding myself we’re grown now. We’re out of those immature high school days. I’m sure Joseph is a nice guy, and I’m sure this is just a coincidence.
But then I see the conspiratorial wink between my mother and Mrs. Goodman, and I know. I just know.
It all makes sense. Mom’s extra attention to my outfit and hair this morning. Her insistence I do a better job on my makeup.
My mother is setting me up with a church boy. And not just any church boy—Joseph Sniffs.
I paint on the smile I’ve mastered when a veterinary customer is being an absolute pain or when I’m convincing myself that life isn’t so bad.
I’m sure Joseph isn’t in on this, and I’m sure he’s a great guy. He looks cute in his button-up plaid shirt, pleated pants, and glasses with three-inch-thick lenses. He’s cute. Be nice. Just be nice and friendly.
And then Joseph sniffs.
I’m not talking a tiny sniffle or a tiny breath in. I’m talking a dog hacking on grass kind of sniff, a snort-like, everyone in the room turns around, noise.
Hence Joseph “Sniffs” Goodman, the nickname mercilessly following him through high school.
You’re a grown woman now, I remind myself. Be kind.
“Love that hair. Looks super sexy,” Joseph says, winking. And I’m reminded that the sniffing habit isn’t the only bad thing about Joseph.
I guess some people really don’t change.
“Why thank you, Joseph. That’s sweet. So what are you up to?” I ask, trying to turn the conversation anywhere from the word “sexy.”
“Well, right now I’m working on a start-up in Mom’s basement. You see, it’s an app that is going to revolutionize internet chatrooms. I’ve been working tirelessly, right, Ma?”
“Yes, sweetie,” Mrs. Goodman says, putting an arm around her son. “That boy just basically hibernates in the basement all day, working on his computers and things. I could only lure him out today at the promise you’d be here, Lila.”
I glance over at Mom. So this was a conspiracy. Mom just gives a smile that seems to suggest “You can thank me later.”
This can’t be happening.
“Chat rooms, huh?” I ask. “Is that still a thing?”
“Obviously, Lila, or Joseph wouldn’t be working on it,” Mom interrupts.
I look to Dad for help. He just keeps eating his pancakes, averting his eyes from the disaster happening. I’ll have to remember to thank him later. He finally catches my eye and then smirks, thinking this is hilarious. I’m sure Maren will too.
“Well, it’s great to see you, Joseph. Good luck.”
“Actually, I was hoping we could get a bite to eat tonight. I could tell you all about my app. I’m looking for a pretty woman to be the face of my business, and it seems like you’d be perfect.”
I stare at him, blinking, reminding myself to stay calm and kind.
Calm and kind.
“Sorry, Joseph. I can’t. Really busy tonight.”
“No, you’re not,” Mom interjects.
“Yes, super busy,” I respond through gritted teeth. My mind starts to race. What am I going to use as an excuse? I don’t want to be rude and say, “Sorry, Joseph, your creepy startup in your mom’s basement makes me want to call the police, not go on a date. Also, I can’t stand your sniffles or anything about you. I’d rather stab myself in the eye than go on a date with you where you will make sexual advances.”
Yeah, not exactly church-like.
Apparently, though, I’m not speaking a language my mother, Sophie, or Joseph understand.
“Would eight work?” Joseph asks, turning to my mother now like I’m some pawn.
“That would be perfect,” she answers for me. Oh my God, where the hell are we? Are they bartering with me like this is an arranged marriage?
No. Just no.
I stand up. Some of the other church members look over at me. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Goodman, Joseph, but this isn’t going to work. You see, I have to get my treatment for the syphilis I contracted sleeping around town. All around. And now my mother is trying to hook me up with your son to get my reputation back in line, but I can’t do it. I need some time to repent for my sins before I’m worthy.”
Mrs. Goodman’s jaw drops, and Joseph actually jumps back like he’s been bitten. My mother gasps in horror, and my dad stares at me, wide-eyed, like I’ve gone way too far—which I clearly have. Pastor Rick also stares and then blesses himself. Some elderly women look at me like I’ve just cried witch.
Oh shit. This was too far. Way too far. Syphilis? What the hell was I thinking?
I wasn’t. Mom’s annoying, over-the-top behavior just got to me and mouth diarrhea happened.
Unrecoverable mouth diarrhea.
The room is quiet for an awkward amount of time. I don’t know what to do. I’m frozen, too afraid to move a muscle, hoping this will all just go away.
“Well, I think we are just going home now,” Sophie says, leading Joseph away from me. I offer a weak smile and wave and sit down.
“Don’t worry,” Grandma Claire shouts from across the room, cupping her mouth with her hands to make a mock megaphone. “Lila, I’ve had the syph before. It’s not a big deal. A few treatments, and you’re good.” She gives me a smile, a wink, and a thumbs-up. As if things aren’t bad enough.
I try to retreat into myself, head down on the table, my hair getting stuck in a swatch of maple syrup.
“What in the hell were you thinking?” Mom shrieks. “Are you serious? We can never set foot back in this church again.”
I put my head up. “Sorry, Mom, but maybe next time, you’ll ask before you try to arrange a marriage for me.”
“I just wanted to find you a nice boy.”
“I don’t need help in the dating department, thank you very much, especially if you thought Joseph Goodman was my match. What were you thinking?”
“Well, at least with him, you know he’s traditional. You know you won’t have to save him. You tried to save Luke from his disastrous self. Look how that turned out.”
I point now. “Don’t make this about Luke. This is about you and your ridiculous 1920s belief that I need to get married right now to be happy, that I need to be married at all costs.”
“Well, isn’t that grand coming from the girl who was obsessed with getting a ring,” Mom says, tossing her napkin down as she storms out of the church. Dad finishes his pancake before rounding up Grandma Claire and following, urging me to come along.
Tears start to fall on the way to the car. Tears of embarrassment, tears over the thought of Mom thinking Joseph was the best option for me, and tears that in many ways, Mom is right about me being a hypocrite.
***
“Oh my God, Lila, syphilis? In a church? Are you freaking kidding me?” She is crying with laughter as we sit on the swing in the backyard later that evening. Maren’s come over for our weekly Sunday dinner. Mom cooked again. So yes, we got pizza. Grandma Claire was devastated because they sent a female pizza delivery driver.
Maren and I are in our favorite spot out back, just the two of us and Henry, who is snoring on his side under my feet. Will’s working tonight; some major client’s books apparently are a mess and the firm is in a tizzy. It’s good to have my sister to myself, the two of us on the swings Dad made us when we were little girls. The rope is dangerously thin, but we don’t care. There’s a peacefulness here.
“It just came out, Maren. I was desperate and angry and wanted to make sure they got the point.”
“Oh, I think they did. Pretty sure Joseph won’t be coming within fifty feet of you. This is priceless. This is so out of character.”
“I know.”
“I mean, this is something Mom would expect from me, not her precious Lila.”
“Thanks for reminding me. I can’t show my face in town.”
“Oh, stop. It’s all old women at that church anyway. No one is going to think twice about it.”
“Grandma Claire won’t stop giving me tips about treating it.”
“Ugh. Didn’t need to know that,” Maren says, shaking her head. “Love that woman though.”
“Me too. It’s been good hanging with her. It’s been the bright spot of moving back home.”
“So how long until you ditch this joint? Get back out on your own?” Maren asks, swinging a little higher despite the precarious state of the swing. She’s never one to be afraid, though.
My feet still carefully on the ground, Henry snoring beside me, I shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, I need to get in better financial shape first.”
“Of course you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“It means you always have to have everything perfect. Lila, when I moved out at nineteen, I had what, like ten bucks in my pocket? Was it smart? No way. But am I okay? Yes. Sometimes you need to stop being so rational and just live, you know?”
“You sound like Luke now.”
“Do I?”
“Yes. That was part of the problem,” I say, looking off into the sunset, wondering if maybe everyone’s right. Maybe I’m too careful. And where does that get me? With money in my bank account and an almost aneurism from dealing with my infuriating mother? A breakdown at church leading to everyone thinking I have syphilis? Not exactly my prize moment.
“Well,” Maren says, swinging quite high now, “luckily, you can’t break up with me. You’re stuck with me forever.”
“Maren, even you realize, though, that sometimes in life you need stability. You need that conventional promise and that acknowledgement that you’re heading somewhere.”
Maren slows down the pumping of her legs. “Listen. Yes, it’s nice that Will and I are on the same page with that. But does that mean this ring on my finger is the only way I know he’s it for me? No way.”
“So if he hadn’t wanted to get married, you’d be fine with it?” I ask.
“I don’t know. But I do know this. You and I are different, and we need different things in life. If you didn’t feel like you had everything you wanted, you deserved to go out and try to find it. We’ve been through this.”
“You’re right,” I say, shushing the gnawing questions and fears inside. “And it wasn’t just about the commitment situation.”
“It was about a whole lot more. Lila, this is eating you up. You need to let it go. Stop questioning yourself. You made your decision. Now get out there and live. And save money if you must, but make your first goal as a newly single woman getting the hell out of Mom’s house. I mean, really, don’t you just feel like a teenager again?”
“Yes. Dreadfully so.”
“Then let’s make step one on your new-Lila life checklist getting an apartment. I’ll help you.”
“Deal.”
“And let’s make step two finding you a real date, not that sniffly basement dweller,” a deep voice bellows. We turn to see Dad ambling toward us, hands in his pockets. “Glad those swings are still getting their use. Mom wanted me to tear them down, said they’re an eyesore. I couldn’t bear it.”
“Thank goodness there’s a sane voice of reason in the family,” Maren says, smiling.
“And it sure as heck isn’t you,” Dad replies to her, laughing.
Dad walks over and pats Henry on the head before taking a seat in the grass in front of us. “Listen, I need to talk to you. You remember John Mathews? Well, his son Christopher is back in town and—”
I toss my hands up. “Daddy, I love you. But stop right there. No more conspiracies to set me up. I need time to breathe.”
“Listen, I understand after the debacle this morning, you’re a little gun shy. Your mom, although unarguably crazy and controlling, loves you. She was trying to help. Her attempt at helping, though, was clearly a disaster. Christopher doesn’t have the sniffles and he doesn’t live in his parents’ basement for his work. He’s an engineer and, at the risk of sounding weird, he is pretty good-looking. He’s a nice guy. Trust me.”
“Wait, Christopher Mathews? I went to school with him, right?” Maren asks.
“You did. But I promise he won’t hold that against you, Lila,” Dad says.
“He’s good, Lila. Truly,” Maren agrees, nodding.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“Listen, you don’t have to marry the guy, contrary to your mother’s belief. I just want you to see that there’s more out there for you. Luke was a good guy, and I know he ended up winning the family over, but I was never sold on him. He was so different than you, Lila. I think Christopher might be just what you need. But no pressure. Just think about it, okay?”
He pats Henry on the head again, gets up, and walks away. Before getting too far, he turns around. “Love you, girls. It’s good to have you here.”
I smile, thankful for a dad who is so chill and balances out my mom’s crazy. But this gets me thinking.
Dad was so worried about me and Luke being so different, yet he and my mom are night and day—and they make it work.
“Daddy,” I yell, and he turns around. “You and Mom are so different. Isn’t that a good thing?”
Dad smiles, staring at the ground before answering. “It can work, Lila. But it takes a lot of effort. It’s exhausting. Is it worth it? Yeah. But sometimes in life it pays to go the smoother route, you know?”
I shrug, and Dad walks away.
I know he loves Mom, even in her worst, craziest moments. But maybe Dad’s right. Maybe work isn’t always the answer.
“That Christopher Mathews is good,” Maren says when Dad walks away. “He’s superhot. Dad has good taste in men.”
“Well, that’s a little odd.”
“Hey, no odder than Joseph Sniffles. Go for it, Lila. What do you have to lose?”
I kick at a stone in the ground. “Okay. You’re right. I’ll do it. Just one date.”
“Just one date,” Maren says. “That’s exactly what I said and look at me now.” She flashes her huge ring and the sun glints off it, almost blinding me. “Now, more importantly, get your horse of a dog to move so we can have our jumping contest.”
“Maren, this swing doesn’t look safe.”
“Nothing’s ever safe. Now come on. Just jump.”
So I do.
***
“Shit, is this dress too tight?” I ask, yanking up on the neckline, wiggling and trying to pull the fabric from my hips.
“Are you kidding? The tighter the better,” Maren says the next weekend as I’m getting ready for my date. I’ve been nibbling on crackers like I’m pregnant—which I’m not—trying to quell the nausea in my stomach. It’s been so long since I’ve done this first date gig, and I was never great at it anyway.
Thankfully, Maren came over to help me get ready. She also was brilliant enough to schedule a dress fitting for Mom so she’d be out of my hair.
I look at myself in the full-length mirror, my lob curled into a puffy but, according to Maren, sensuous updo. Maren’s already insisted I trade my ballet flats for a pair of stilettos, which seems like an awful idea. We’ll probably end up in the emergency room instead of the Italian restaurant downtown he’s promised to take me to.
“Will you relax? You look hot. It’s going to be fine.”
“I just don’t know if I’m ready for this.”
Maren puts her hands on my shoulders. “No pressure. Just go and have fun. Stop trying to make everything so complicated.”
“That’s what I do.”
“And I love you for it. But not tonight. Tonight you’re Lila the carefree, the simple. You can be Lila the worrier tomorrow.”
“Okay. You’re right. I’ve got this.”
As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door.
“I’ll get it!” Grandma Claire yells as Henry and Cookie race through the house barking.
“Oh God, no,” I gasp, dashing out in my stilettos—which is more like a careful snail crawl.
She, of course, gets there before Maren and I can. I swear that woman is an Olympic runner when men are involved, cane and all.
“Oh, my. I’ll just get my purse and I’m ready, dear,” Grandma Claire says, winking at Christopher.
“Grandma, this isn’t your date,” Maren states.
Grandma Claire turns and winks at us. “I know, silly girls. It was a joke.”
Maren and I shake our heads. We know for sure it wasn’t a joke. We’ve seen Grandma’s sly tricks firsthand.
Grandma Claire turns, winks at Christopher, who is holding a lovely bouquet of yellow daisies. “These are for you, Lila.” He adds my name as if he needs to clarify.
“Beautiful. I’ll just take these and put them in a vase,” Grandma says, grabbing them before I can hobble my way to the door.
I smile, knowing damn well those flowers will end up in Grandma’s room. It’s okay, though.
Right now, I’m not looking at flowers or thinking about Grandma’s incessant lusting for men. I’m thinking about Christopher Mathews, all six feet of him. He’s wearing tight, dark-wash jeans and a suit jacket with a button-up. He looks professional, strong, and handsome.
“Are you ready?” he asks, flashing me a smile that reveals perfectly straight, white teeth, a nice accent to his strong jawline.
Maren’s right. He’s superhot.
“As ever,” I say, feeling the awkward schoolgirl smile and giggles coming on. I try to gracefully sashay to the door, but I’m pretty sure I look more like a trotting antelope.
I hear Maren exhale, probably wondering how I can be a woman and not walk in heels.
“I’m sorry, I just can’t,” I say when I get to the door and Christopher reaches for my hands.
I see his face freeze. I lean down, take off a stiletto and chuck it into the house. I plop my foot down, pull off the other, and chuck it, too, before grabbing my ballet flats from beside the door. My feet almost audibly sigh in relief as I slip them into the shoes. “Much better.”
“You’re impossible,” Maren yells from inside as we shut the door.
“I think you’re impossibly beautiful,” Christopher whispers as he leads me to his Corvette.
I blush and, surprisingly, feel like tonight might just be a good night after all.
***
“So what made you want to be a vet?” Christopher asks as I try to gracefully eat my spaghetti and meatballs, which is basically an impossible task. Note to self: when going on a first date, don’t go for spaghetti. Get ravioli or something instead.
“Well, growing up, Mom wouldn’t let us have a cat. She claimed to be allergic and all that, which is clearly not true considering my grandma’s cat now lives with us. I believed her though, and I desperately wanted one. I found these three stray kittens when I was seven. Mom refused to let me keep them, so I built a little treehouse for them and raised them. I should clarify. By treehouse, I basically mean a huge refrigerator box I made Maren help me carry out to the oak tree. Dad eventually found out and helped me build a much more stable kitty shelter. When the cats got older, I had Dad build me a playhouse, complete with a sofa. I raised the cats, and loved doing it. I guess it was just always in me to care for animals.”
“That’s sweet. Do you like it? Being a vet, I mean?”
“I love it. It’s hectic and weird hours. But the feeling of helping an animal or helping someone save their beloved friend is the best. I get to work with cute pets all day. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Christopher smiles after taking a glass of wine. “I can tell. You light up when you talk about it. And when you talk about Henry, of course.”
I grimace. “Sorry, I know I’m a little obsessed with him.” I mentally scold myself for telling at least five Henry stories tonight and for showing Christopher an entire phone worth of pictures chronicling Henry’s four years of life.
“I think it’s sweet. I have a lab named Candy that I’m obsessed with.”
“Maybe Henry and Candy could have a playdate.”
“Not likely,” Christopher says, shrugging. “Candy hates other dogs.”
“Oh. Well, probably not then. Anyway, tell me about you. What’s your family like?”
“Just me. No siblings. My parents are great. Mom was a librarian until she got married, and then she was a stay-at-home mom. Dad works at the electric company a town over. It was a good childhood, although a quiet one.”
I smile, taking another bite of spaghetti. It’s weird getting used to small talk again, having to be the model of politeness. Looking across the restaurant, I see a family arguing wildly and I almost turn to Christopher and make a joke about my family. And then I realize he wouldn’t get it. He doesn’t know me like that, not yet. We’re not at the joking phase.
It’s weird to not be in the joking phase.
The rest of the night is good. Fun. We laugh about childhood memories and share controlling mother horror stories. I’m having a good time, and realizing maybe there is potential. Christopher is mostly serious and very focused. He’s kind and nice. He’s very… average. Not in looks, but in personality. He seems safe.
Maybe safe is what I need.
But after dinner, Christopher asks if I want to walk with him downtown. He wants to show me this great place he absolutely loves.
We’re talking and laughing, and I’m not thinking that in a million years, he’ll take me where he does.
But when Dot’s Doughnuts is in front of me, and we don’t walk past, my heart stops.
“They have the best doughnuts. Seriously. It’s worth the ridiculous calories.”
My chest tightens, and I want to run away. I want to dash down the street, tell Christopher I’m sorry but this is a bad idea.
And then I see him. On the corner, his corner.
What used to be our corner.
There’s a sad, dark tune coming from his guitar. He’s wearing his beanie that strangles his curls. He’s got a beard growing, and he’s staring at the ground, the streetlight casting an eerie glow on him. I hear the words, I hear Christopher asking me to go in, and yet I don’t.
Because staring at the man who was once mine while I’m on a date with another, I can’t think straight.
I pause for a long time before agreeing to follow Christopher inside, my insides wrenching tight. As Christopher leads me to a table and asks what I want to order, I’m not present, not really.
My mind is flashing back to another first date, one quite different from this one in so many ways, the devastation of what was up ahead unknown to me.