Chasing Stanley (16 page)

“If you say so.” Eric jangled the keys in his pocket. “Were we planning on driving?” he asked, sticking his nose into the store-bought daisies he held in his hand.

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“What kind of car have you got?”

“A mini. Why?”

“Let's take my Mercedes instead.” He nudged Delilah. “That'll impress Mommy Dearest, eh?”

Delilah put on her jacket and grabbed her purse. “Are you sure you're up for this?”

“Hey, Jason's paying me five hundred bucks.”

“That answers that.” She kissed each of her dogs, telling them to be good until she got back. She opened the front door. “I guess we can use the drive there to cook up some fake history for ourselves.”

Eric looked taken by the idea. “Cool. This is going to be fun.”

Eric didn't know Mitzi Gould.

 

 

Delilah tried seeing her mother's house through a stranger's eyes as Eric's Mercedes rolled to a stop behind her mother's white BMW. The house, a large colonial, sat far back from the road on an acre lot. A winding stone path led up to the front door; the house itself was flanked by two large maple trees.

“Pretty swanky.”

Delilah supposed he was right. They were just emerging from the car when the front door swung open, and Delilah's mother stepped outside to greet them. Delilah tried not to be embarrassed by the shuffling baby steps her mother took toward them so she didn't fall in her too-high heels. Mitzi was fully made up, her hair so stiff with hair spray it looked like platinum meringue. Her eye shadow matched her canary-yellow cashmere sweater. Her mother was not going gentle into that good night. If Mitzi wasn't careful, she was going to wind up looking like an anorexic drag queen.

“Helloooo.” Her mother waved as frantically as a drowning victim. “You must be Jason!” she squealed as she drew Eric into a crushing embrace.

“Uh . . . .”

“So handsome.” She pinched Eric's cheek before glancing at Delilah, pleased. “What a looker. You did good this time.”

“I try.” Delilah's eye caught Eric's as her mother released him from their hug. He looked shell-shocked, and the “fun” hadn't even begun.

“C'mere, let me look at you.” Delilah tensed as her mother perused her right there in front of Eric. “Gorgeous,” her mother pronounced unexpectedly. She turned to Eric for confirmation. “Isn't my baby gorgeous?”

“Gorgeous,” Eric agreed.

“You must be starving after your trip out from the city.”

Delilah felt compelled to point out that the trip was only forty minutes by car, if that.

“Men have appetites,” Mitzi replied with a knowing wink at Eric. She playfully wagged a finger at him. “I hope you brought yours.”

“Of course.” Eric offered Mitzi his arm. “Shall we?”

Mitzi looked impressed. “Good looking
and
a gentleman. We like.”

Delilah's mother took Eric's arm, and together the three of them headed for the house.
So far, so good,
Delilah thought, especially when her mother turned around to give her a quick thumbs-up.

“Let me take your coats,” Delilah's mother said as soon as they were inside. Delilah watched Eric take in the living room. There was no mistaking the confusion in his eyes as it dawned on him that everything in the room was the color of sun on snow: blinding white carpet, walls, and furniture. The only splash of color were the daisies he held in his hand, which he now thrust awkwardly at Delilah's mother.

“For you.”

“Beautiful. I'm just going to find a vase for these. You two take off your shoes, and I'll meet you in the dining room.” Slipping off her own heels, Delilah's mother padded off in the direction of the kitchen.

“Doesn't your mother believe in color?” Eric asked as soon as she was gone.

“Only when it comes to her eyelids, lips, and fingernails.”

A few years ago, Mitzi had gotten the idea that white was chic. Her father claimed it was like “living in a goddamn asylum.” That only seemed to spur her mother on.

Eric couldn't stop staring. “I feel like we're in a museum. Like we should be quiet.”

“We
are
in a museum. Come, let us tour the eggshell-colored dining room, not to be confused with the ecru kitchen.”

Eric chuckled. He must have thought Delilah was joking until they entered the dining room, which indeed was all beige, save for an enormous glass-topped table upon which sat enough food to feed the entire population of Roslyn.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Delilah's mother urged as she swept into the room holding the daisies in a white vase, which she placed at the center of the table. Eric pulled out one of the upholstered dining room chairs and gestured for Delilah to sit.
Oh, he's good,
Delilah thought as she took her place.
He's got the whole chivalry thing down pat. This is going to be a breeze.

Eric sat, and Delilah's mother poured coffee for everyone. Delilah was starving; she hadn't eaten a thing since the night before, and the sight of the bagels, muffins, and fresh fruit were making her stomach rumble. She reached for a chocolate chip muffin, only to have her mother gently slap her hand away.

“We want to keep nice and trim for Jason, don't we?”

“Jason thinks I look fine just the way I am,” Delilah replied sharply. “Don't you, Jace?”

“Yes, I do, my little—polecat,” Eric improvised, putting an arm around her.

“They're your hips,” Delilah's mother murmured at her beneath her breath.

“You're damn right,” Delilah murmured back, putting the muffin on her plate with a flourish.

“So, Jason.” Delilah's mother's voice was loud and overly bright—not a good sign. “Where are you from?”

“Flasher, North Dakota.”

“Really.” Mitzi pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Do you mind if I ask you a question? Are there a lot of J—”

“Mom! I already
told
you.”

Eric looked confused. “Are there a lot of what?”

“Jews,” Delilah said flatly. “My mother wants to know if you're Jewish.” She glared at her mother. “Why don't you just pull down his pants and find out?”

Eric looked panic-stricken.
“What?”

“Pay no attention,” Delilah's mother replied. “My daughter can be very crude sometimes, especially when she's trying to hurt me.”

Delilah rolled her eyes. “That's right, I forgot: it's all about you.” She glanced at Eric; he still looked somewhat terrified. “I'm sorry. We usually wait until dessert before we step into the ring.”

Eric responded with a nervous smile.

“So if you're not Jewish”—Delilah's mother glared back at her—“what religion are you? If you don't mind me asking.”

“Methodist,” Eric replied.

“That's some kind of birth control method you people use, right?”

Delilah groaned. “You're thinking of the
rhythm method
, Mom. And it has nothing to do with being a Methodist. Let's just get off the subject of religion, okay?”

“Fine.” Her mother gave an annoyed shrug. “Whatever you want.” She piled her plate high with grapes and melon slices before pausing to hollow out a bagel. “Am I allowed to ask how you two met? Or is that off-limits, too?”

“We live in the same neighborhood,” Eric replied, launching into the romantic history he and Delilah had concocted in the car, which wasn't far from reality. “She was out walking dogs, and we got to talking.” His eyes sought Delilah's.
How'm I doing?
Delilah patted his knee reassuringly beneath the table.

“Very romantic.” Delilah's mother popped a grape in her mouth, chewing carefully. “What do you think about Delilah's dog-walking business, Jason?”

“I think it's great,” Eric enthused, chugging down coffee.

“Really?” Delilah's mother did nothing to hide her surprise. “The hair doesn't bother you? The smell? The
drool
?”

“Not at all, Mrs. Gould.” He sounded so supportive of Delilah she wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. “I think it's great Delilah has followed her heart. She has a real way with dogs. Everyone in the neighborhood is in awe of her.”

“I suppose it's all right for now,” her mother sniffed. “Once she gets married and has a family, it'll be a different story. I hope.”

“Delilah tells me you're an interior designer,” said Eric, helping himself to a bagel.

“I like to think of myself as more of a habitat intuitive,” Delilah's mother corrected. “I'm able to go into people's living spaces and read the energies there. Then I use that info to make design choices. For example,” she continued, turning to Delilah, “remember Coco Kaplan?”

“No.”

Mitzi clucked her tongue. “Oh, please, Delilah! She was at your Bat Mitzvah.”

“You invited three hundred people to my Bat Mitzvah, Mom! I didn't know most of the people there!”

“She exaggerates,” her mother said to Eric. “Anyway, Coco hired me because she wanted to redo her living room. So I went over there, and immediately I was overcome with a strong, intuitive sensation of primal heat. I thought: jungle.”

“Not ‘hot flash'?” Delilah asked.

Her mother ignored her. “We went with zebra stripes with leopard spot accents. Do you know that to this day, everyone who comes to Coco's says it's the most amazing room they've ever been in?”

“I'll bet,” said Delilah.

“So tell me: do hockey players make a good living, Jason?” Delilah's mother asked casually.

“The good ones do. I'm a good one.”

Her mother nodded approvingly. “A boy with confidence. I like that.”

For the next hour and a half, Delilah's mother proceeded to grill Eric. Mitzi would claim she was “just making conversation,” but to Delilah's ears, it sounded like an interview. Were his parents still married? Did he have any siblings? Where did he see himself in five years? Was he putting away money for when his hockey career was over? Delilah half expected her mother to conclude the brunch by pulling out a calendar and picking a wedding date. At least Mitzi had been so wrapped up in appraising Eric, she'd forgotten to pump Delilah about her father.

Brunch over at last, Delilah's mother insisted on walking them back to the car. Taking Eric's Mercedes had been a wise choice. Mitzi oohed and aahed over it.

Delilah and Eric climbed into the car and waved good-bye to her mother, their relief palpable as Eric threw the car into reverse. They weren't even out of the driveway before Eric turned to her and said, “Delilah, I may not know you that well, but after today, I know one thing: You are
so
not like your mother.”

Delilah settled back in the passenger seat with relief. “That might be the best thing anyone's ever said to me.”

 

 

Conversation on the
ride back to New York was not nearly as awkward as it had been on the ride out to Roslyn. For one thing, they hadn't had to cook up a fake history for themselves in case Mitzi succumbed to her addiction to minutia. Delilah attempted to explain the Jewish mother phenom to Eric, but since he had no real point of reference, he couldn't quite grasp it. Offering reciprocity, he told her about his and Jason's childhood growing up in North Dakota, lacing it with long anecdotes about their time spent on the ice. Delilah wondered how Jason might feel knowing Eric revealed the way he'd cried the first time he saw a calf being born, or how when they were fourteen, two hoods from a neighboring town wrecked the snowman their little cousin had carefully built. Accidentally catching sight of them commit the crime from his window, Jason ran out of the house in his long johns to catch them, dragging them back to rebuild the snowman while the whole family watched. Delilah loved hearing these stories. They gave her a clearer sense of who Jason was. A picture was beginning to emerge of an impulsive but driven man with a tender heart.

Eric pulled up in front of her building and kept the engine idling. “Well, thanks for an interesting morning.”

“I can't thank you enough.”

“True, you can't.” The door lock released with a dull click. “Look, I probably shouldn't say anything, but my brother really likes you.”

Delilah already knew that, but she didn't want to sound egotistical. “Then why are you?”

“Because any woman who can deal with that slobbering mop of a dog is the right woman for Jace.”

 

 

After lavishing some
TLC on her dogs, Delilah decided the least she could do was check on Jason to see how he was feeling. She knew how depressing it was to be sick when you lived alone. She'd bring him some chicken soup, walk Stan for him, and see if he needed her to fetch anything for him from the grocery store.

Approaching his apartment, she heard the sound of the TV and men talking. Eric. He must have gone straight to Jace to give him the lowdown. She knocked twice. Jason opened the door. Sitting on the couch was a hulking man she didn't recognize. A football game was on.

“Delilah.” Jason looked startled. “What are you doing here?”

Delilah held up the bag containing the chicken soup. “I brought you some chicken soup. It'll make you feel better. Plus I thought I'd walk Stan for you.” Stan trotted over and sat down beside her. “How are you feeling?”

“Uh, better.”