Page 36 of Fathers of the Bride
We went round and round for several hours. Raj was petty and jealous, unable to sync his world view with his own strong emotions. This was not the first time we’d had that problem. Surprisingly, or perhaps not surprisingly, none of it made me think twice when I decided to have dinner with Miles and not say a word about it to Raj.
Knocking on my own front door was a novel experience. In the two and a half years since I’d moved out, I’d barely done it. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember doing it at all. I’d only taken my clothes—kindly packed by Miles—and the contents of my office for which I’d sent movers. I hadn’t even been involved in my moving out.
Kelly was already an adult. I’d never had to pick her up for visitation, she drove herself to meet me. Not that visitation was formal. While she was still in college, Kelly saw Miles and me whenever she wanted. Just not together. Ever.
It took a moment, but Miles finally answered the door. “Thank you for coming,” he said, then stepped aside. I stepped into the foyer. I swear he peeked out to make sure none of the neighbors had seen me enter.
“I think we should sit on the dining terrace,” he said, leading me through the house. I noticed that the house was different.
“You’ve redecorated,” I said, attempting to sound non-committal. It’s not that it was bad, it was just not Miles. The colors were bold—reds and purples, the art on the walls abstract and chaotic. Next to the French doors leading out to the terrace, there was print that I swear was a rotting side of beef.
“Yes, I redecorated. The year after you left. It kept me busy.”
“You mean the year after you threw me out.”
He inhaled as though he was going to make a comeback. Instead, he said, “Thank you for coming. I appreciate it.”
On the terrace, the table was set with Miles’ favorite Churchill Pink Rosa dishes on navy chargers and a crisp white tablecloth. At least, the tablescape was familiar. It would have been disconcerting had it been as bold and chaotic as the inside of our house.Myhouse.
A basket full of my favorite rosemary rolls sat in the middle of the table. I couldn’t resist touching them. They were warm. It was all carefully chosen and casual at the same time. If it weren’t for the view of the L.A. basin I might have wondered if we were in the English countryside. A much more ‘in character’ look for Miles.
“Don’t look so suspicious,” Miles said. “It’s not a trap.”
That’s what people usually say just as they trap you.
I asked, “What are we having?”
“Boeuf bourguignon. Julia’s recipe.”
He’d been cooking all day. Now I was suspicious. What was he up to?
“How about a glass of wine?” he asked, picking up a crystal goblet. He poured a French cabernet that he’d left breathing on the table into the glass and handed it to me. I took a sip. It was lovely; cool and tart. Exactly the right temperature even though the evening was warm.
“What did you think of our future in-laws?”
He rolled his eyes dismissively. “Pudge said she used to watch my show when Avery was in diapers.”
“Was that before or after you screamed?”
“I suppose I deserve that.” That alone was a remarkable thing for him to say. Then he followed with the even more remarkable, “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”
“So, what is it with the screaming?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you always scream and I never noticed? Or is this a new phenomenon?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I almost never raise my voice,” he said.
“Uh-huh.”
“I may have gotten a bit dramatic. But I always do when it comes to Kelly. You know that.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“I think we should make it official,” Miles said, and I had no idea what he was talking about. He must have picked that up from my face because he added, “Our truce. Wearehaving a truce, aren’t we?”
“Yes, yes, that’s fine. For Kelly.”
