Pieces of Perfect (21 page)

             
“So, what are you doing to this poor chicken?” Max asked his dad.
 

             
“I’m cooking it.  What does it look like?”

              “It looks like you’re torturing it.  The poor thing already had to experience one death.  Do you have to put it through this, too?”  
 

             
“Very funny, very funny.  You just take this pretty young lady over and sit down.  I have this under control.”
 

             
“All right, but if you cook it much longer, my team is going to be able to use it as a puck.”

              “Just,” Bill scooted Max with hands, “just get away from here.  I’ve been grilling longer than you’ve been alive.  Go on.”

              Max laughed as he guided me back to the table.  “So, these are your parents,” I said as we sat down.  

              “Yup, these are them.”

              “They’re not what I pictured.”  
 

He looked at me questioningly. “What did you picture?”

“Hmm,” I thought for a moment.
 “People who dressed in all black and had afternoon tea in the drawing room.”
 

“You thought my parents were British?”
 
 

I laughed loudly.
 “No, but I thought they’d be, I don’t know, pretentious or something.”
 

“Glad to see you think so highly of me, doll.
 Oh, I’m sorry.  Lily.”  Max was smiling, but his eyes didn’t carry it.  What I had said bothered him.

“I don’t mind you calling me doll.  I just didn’t like it out there so publicly.  And I didn’t mean to insult you.  I just meant that,” I paused, trying to find the right words, “you’re so confident and have that I-don’t-give-a-fuck-attitude.  I just expected you to have parents who had their heads halfway lodged up your ass.”  I smiled at my last statement, hoping that it would bring us back to friendlier ground.
 

“I understand why you said what you did.
 My arrogance doesn’t reflect how I was raised.  I think my behavior has embarrassed them on more than one occasion.”  Max stared at his dad’s back as he spoke, then cast his eyes to the ground.
 

“What do they do for a living?
 This house is incredible.”

“It is nice, isn’t it?” said an airy voice behind me.  I turned to see Max’s mom behind me with another place setting and a tray of drinks.  Max rose to take them from her and she sat down beside me.  “Well, I taught for ten years before
staying home to raise Max.  Bill was the CEO of a large investment firm in the city before he retired three years ago.  Now he stays around the house, driving me crazy.”  She said this in a serious tone, but I could tell from the way she gazed at her husband while she said it that she loved him dearly.
 

“So,” she continued, “is your family from around here?”
  

“No, I’m originally from Chicago.  I came out here to go to Penn for college and ended up loving the area and wanting to stay.”

“Are your parents still in Chicago?” she asked.
 

“Yes, they still live out there.
 My dad’s a district attorney and my mom was also a stay at home mom.”

“Oh, they must miss you terribly.  I used to hate when Max was traveling.  I sometimes wouldn’t get to see him for months.  That’s why I make him come over at least once a week now that he’s back in town.  I’m just not built to go long periods of time without seeing my baby.”  She looked at Max the way I wished my parents would look at me.  Their eyes always held so much judgment.  But Marjory’s just held pure, unconditional love.  “Do you see them often?”

I was caught off guard, immersed in my own moment.  “I’m sorry, who?”

“Your parents.  Do you see them often?”
 

“No, not really.
 I saw them at Christmas, but not since.”
 

“That’s a shame.
 You should call and invite them to come out here and see you.  I bet they’d love it.  

Sensing my discomfort, Max swooped in and changed the subject.  “Mom, you may want to check on dad.  He’s starting to pace
and change grilling utensils a lot.”  
 

“Dear Lord, give me strength.
 Bill, what are you doing to that chicken?”
 

“Don’t you worry, doll.
 I got it all under control.”  My breath caught at Bill’s words.  Max’s dad called his wife “doll.”  I quickly looked at Max.  He was staring straight at me, into me, with the blazing desire I had come to know so well.  Max had called me "doll" from the moment he met me, a term that he had heard his dad lovingly call his mom probably throughout his life.  I looked at him and it came flooding back.  The night at his house. The realizations I had made there about Max’s feelings for me.  They were all true and so much deeper than I had imagined.  I thought that I could end it that night with my harshness.  That I could effectively sever any romantic feelings he may have for me if I made it clear that I wasn’t receptive to them.
 

I was wrong.
 
 

I suddenly felt like I was suffocating.
 “Marjory, may I use your restroom?”  

“Sure, dear.  Go back through the kitchen and down the hall.  You’ll see it on the right.”
 

I stood slowly, my eyes still locked with Max’s.
 It was like we were having a deep conversation that no one else could hear.  But I didn’t want to talk anymore.  I looked away and walked quickly to the kitchen.  Once inside, I practically ran down the hall, easily finding the bathroom and locking myself inside.

I lowered the toilet lid and sat down.  
What the fuck was happening?
 I had been having such a good time and now it was all shot to shit.  What was I supposed to do now?   Why the hell hadn’t I driven my own car?  Now I was trapped here in this beautifully constructed nightmare.  

I forced myself to take a few deep breaths so that I could better evaluate the situation.  So Max called me a pet name that his dad calls his mom.  What did that really even mean?  It’s a name he’s comfortable with.  He’s probably called dozens of girls “doll.”  
Ugh.
 I lowered my face into my hands.  I was totally overreacting.  This was no big deal.  
Get a friggin grip, Lily.

When I finally raised my head, I found myself face to face with the bathroom mirror.  As I stared at it, I realized that I didn’t know this girl.  The girl staring back at me was blinded by the haze of things she wanted to see and hear.  She wanted Max to be an asshole. She wanted him to be someone who fucked around a lot and never caught feelings.  Someone who would watch her be happy with another man and still stick around and be her friend.  All of these things would allow her to convince herself that he didn't deserve her.

But the real Lily knew that this wasn’t the real Max.  Both reflections were facades, masks that allowed them to do bad things and stay free of blame.  It was time to start being ourselves.

The real Max came from a good family.  He was kind and thoughtful.  He was a good man.  His feelings for her were strong and unwavering, deeply rooted in his very essence.  And the real Lily damn well knew it.  
 

I tried to be completely truthful with myself in that bathroom.
 What were my feelings for Max?  Just as I was trying to get it sorted out, there was a knock on the door.

“Lily?  You okay?”  It was Max.  Of course it was Max.  I’d probably been gone ten minutes.  

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I replied slowly.  I rose and gave myself one more look in the mirror.
Ok, Lily, tonight you try to stay real.  
Then, I unlocked the door and stepped out.
 

Max was waiting for me against the opposite wall, leaning.
 He looked at me cautiously, as though he was afraid I may bolt for the front door.  We stood there a moment, just looking at one another, neither of us sure of what to say.

“Dinner’s about ready,” Max said, breaking our silence.
 

“Guess we better get back out there then.”
 

Max nodded and we walked back out to the porch and took our seats.  
 

“Here ya go, Lily.
 I carved you a nice piece of white meat here,” Bill said as I settled into my chair and put my napkin on my lap.  
 

“Dad, no part of that bird is white anymore,” Max said, shaking his head.

“What are you talking about?
 This chicken’s done perfectly,” Bill declared.

“Done perfectly!  Are you nuts, old man?  That thing has suffered twice and now we’re all going to suffer trying to eat it.”  It was becoming clear to me that this banter was a normal part of the routine in the Samson household.  My shoulders relaxed and my lips began to turn up into a smile as the two men continued bickering.

“Now you listen to me, hotshot.  You may be a big deal hockey player, but you’re no . . . uh . . . what’s that ‘Bam!’ guy’s name, doll?  Uh . . .”  

“Emeril Lagasse?” Marjory offered.
 

“Yeah, that’s him.
 Emeril Lagasse.  When you’re him, you can judge my cooking.  Until then, zip it.”

“Really, dad? Emeril?  That’s the best you could think of?  Really?”

“Okay, thank you for the vaudeville act, you two.  Can we eat now or would the two of you like to arm wrestle to prove who’s manlier?”  Max’s mom’s eyes twinkled and it was obvious.  She loved every second of this.  And the real Lily had to admit, she sort of loved it, too.
 

*
              *              *
 

The rest of dinner flew by.
 I was so wrapped up in the lively exchange between my three hosts that I lost all track of time.  Finally, Bill rose.  

“Come on you two.  I just bought a brand new fishing pole.  State of the art.  Let’s go out to the garage and I’ll show it to you.”

Max stood, dropping his napkin on his plate.  He looked to me and I was just about to stand as well when Marjory intervened.
 

“Bill, you act like you have a wooly mammoth fossil in there.
 Who wants to see a fishing pole?”
 

‘Who
wouldn’t
want to see a fishing pole?  I swear, sometimes I don’t know how we made it thirty five years when we have so little in common,” Bill huffed, but quickly broke into a wide smile.  

“I don’t know either, with as crazy as you make me. All right, go show them your fishing pole,” Marjory said with exaggerated excitement, “I’ll just straighten up a little.”
 

“Okay, kids.
 Let's go,” Bill declared as he made his way around the table, gave his wife a quick peck on the cheek, and started walking.
 

“I think I’ll help clean up,” I interrupted.
 Max turned to look at me, as if to ask me if I was okay.  “I’m fine.  I’ll meet up with you guys in a bit.”

“Suit yourself.  Let’s go, Max.  These women don’t appreciate fine art.”  Marjory scoffed at Bill’s comment as Max held my gaze a second longer before turning to follow his dad.

Marjory began collecting plates, so I did the same.  I followed her into the kitchen and set them down on the counter by the sink.  
 

“I just have to rinse them and put them into the dishwasher, so you can just keep me company if that’s alright with you.”

“Sure,” I replied.
 I was both intrigued and nervous.  I wanted to know more about this woman who raised Max, but I wasn’t sure I wanted her knowing very much about me.  For some reason, I knew it would bother me if she didn’t like me, even though I doubted that I would ever see her again.  
 

“So, Lily, you and Max are just friends?”
 Marjory asked, clearly trying to subtly ascertain particular bits of information.
 

“Yup, just friends,” I replied, sounding more upbeat than I felt.

“Hmm, that’s quite a shame.”
 Marjory didn’t expand on this statement and I knew that I should drop it.  That this was better left alone.  But, I couldn't resist.