Chasing Stanley (33 page)

 

 

Two minutes at
Mitzi's house, and I'm already feeling shell-shocked,
Jason thought to himself as he followed his brother down the long white hallway. It reminded him of TV shows in which someone has a near-death experience, their soul leaves their body, and they talk about walking down a long tunnel toward the light—except in this case, the light was a dining room on Long Island.

He glanced at his brother, so smugly confident. “I can't believe you gave Mitzi the flowers
I
bought!”

“Move fast or die,” was Eric's glib reply.

As they drew closer to the dining room, the smell of the food grew stronger, as did the sound of people talking. Jason listened attentively; it sounded like a man was talking to a small child, the latter's voice high-pitched and tinkly. The thought there might be a child here relaxed him a bit; he did well with kids. If things got really tense or weird, he could always hang out with little Bobby or Susie and avoid adult conversation altogether.

Jason was already sure of one thing: except for their petite stature, Delilah was nothing like her mother. He knew from Delilah—and from Eric, too, unfortunately—that Mitzi could be trying. He knew she'd be sizing him up. What he wasn't prepared for was her bluntness, or the sense he got that everything about him was being scrutinized, from the length of his hair to the measure of his character. Of course, Eric hadn't helped in that arena. Delilah's mother probably thought the three of them belonged to some weird sex cult.

They rounded the corner into the dining room, and conversation stopped. Sitting at the food-laden table was a balding older man with sagging skin and a warm smile. Beside him was a bright-eyed young blonde whose breasts were potentially lethal weapons. Delilah's father and his fiancée. Had to be.

“Hello, hello,” the man said happily, coming out from behind the table to shake their hands. “Which of you is the hockey player?”

“I am,” Jason and Eric answered at the same time.

The old man looked confused. “I thought—”

“They both play hockey, remember?” Brandi squeaked. “But that one's the boyfriend.” She pointed at Jason. “The other one”—her gaze was flirtatious as she looked at Eric—“is his brother.”

Delilah's father regarded the blonde suspiciously. “How do you know?”

“Leelee and I ran into him when I was helping her walk dogs. Right?” she said to Eric.

“That's right,” Eric said smoothly. Jason shot his brother a sideways glance; there was something vaguely wolfish in the way he was looking at the blonde. Even more disconcerting, the blonde was returning the look.

“Huh,” Delilah's father grunted. He seemed satisfied with her answer. “Well, as I'm sure you've guessed by now, I'm Sy, Delilah's father, and this lovely young lady at the table is my bride-to-be, Brandi.”

“Jason Mitchell.” He flashed a quick smile to cover his shock. The woman was young enough to be the man's daughter; maybe even his granddaughter. No wonder Delilah was so freaked out over the whole thing. And no wonder Brandi didn't work out as Delilah's assistant. No way could Jason picture this girl scooping poop.

“Eric Mitchell, sir.” Eric stuck out his hand again to Delilah's father. “It's a great honor to meet you.”

Jason looked away. Jesus, his brother was sickening. And obnoxious. And making him look bad—though his effusive-ness did seem to somewhat baffle Delilah's father.
Good,
thought Jason.

“Sit, sit,” Delilah's father urged.

Eric made a beeline for the empty chair on Brandi's left. Jason put down the bottle of wine on the table, then sat opposite, tossing his brother a quizzical look, which Eric was either ignoring or pretending not to see.

“Do you boys have good mattresses?” Delilah's father asked.

Jason exchanged glances with Eric. “Uh . . .”

“A good mattress is crucial to well-being.”

“Crucial,” Brandi echoed in her cartoon-character voice, her gaze caressing Eric.

“You've probably seen me on TV,” Delilah's father continued boastfully. “The Mattress Maven?”

“I thought I knew you from somewhere!” said Jason, though of course he knew who Sy was.

Delilah's father smiled, pleased with the recognition. “Well, if either of you need a good mattress, I'm your man. I'll give you a nice discount.”

Jason cleared his throat to rid it of the immature laughter there just waiting to erupt. “I appreciate that, sir.”

“Why hockey?” Delilah's father asked abruptly.

“What do you mean?” Jason replied.

“Why did you boys pick hockey? Why not a teacher or doctor or entrepreneur?”

“I've always loved the sport,” Jason answered simply.

“Me, too,” said Eric. “You and Brandi should come to a game sometime, sir.”

Brandi giggled. “Wouldn't that be fun, Sy?”

“We'll see,” Delilah's father grumbled. Jason was trying to figure out how he could be oblivious to the sexual tension crackling back and forth between Brandi and Eric. Maybe he wasn't, which was why he suddenly looked so cranky.

Just when Jason feared all ensuing talk would revolve around hockey and mattresses, Delilah's mother swept into the room bearing herself like a queen. Delilah followed a few seconds later, looking extremely anxious until her eyes lit on Jason, and she smiled. He pulled out the chair beside him, and Delilah sat down, squeezing his knee hard beneath the table.

“How's it going so far?” Delilah said under her breath.

“You know, I'm not sure I can even put it into words,” Jason murmured back, prompting Delilah to snort loudly.

“Sorry,” she said to no one in particular.

“Everyone, listen up.” Mitzi's voice was commanding as she took her spot at the head of the table. “We've got pot roast, potato pancakes, carrots—”

“None of which you cooked, I'm sure,” Delilah's father cracked.

“I cooked all of it, as a matter of fact,” Mitzi retorted.

“You mean Ben's Deli cooked all of it. If you'd cooked it, dinner wouldn't be on the table until midnight.”

Delilah's mother smiled sweetly at Brandi. “Have you grown bored of his nastiness yet? Or are you still in the ‘He's so witty' stage?”

Delilah groaned. “Mom. Don't.”

“You
wish
I was still being nasty to you,” Delilah's father continued, unheeded. “Admit it.”

“You know what I wish?” Mitzi hissed. “I wish you should get hit by a truck!”

“Why did you invite me, then?” Sy challenged.

“For Leelee! I wanted to make a nice Hanukkah for
our daughter
!”

Jason glanced at Delilah. She sat extremely still, head bowed as she stared down at the table. Jason got the impression she was somewhere else in her head, or else she was trying to make herself as unobtrusive as possible to keep out of the line of fire. It seemed to work; as her parents continued hurling insults at each other like poison darts, they seemed to forget Delilah was even there.

Jason caught Eric's eye. He looked uncomfortable yet fascinated, which was exactly the way Jason was feeling. This was so different from the way their family interacted that it was like being on another planet. The intensity of the emotion between Delilah's parents was unnerving. Jason had once heard there was a thin line between love and hate. Mitzi and Sy lived on the line. The gleam in both their eyes wasn't purely malice; there was also excitement there.
This is a kind of foreplay for them,
Jason realized.

As quickly as the nastiness had flared, it was over. Sy grumbled something, Mitzi muttered something, and then they were acting like nothing had ever happened as Sy asked Mitzi to pass him the pot roast, and she did so with a smile. Delilah slowly lifted her head, as if it were safe to come out now.

“Baby, what can I get you to eat?” her mother said to her.

“I'll have some potato pancakes, please.”

Her mother's mouth twisted with displeasure as she put some potato pancakes on Delilah's plate. Mitzi put pancakes on Jason's plate, too, nearly three times more than she'd given Delilah. If Delilah noticed, she didn't say anything.

Jason had never had a potato pancake before, so he watched to see what everyone else was doing. Delilah's father was slathering his in sour cream. Jason did the same, passing the sour cream to Delilah when he was done.

“She doesn't need that!” Mitzi called out sharply.

Jason blinked in confusion. “What?”

“You don't want the sour cream, do you, honey?” Mitzi asked Delilah. “So fattening. Why don't you have the apple-sauce instead?”

“Why don't you leave her the hell alone, Mitzi?” Sy growled. “She's skin and bones!”

“She takes after your side of the family, Sy. Too much sour cream, and she's gonna wind up looking like your cousin Temma—that blimp!”

“Temma was not a blimp,” Sy said indignantly. “She had a gland problem.”

“You mean she had a cake problem! I don't want Leelee—”

“Hello,” Delilah interrupted loudly, “please stop talking about me like I'm not here!”

Sy looked apologetic. “You're right, pussycat. I'm sorry. I still think you should eat what you want.”

“Thank you, I will,” said Delilah, glaring at her mother. There was relish in her movements as she plopped a huge dollop of sour cream on her plate.

“I have a headache,” Brandi announced. She turned to Delilah's father. “I want to go home.”

Sy looked embarrassed. “We just got here.”

Brandi looked annoyed. “I can't control when I do or don't get a headache, Sy.”

“Sweetheart, if you could take an aspirin and just hang in there—”

“I can run her home if you want,” Eric offered. Everyone at the table turned to look at him. “Really, it's no problem. I can take Delilah's car, run her home, and then come back. That way you can stay here and enjoy your dinner, Mr. G.”

“Well . . .” Delilah's father seemed uncertain.

Jason looked at Delilah, who was busy glaring at Eric, who refused to glance at the side of the table where Delilah and Jason were sitting.
What the hell?
Jason thought.

“It's a perfect solution, Sy,” said Brandi, patting his hand. “This way I won't ruin your night.”

Delilah's father looked at Eric uncertainly. “Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely,” Eric declared. “As long as Mitzi promises to save me some of that delicious pot roast.”

Jason pushed his plate away. Eric was making him nauseous.

“All right, then.” Delilah's father glanced across the table. “Can he take your car, Leelee?”

“Of course. I can see poor Brandi is just dying to get to bed,” Delilah said pointedly.

Eric rose. “I promise I'll get her there in one piece, Mr. G.”

“This is very nice of you, young man. Delilah, will you give Jason your keys?”

“You mean Eric, Dad. Jason's right here.” Delilah leaned her head for a moment on Jason's shoulder.

“Jason, Eric, you hockey players all look the same to me,” Delilah's father joked feebly.

Delilah handed over the keys.

 

 

“Don't even ask, ”
were the first words out of Delilah's mouth as soon as she and Jason were in the kitchen. Ostensibly, they were there to help clean up after dinner. The real reason, though, was that Delilah feared she'd lose her mind—and her temper—if she had to spend one minute more with her parents.

“What do you mean, don't even ask?” Jason replied. “What the hell is going on with Eric and Brandi?”

“I guess we'll find out, won't we?” Delilah replied bitterly.

“Maybe he really is just driving her home,” Jason offered. Delilah's impulse was to blurt something horrific about Eric, but she held back. She could see Jason was clutching at straws, not wanting to believe his brother really was as devious as he appeared. It was touching in its own sad way.

Jason cringed as Delilah's mother's voice grew louder. “Your folks really—”

“Don't go there, either. Please.”

Mortification didn't even begin to cover what she was feeling. The minute she saw her father's car parked in the drive, the evening was already a goner in her mind. She couldn't believe her parents didn't even
try
to be on their best behavior when meeting Jason. She told herself she should be used to it by now; that when her parents were together, everything became about them. But this was different. This night was supposed to be about introducing Jason to her mother. Her parents' behavior embarrassed and infuriated her.

At least her mother hadn't done her impression of Torquemada. Instead, she hadn't asked Jason anything about himself
at all.
Which was worse?

All the tension she'd been holding back all evening came rushing to the fore. Delilah stood at the sink, blinking back tears. Jason came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “It's okay,” he said, pressing his cheek against hers.

“I'm so embarrassed,” Delilah choked out.

“Don't be. Everyone's parents are insane.”

Delilah gave a hiccuping little laugh. “Really?”

“Well . . .”

Delilah turned in his arms. “It might not be true, but hearing it makes me feel better.”

“Good.” Jason's expression was tender as he looked down at her. “Tonight has helped me ‘get' you.”