Chasing Stanley (32 page)

“I never said she was the worst thing that could happen to you. I simply advised you to date her.”

“That's what I'm doing now.”

“People who are just dating don't say ‘I love you.' ”

“I can't talk about this anymore, okay?” Jason said irritably, taking a sip of beer. He hated that he'd let what Eric said make him second-guess himself.
Why do I even listen to him?
Jason asked himself. What he and Delilah had started was good. Yeah, there were a few kinks to work out, but nothing that seemed insurmountable—until Eric put in his two cents.

“You're just jealous,” Jason muttered.

“In your dreams.”

Each instinctively retreated to the opposite ends of the couch, nursing their beers in silence as they watched the news. When the sports segment came on, Jason tensed. He imagined the sportscaster booming, “The Blades lost to Boston tonight, thanks to a pathetic showing by winger Jason Mitchell. Boy, I bet Blades management are sorry they traded Krakov and Ballinger for him!” Thankfully, the only one on the team who got an on-air nod was Denny, whose netminding had kept the game close.

“I've been meaning to ask you.” Eric's voice was studiedly casual as he regarded Jason. “What happened with you and Malls on the road?”

Jason shook his head in disbelief. Honest to God, the NHL was worse than a bunch of old biddies gossiping over the back fence. Word of altercations spread fast, though the salient details were usually missing due to team loyalty. He wasn't surprised his brother knew.

“What did you hear?” Jason asked.

“Just that you two tied up. Something Malls said to you. Was it about Delilah?”

“Yeah.”

Eric looked intrigued. “What did he say?”

“You know the rule: what goes on in the locker room stays in the locker room.”

“I'm your
brother
, man. Give me a break.”

“Yeah, and I was your brother when you were seeing Barbara Hard-on! I can't believe you didn't tell me.”

“I'm sorry, okay? Now tell me.”

Jason hesitated. “You promise you won't say anything?”

“Who the fuck am I going to tell?”

“Your whole team?”

“Blood's thicker than a three-year contract,” Eric declared. “Just fucking tell me.”

“Denny's an anti-Semite.”

Eric looked surprised. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Damn. Well, I always knew Malls was dumb. You were right to kick the shit out of him.”

“Fuckin' A,” said Jason, taking a sip of beer.

“You know,” said Eric, “I was supposed to go out with him and a couple of the guys on my team next Saturday, and I was gonna ask you if you wanted to come. But I guess it's a moot point. And now I'm not so sure
I
want to hang out with him, either.”

“I couldn't have come anyway. I'm going to Delilah's mom's house for Hanukkah.”

“Balls in a box,” Eric sang with warning. “See?”

“Just shut up, Eric, okay?” Jason was hit with a wave of exhaustion so strong he could have fallen asleep right there on the couch. “I want to go. It's important to Delilah.”

“Can I come?”

“Sure, why not?” Delilah wouldn't mind. Besides, Eric had already met her mother. Having him in tow might make Jason less nervous.

“Cool.” Eric looked pleased. “This is going to be fun.”

Delilah was dumbfounded
when she went to pick up Jason to bring him out to her mother's, and both he and Eric appeared beside the car.

“What is this, a field trip to see the Jewish exhibit?” Delilah asked.

Jason looked at her, surprised. “I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd mind.”

“Besides,” added Eric, “I thought you'd want me here since your mother and I are like
that
.” He crossed his fingers.

Delilah sighed. “Get in.” She turned to Jason as he slid into the passenger seat. “I wish you'd checked with me first, Mr. Impulsive,” she murmured under her breath. “I don't mind Eric coming, but I don't know how my mother's going to react to an unexpected guest. Plus, having both of you there is going to confuse her.”

“Sorry,” Jason repeated, heartfelt.

“I'm sure it will be fine,” Delilah said, as much for his peace of mind as her own. The truth was, she was a nervous wreck about bringing Jason home to meet her mother. She wasn't delusional enough to think he'd earn the Mitzi Seal of Approval right off the bat, but she hoped her mother would at least let him talk about himself a bit before quizzing him about his bank balance and his goals for the next thirty years. Her anxiety was heightened by the fact she hadn't actually seen her mother since the “Plunge a dagger in my heart; your father's engaged!” debacle. Just remembering it made Delilah feel itchy with nerves, like she was breaking out in a rash. Detente had been reached over the phone, but still, you never knew what melodrama Mitzi might cook up for this special occasion. If she pulled a Sarah Bernhardt in front of Jason, Delilah would just have to kill herself.

“So, Hanukkah's like the Jewish Christmas, right?” Eric piped up from the backseat. Delilah's eyes met his in the rearview mirror. The naïveté she saw was genuine.

“No.”

Eric looked befuddled. “But don't you get presents?”

“Yes, but it's really not a big holiday.”

Eric nodded, seemingly mollified. Delilah was glad: She didn't have the energy to explain about Maccabees, dreidels, oil, and menorahs.

Jason seemed unusually quiet as he gazed out the window. Delilah touched his leg.

“Nervous?”

“Nah,” he scoffed.

“No need to be,” Eric assured him. “Old Mitz is a pussycat. As long as you can keep a straight face when she starts spouting the bull about being a ‘design intuitive,' you'll be fine.”

“Excuse me,” said Delilah. “It's one thing for me to find my mother occasionally ridiculous, but you have no right.”

“Sorry.” Delilah could hear the sulk in Eric's voice. “I was just trying to be helpful.”

“Apology accepted.”

For a few seconds, strained silence reigned the car. Jason reached over and began kneading the back of Delilah's neck. “Just relax. You're wound tighter than a—”

“Cheap watch,” Eric interjected.

Jason's fingers stopped moving as he turned around to regard his brother. “Here's an idea: Why don't you count how many blue cars you see before we get to Roslyn?” He turned back to Delilah. “Relax,” he repeated. “Everything will be fine.”

“I know,” Delilah said tersely.

Jason's fingers resumed kneading, deep and hard. “Not to bring up a sore subject, but is there anything I should or shouldn't say when I meet your mom?”

“Don't mention my father, do tell her you love the house, don't tell her you love dogs, do tell her she looks too young to have a daughter my age, don't eat or drink too much, do reassure her that you're not going to go bankrupt in the next five years.”

“Is that all?” Jason teased, his touch transforming into a caress. “I bought you a Hanukkah present, you know. Eight, in fact.”

“You did?” Somehow the fact that she'd get gifts for Hanukkah had slipped Delilah's mind.

“Of course I did. I'll give you the first one when we get back later tonight,” said Jason suggestively.

“Excuse me while I puke,” said Eric.

We won't be back too late,
Delilah thought to herself. She had no intention of spending hours under scrutiny at Chateau Mitzi. Her plan was to introduce, eat, and leave. If push came to shove, she'd invoke the “We have to get home to the dogs” clause.

The ride out to Roslyn seemed shorter than usual, aided perhaps by the joking, easy banter between Jason and his brother. Sometimes Delilah wished she had a sibling, someone with whom she shared childhood memories. Maybe if she'd had a sister or a brother, her mother wouldn't have been so focused on her. Who knows?

She turned left onto her old block, driving slowly, the better to enjoy the menorahs blazing in the front window of some of the neighbors' homes. Though it was only the first night of the holiday, the contrast of the single, flickering candle against the plum-colored darkness of the winter sky seemed to herald hope. Perhaps tonight wouldn't be so bad after all.

Delilah pulled into her mother's driveway, eyes misty as she caught sight of the elaborate brass menorah in the window that her great grandmother had brought with her from Russia at the turn of the century. Mesmerized, Delilah watched the flame of the slim white candle flicker and dance. It wasn't until she switched off the ignition that her eyes glanced on the license plate of the car parked in front of hers: MATTRESS.

Her father was here.

 

 

If ever Delilah's
penchant for blurting out the first thing that came to mind was tested, it was now, as her mother floated to the front door in a cloud of Shalimar.

“Happy Hanukkah,” Delilah's mother greeted her, her lips lightly skimming Delilah's cheek before moving to crush Eric in a viselike hug. “There he is! How are you, darling?”

“Great, Mrs. G,” chirped Eric. Without missing a beat, he divested Jason of the bouquet of flowers in his hand and presented them to Mitzi. “These are for you.”

“Always so thoughtful,” Mitzi sighed, gazing up at Eric like a lovelorn teenager.

Delilah shot a look at Jason, who stood gaping at his brother's impudence.

Mitzi stuck her nose in the fragrant bouquet, which was now competing with her perfume for dominance. Raising her head, she seemed to become aware for the first time of Jason's presence. She resumed her role as pint-sized diva, lifting a severely plucked eyebrow to ask, “ And you are—?”

“Jason Mitchell, ma'am. It's nice to meet you.” Jason thrust his right hand forward to shake hands, his left clutching the bottle of wine for dear life. Delilah knew just what he was thinking: No way was Eric going to steal that sucker.

Mitzi squinted as she shook Jason's hand, trying to place him. “You're the boyfriend's brother,” she said slowly.

“Actually, I'm the boyfriend,” said Jason.

Mitzi's face petrified into a mask of incomprehension. “I don't understand.” She turned to Eric for help. “I thought you were the boyfriend.”

“I was,” Eric replied cheerfully before Delilah could answer, “but now I'm not.”

Now it was Delilah's turn to gape. What the hell was he doing? She knew having both Jason and Eric here would cause her mother confusion, but she'd had the whole car ride to LI to figure out how to handle it. In the end, she decided she would come clean, telling her mother that she'd brought Eric for brunch because Mitzi had hounded her so much about having a boyfriend, Delilah didn't dare disappoint. This man, Jason, was her real boyfriend. Eric had never been. Instead, Eric had impulsively thrown a monkey wrench in the works.

Mitzi was peering at Jason apprehensively. “You're all right with this? Going out with someone who was with your brother?”

“Oh for God's sake!” Delilah exclaimed in irritation, her back beginning to itch madly. A rash was definitely coming on. “I'll explain it to you later, Mom, okay?”

Her mother covered her ears. “Better I shouldn't know.”

Delilah turned with imploring eyes to Jason. “Why don't you and Eric head toward the dining room and we'll catch up?”

“Sounds great,” Jason replied with a frozen smile.

“I'll show you how to get there,” added Eric, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “I don't know what you're cooking in there, Mrs. G, but it smells great!”

Mitzi pursed her lips demurely. “Thank you.”

Jason and Eric disappeared down the long white hallway. At least Eric hadn't been totally sucking up to Mitzi when he said the food smelled great; it did. Delilah stood savoring the aroma of potatoes and onions fried in oil, complemented perfectly by the sweet-spicy scent of the pot roast. She wondered if Mitzi had had dinner catered, or if she'd actually cooked it herself. She'd ask, just as soon as she found out what scene she was about to walk into.

“What's Daddy doing here?”

Mitzi shrugged as if it were self-explanatory. “I invited him.”

“No kidding.
Why?
”

“For you, Leelee.” She put a hand on Delilah's arm. “I know how upsetting it's been for you to be from a broken home. I thought maybe, just for tonight, we could all be together again. A family.”

Delilah stared at her before spluttering with disbelieving laughter. “You really believe it when you're saying it, don't you?”

Mitzi lifted her nose in the air. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh, please. You didn't invite Daddy here for me! You invited him to check out Brandi!”

“Don't be ridiculous!” her mother spat. Her vehemence was all the proof Delilah needed that she'd hit the nail on the head.

“I wish you'd warned me,” said Delilah. This was the second time tonight she'd had to say that to someone. It didn't bode well.

Mitzi's eyes flashed. “I wish you'd warned
me
that you've been playing musical beds!”

“I didn't. I don't. I—”

“Better I shouldn't know. What goes on between a man and a woman, or a woman and two men”—Mitzi's nostrils flared with disapproval—“is their business.” She jerked her head in the direction of the hall. “Come on. I'm sure Daddy and that pair of talking boobs he calls a fiancée are dying to see you.”