If At First

Part 2 - Chapter 1

When my parents were married, everyone questioned the lifestyle they chose, living in this dinky town so my father could be their sole attorney. He has a weakness for lost causes. And mom was never much for paid employment. She was more of a good deeds are their own reward-type. She worked every now and then, but would quit every chance she got.

My mother's upbringing was drastically different than the way my brothers and I were raised. She had nannies and tutors, and when she wanted to learn about the history of Ireland or Rome, she would go to Ireland or Rome. She attended finishing school in Switzerland, she had horses, and servants, and every opportunity to do anything she wished. My brothers and I, on the other hand had, well, her. And after her, we had my dad.

When she was eighteen, mom was supposed to attend Princeton with an emphasis on obtaining a husband rather than an education because my grandparents were stuck in 1950. Instead she went to Brown, got a social sciences degree, and married my dad. Even though my grandparents were adamant in their partiality for the son of their closest friends, my mother was incredibly self-possessed –some might call it defiant– and never so superficial that she would regard a lifestyle over her own heart. She and my father were deliriously happy and would have it no other way.

"It is true. You can ask anyone." My father said, interrupting my reverie. "You've got her sparkly green eyes, long eyelashes, and that cute little nose... Hmm.... Come to think of it, you look nothing like me. Maybe you have my ears. Lemme see, your 'lobes connected?" He checked my ear and I giggled as I always did when I got to have his undivided attention. "But that's beside the point," he continued, "I'm not good at this kind of stuff. I want to give you something." He jumped up from the couch, disappearing upstairs and returning seconds later holding a tarnished silver jewelry box.

"What's this?" I asked.

"These were your mom's. I've been waiting for- I thought they might- I want you to have them. She would want you to have them, I mean." I watched him carefully, wondering what was going on with him, and took the box he handed me. It was heavier than it looked.

I carefully opened the lid, not sure what to expect. The inside was lined with velvet and glittered with diamond and emerald earrings, a necklace and bracelet in platinum settings. The necklace was an impressively ornate, antique work of art. It was all definitely old, and definitely the most valuable thing I'd ever seen in real life. "She only wore these a few times," He said, "but I remember each time because the green in the emeralds made her eyes twinkle."

"They're beautiful" I whispered, staring. "But why?" Overwhelmed by such an unexpected gesture, my voice faltered and I tried unsuccessfully to blink away the stinging in my eyes.

"Well, a week or so ago, I was talking to Mrs. Eckley down-the-way, and mentioned you might be coming home soon. News spread." He nodded to himself, "Small town, y'know. And before I knew it, young Henry Newland started calling here, and when I would see him around town he'd talk to me nonstop. He even came by once. Next thing I knew, it was Greg Avery, and then little Jeffy Harris..."

"I don't think he'd appreciate being 'little' anymore, dad."

He sighed, and a flicker of genuine sorrow crossed his face. He looked down at his hands, folded in his lap. "It got me thinking that one day pretty soon, one of these guys will take you away from me." He looked up again. "I wanted to make sure you know I love you. And your mother loves you,.." He broke off, keeping his eyes lowered. "And no one will ever be good enough."

There's nothing more heartbreaking in this world than to see my father cry. Not that it's a rare occasion, he cried at just about everything. For a guy who can make himself look crazy-intimidating when he wants to, he's complete mush. And once mom was gone the floodgates were opened. He cried at holidays, recitals, birthdays ...ice skating lessons. It definitely threw a damper on whatever was happening, but we all understood. The frequency, however, did nothing to deteriorate from the discomfort imposed on its observers.

Every year I can feel my mother slip a little further from me. The exact way her face lit when she watched us play, the particular shade of lipstick that was her favorite, the wrong lyrics she sang to Somewhere, Over the Rainbow. But I know that some things will never leave me; Like the smell of lilacs and fresh laundry that always surrounded her or that she knew answers to questions like, "Does the Easter Bunny have cavities?" and "What does the letter 'Q' taste like?" or the special way she would cut the crust off our sandwiches in the shape of a heart.

I closed the lid, afraid that looking at them might somehow ruin the jewels, and slid closer to my dad's end of the couch. I leaned on his shoulder still clasping the jewelry box, determined to be good enough to deserve such a thing. He put his arms around me and kissed the top of my head. We sat together while Andy, Sam and Nick wandered in like zombies under the hypnotic draw of the television.

I began thinking about what my dad said, and although the sentiment was valid, that one day I would –hopefully– get married and move away; Henry, Greg and Jeff were in all probability only stalking the house out of encouragement from their own mothers to leave their basements. And I faithfully promised that none of those guys would ever marry me if I had anything to say about it. And I do.

Next morning at breakfast Nick was relaying one of his many athletic victories when Sam, bored with the topic, said around a mouth full of cereal, "So Tabby, any new men in your life? You know how we like to help scare'em away."

My mind flashed to the gas station encounter yesterday before I considered the fact that I was scaring them away just fine on my own. "That's kind, Sammy. But I'm taking a break from men." I said, pouring out my cereal, "Dating them I mean, not you guys. I'm going to focus on me for a while."

Nick rolled his eyes. "Why?"

"Turns out dating is a distraction from more important things." I studied the bowl in front of me, but could sense their suspicion.

"So... by 'focus on you', you mean what?" Andy asked, tentatively. I could only assume he was hoping I wasn't planning on staying at the house too long for fear of having to give up his/ my room.

"Well, I mean, romance has never been a huge part of my existence or anything, but I feel like all that junk that happened with Justin was a setback from what I thought really mattered and where I'm putting the emphasis on my priorities. And now I'm just going to think about finding a job and being happy with who I am.... that kind of stuff." Their blank faces struggled with a reaction. "I don't know, I heard it on the Oprah Network." I finally said, shoving a spoon into my mouth, knowing they'd lose all interest now.

Discussing my love life, or lack thereof rather, was never my favorite item to share. Andy, who had been eyeing me with a frown, asked, "What's with your head?"

"Why?"

Sam and Nick both turned to look as well. "It's purple."

My head, since meeting with yesterday's door, had since been in a considerable amount of pain and I was hoping it would hurt more than it showed.

"Maybe I'm really bad at wearing makeup."

"Does it hurt?"

"I was nailed with a door at the gas station yesterday. Yes, it hurts."

"Tommy?" Andy asked, looking both angry and confused.

"Why would Tommy hit me with a door?"

"Why would anyone hit you with a door?"

"Because he was in a rush, I suppose,"

"Aaah, 'he'?" Andy grinned, "Now we're getting somewhere."

"We are?"

"Is that why you're all distracted and dreamy-faced?"

"Yeah, that's why. Because I dream about guys hitting me in the face with a door. Or maybe it's a concussion but thanks for your concern."

I stood, and before I even rinsed my bowl and put it into thedishwasher, they reverted to Nick's latest victory. "I'm taking off." I said,"Danni and I are meeting at her house to do wedding stuff." and walked out ofthe room knowing none of them either heard me or cared.