Aftertaste - Meredith Mileti [84]
“True,” Richard says, pausing to sip his tea.
“Well, I guess if Fiona makes him happy, who am I to say?” I tell him, even though I don’t really mean it.
“Creative temperament aside, even though your mother might have been his intellectual match and shared his interests, Fiona’s a much better choice. She’s one for the distance,” Richard says, shaking a biscuit in my direction.
I’m about to tell him that I find it difficult to believe that someone who wears spandex and plays Bunko has the staying power to satisfy my father in the long term, but Richard interrupts me.
“Besides, Fiona takes good care of your father. He’s never looked better, and when a man gets to be his age, what he wants is to be taken care of.” I look up, surprised by the sudden intensity in Richard’s voice. He isn’t looking at me, though. He’s studying the other half of his biscuit like it’s the Rosetta stone.
Neither one of us says anything for a moment. Richard and my father are pretty close in age, within ten or so years anyway, and I’m starting to get the feeling we haven’t just been talking about my father. I also know better than to press him. Again, Richard changes the subject, and we talk about other things—his latest design project, whether Fiona’s breasts have indeed been surgically altered, my new friend Ruth.
On the way home I think about what Richard said, what we both said, and, more important, didn’t say. He’s got a cagey, secretive side, not to mention a disarming smile and a well-developed capacity for changing the subject whenever it hits too close to home. Even after all these years, for someone I consider my best friend, there’s still a lot I don’t know about Richard.
chapter 18
I’m in the coatroom at Gymboree the following morning, wrestling Chloe out of her jacket, when Ruth breezes in. She’s wearing eye makeup and lipstick, and her hair is swept up in a complicated chignon. Instead of her favorite Wharton B-School sweatshirt and faded Gap chinos, she’s wearing designer jeans and a turquoise cowl-necked sweater. She looks around the coatroom furtively. “Well?”
“You look great,” I tell her.
“Thanks,” she says, plopping Carlos down on the bench next to Chloe. “Is he here? Did you see him yet?” she whispers, rummaging around in her diaper bag. I shake my head. Carlos has begun to squirm, so I start unzipping his coat while Ruth pulls a pair of wedge heels from the bag and holds them against her sweater. “Too much?” she asks. “I couldn’t decide.”
“Yup, definitely,” I tell her, slipping Carlos out of his jacket.
“Okay, right,” she says, stuffing them back into the diaper bag. I thrust the kids’ jackets and bags into the cubbies while Ruth stands there hyperventilating.
“Wait a minute,” she says, laying a hand on my arm. “Can you just check to see if he’s out there?”
“Ruth, get a grip. What is the big deal? You’ve never even spoken to the guy. He might be a complete moron.”
“You’ve been married, Mira. Do you have any idea of the stigma attached to someone my age who’s never even been asked?” I look over at Ruth, whose face threatens to collapse in a mass of worry lines.
“Okay, okay, I’ll check.” I duck my head out into the gym and look around. “No. He’s not even here. Come on, let’s go,” I say, propelling Ruth and Carlos into the JCC gym.
After a while, Ruth relaxes. I lift Chloe into the long tube, and Carlos toddles in after her. Ruth sinks down onto the brightly colored mat and blows a wisp of hair that has escaped her chignon out of her face. “I can’t believe I let someone I don’t even know unglue me like that. What a loser I am, huh?”
I sit down next to her and give her hand a squeeze. “Not at all,” I tell her. Chloe emerges from the other side of the tube and makes her way at a fast crawl to join us on the mat. When Carlos fails to follow her, Ruth ducks her head inside the tube only to find that he’s parked himself smack in the middle of it, causing a traffic jam of testy toddlers to build up from the other side. Ruth leans in and calls his name. “Come on