Screwdrivered (Cocktail 3)

“Yes,” I promised, wondering where this was going.

“I feel like I should say something like climb Mount Rainier. But you want the truth? My real, biggest goal in life?”

“Yes,” I whispered, holding my breath.

“To fall in love with an amazing girl, get married, and fill up a huge house with a whole mess of kids.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“So old-fashioned, I know,” he said with a slight laugh. “Not like the mountain climbing, right?”

I finally found my voice. It was buried, you see, behind this lump that kept showing up lately. “No mountain climbing, Clark. Go with the other,” I whispered. “It sounds pretty great.”

“It does?”

“Oh, yeah,” I answered. “Who wouldn’t want that?”

My hand actually hurt from clutching the phone so tightly.

It was my last night back east. Everyone was at my parents’ house, the table surrounded by my family, immediate and extended. The table was extended too, bursting with enough casserole dishes and serving platters to feed the Franklin army. We laughed, we yelled, we joked, we teased, we ate. It was everything I’d be missing every single Sunday, and somewhere between the scalloped potatoes and the triple-layer strawberry shortcake, my heart was full to bursting.

Feeling a little overwhelmed, I left the table and went to the back porch, wrapping my arms around myself to fend off the chilly air. And the melancholy.

“It’s too much sometimes, isn’t it?” I heard, and saw a puff of smoke coming from behind the boxwoods framing the swimming pool.

“You know she’ll kill you if she catches pipe tobacco on your clothes,” I warned, knowing my mom’s thoughts on my father’s smoking. He’d cut down considerably as he’d gotten older, but she still got on his case about it.

“I’ll tell her it was Peterson next door. She’ll never know the difference,” he said, blowing a few smoke rings my way.

“Right, because Mom was born yesterday. She’s looks good for only being a day old.” I crossed over to him as he tapped his pipe out on the bottom of his shoe.

We looked up at the stars for a minute. It was a clear night with a bright moon.

“Peanut. Have I told you how proud I am of you?”

Straight shot to the gut. Not to mention the tear ducts.

“Where did that come from?” I asked. My father was a man of few words when it came to raw emotion.

“I have no idea what you’re up to out there, and it scares the hell out of me. But I haven’t seen you this fired up since you left for Paris, and that scared the hell out of me too. So I figure you must be on to something.”

“Wow, I—”

“I wasn’t finished. You let me get this out, okay?”

I nodded, and he took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry I didn’t insist you wear dresses. I’m sorry you got a baseball before a Barbie. I’m sorry I didn’t let you paint in the house with your watercolors in second grade, and I’m sorry that when your mother wanted you to take tap dance instead of soccer, I didn’t listen to her. I’d say I’m sorry that you went into computers, but I’m not. You’ve got a good head for it; you just don’t have the heart. And if you hadn’t gone into computers, then I wouldn’t be able to buy you out and help us both at the same time.

“And I’m very glad to be helping you now, since I didn’t before when I should have.” He squeezed my shoulder, then let go. “That’s all I’m going to say. But I’m damn proud of you.”

Tears burned as I looked up at my father.

He cleared his throat, then squeezed my shoulder one more time. “Let’s get some of that shortcake before your brothers eat the whole damn thing.”

Color me surprised. Color me wrecked. Color me Peanut.

“All packed?” Clark asked late that night.

“I think so. Everything that’s being shipped has already gone out. I sold my car yesterday, so I’ve got that extra to go toward Seaside Cottage. I was thinking of installing a skylight, or maybe even an aboveground pool in the front yard,” I said, yawning into the phone. I was spending this last night at my parents’, since I was now officially moved out of my apartment.

“You never miss an opportunity to mess with me, do you Vivian?” He sighed. “What time is your flight tomorrow?”

“I get into SFO around eleven thirty. You should have heard me on the phone with the rental car people, making sure no putt-putt would be issued this time. Hopefully I won’t have to drive it for very long. Any word on the Bel Air?”

“You’ll be glad to know they delivered it this morning. It’s waiting for you when you get home.”

I let out an excited yelp, which I then tried to muffle with the pillow. Too late, I heard bare feet coming down the hallway. I rolled over, hiding the phone just before my mother opened the door.

“Vivvie, it’s past two in the morning! You have to be up in a few hours. We have to be up in a few hours, for that matter. Who in the world are you on the phone with?”

“Clark,” I said to my mom, but he answered as though I was talking to him. “Not you, be quiet,” I whispered into the phone, and looked back at my mother. “Don’t worry, I’m getting off soon.”

“Tell him good night and go to sleep,” she said, closing the door. I giggled. “Now,” she said through the door, and I rolled my eyes.