two rings.
“Hi, Van.”
“Hey, Jenny. Got your message about the parrots. We’re fresh out, I’m afraid.”
She heaves a great, dramatic sigh. “Alas. How are you fixed for parakeets?”
Van can’t keep up the palaver today, though he appreciates the vicarious buzz he gets from being around someone so impossibly happy all the time. “Not so well on parakeets, either. So anyway, I’m up here at my mom’s for the party tonight.”
“Oh, right. Did Barbara come up with you, or is she driving separate?”
“I have no idea what she’s doing today, but it doesn’t involve me.”
“I thought…? Oh. Sorry.”
“Eh. Ivan the Terrible strikes again.”
“You’re a lot of things, but terrible doesn’t even make the top ten. Say, I’m not busy today. You want me to come keep you company?”
Ivan chews his lip, and buys some time. “What? Sorry, didn’t catch that. Damn cell phone.”
Jenny repeats her question too quickly, and he has to answer before he’s ready. “Sure. That would be nice.”
“Are you sure? I don’t have to, it was just an idea. If you’d rather not…”
“Sure I’m sure. Come on up, it’ll be fun. You can meet all these crazy people.”
As Ivan gives directions, he wants to wind back time and not call Jenny. Now he’ll have to deal with all the questioning: Is this Barbara? No? Who’s this? Oh, she’s not your girlfriend? It also means he’ll have to entertain her, so slinking off into a corner won’t be allowed.
At his best, with Jenny, he’s witty in his self-deprecation, and he floats along on her borrowed confidence. With his family, he’s boiled down to the essential nugget of his pathetic failure. He’s not ready for those worlds to collide.
They exchange details about the time of the party and the style of dress required for the occasion. Ivan reports he’ll be wearing a sport coat over his shirt and tie, but not a full-on suit.
“Van? I’m really sorry about Barbara.”
“Thanks. But let’s not talk about her today, OK?”
“You got it.”
After they hang up, Van pulls his feet out of the water and sits cross-legged on the rough wood. He remembers he forgot to ask her about Irina, crying in the kitchen. If that’s something a woman really is prone to do out of just being “tired.”
The boards bounce beneath Van as someone approaches from behind. He turns to see his father, striding along with his hands clasped behind him, peering out over the harbor.
“Good morning, son. How’s the speech coming?”
Van bites back a groan. The speech. In his Barbara-wallowing, he’d neglected it. “Katya should have done this. She’s the married one.”
“You really want Katya in charge of every single thing? Anyway, you’re the lyricist. Maybe you could write us a song and just read the words.” His dad could be joking, but he’s not laughing. Nor smiling, even. Van squints up at him, taking in anew his dad’s gingery hair, going gray in odd threads here and there, his freckly scalp exposed more each time Van comes home. His eyes framed by deep wrinkles; too much squinting, maybe. Too much reading. Van catches himself pulling on his ear, so he takes his hand down and stands up from the dock. There’s something else going on. He seems slumped or sad.
Van doesn’t know what to ask, exactly, so he says, “You OK?”
“Sure.” He smiles, and it seems like his usual one, crinkling his round face into a grin.
Van wonders if he’s become hypervigilant of his family’s emotions, like his sister monitoring the slightest change in the barometric pressure. He turns his thoughts to the speech he must deliver this evening. All the time that Van’s been ruminating, Max has been staring at the water. Van knows the feeling well; one could lose whole chunks of an hour just watching the sunlight dance on the lake.
“Can I ask you something, Dad?”
“Mmmm.”
“How did you find Mom?”
Max looks away from the horizon. “Huh? She’s at the
“Hi, Van.”
“Hey, Jenny. Got your message about the parrots. We’re fresh out, I’m afraid.”
She heaves a great, dramatic sigh. “Alas. How are you fixed for parakeets?”
Van can’t keep up the palaver today, though he appreciates the vicarious buzz he gets from being around someone so impossibly happy all the time. “Not so well on parakeets, either. So anyway, I’m up here at my mom’s for the party tonight.”
“Oh, right. Did Barbara come up with you, or is she driving separate?”
“I have no idea what she’s doing today, but it doesn’t involve me.”
“I thought…? Oh. Sorry.”
“Eh. Ivan the Terrible strikes again.”
“You’re a lot of things, but terrible doesn’t even make the top ten. Say, I’m not busy today. You want me to come keep you company?”
Ivan chews his lip, and buys some time. “What? Sorry, didn’t catch that. Damn cell phone.”
Jenny repeats her question too quickly, and he has to answer before he’s ready. “Sure. That would be nice.”
“Are you sure? I don’t have to, it was just an idea. If you’d rather not…”
“Sure I’m sure. Come on up, it’ll be fun. You can meet all these crazy people.”
As Ivan gives directions, he wants to wind back time and not call Jenny. Now he’ll have to deal with all the questioning: Is this Barbara? No? Who’s this? Oh, she’s not your girlfriend? It also means he’ll have to entertain her, so slinking off into a corner won’t be allowed.
At his best, with Jenny, he’s witty in his self-deprecation, and he floats along on her borrowed confidence. With his family, he’s boiled down to the essential nugget of his pathetic failure. He’s not ready for those worlds to collide.
They exchange details about the time of the party and the style of dress required for the occasion. Ivan reports he’ll be wearing a sport coat over his shirt and tie, but not a full-on suit.
“Van? I’m really sorry about Barbara.”
“Thanks. But let’s not talk about her today, OK?”
“You got it.”
After they hang up, Van pulls his feet out of the water and sits cross-legged on the rough wood. He remembers he forgot to ask her about Irina, crying in the kitchen. If that’s something a woman really is prone to do out of just being “tired.”
The boards bounce beneath Van as someone approaches from behind. He turns to see his father, striding along with his hands clasped behind him, peering out over the harbor.
“Good morning, son. How’s the speech coming?”
Van bites back a groan. The speech. In his Barbara-wallowing, he’d neglected it. “Katya should have done this. She’s the married one.”
“You really want Katya in charge of every single thing? Anyway, you’re the lyricist. Maybe you could write us a song and just read the words.” His dad could be joking, but he’s not laughing. Nor smiling, even. Van squints up at him, taking in anew his dad’s gingery hair, going gray in odd threads here and there, his freckly scalp exposed more each time Van comes home. His eyes framed by deep wrinkles; too much squinting, maybe. Too much reading. Van catches himself pulling on his ear, so he takes his hand down and stands up from the dock. There’s something else going on. He seems slumped or sad.
Van doesn’t know what to ask, exactly, so he says, “You OK?”
“Sure.” He smiles, and it seems like his usual one, crinkling his round face into a grin.
Van wonders if he’s become hypervigilant of his family’s emotions, like his sister monitoring the slightest change in the barometric pressure. He turns his thoughts to the speech he must deliver this evening. All the time that Van’s been ruminating, Max has been staring at the water. Van knows the feeling well; one could lose whole chunks of an hour just watching the sunlight dance on the lake.
“Can I ask you something, Dad?”
“Mmmm.”
“How did you find Mom?”
Max looks away from the horizon. “Huh? She’s at the
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