Page 95 of Meant to Be

“The town is great. I just didn’t like myhome,” she said.

I glanced at her, struck by how sad the statement was, and it suddenly occurred to me that she may have grown up on the “wrong side of the tracks,” so to speak. But a few turns later, we arrived on her quiet, tree-lined street. The homes were modest, but perfectly respectable, and I felt a sense of relief. Not for my sake—but for hers.

“It’s that one,” she said, pointing at a narrow two-story house with white aluminum siding and green shutters. The lawn appeared freshly mowed and watered, and the simple landscaping was as neat as could be, like a child’s drawing. Whistling, I showed off my expert parallel parking skills, wedging my car into a tight spot along the curb.

“And voilà!” I said, turning off the engine.

“Yep,” Cate said. “Here goes nothing.”

I laughed and said, “Hey! What happened to that positive attitude we talked about?”

She rolled her eyes and said she’d try, making no move to get out of the car until I came around to open her door. As she stepped onto the sidewalk, I put my hand on her back and walked beside her toward the front porch. The house was only a few feet from the street, so within seconds we were at the door. Oddly enough, Cate rang the doorbell, her mother immediately appearing. She was attractive, and I could tell she had been very beautiful as a younger woman, though her skin was now weathered, like she was a smoker or a sun worshipper.

“Oh, hi! You’re here! Come in! Come in!” she said, beaming at us through the screen door before Cate pulled it open.

I smiled and said hello, then wiped my feet on the doormat even though I knew my shoes were clean. Cate walked in first, hugging her mom and fielding a few questions about our drive, as I trailed behind. Once inside, I did a quick scan of the foyer, noting the gray linoleum floor with an elaborate pattern and a framed painting of the Virgin Mary hanging on the wall.

“Mom, this is Joe. Joe, this is my mom…Jan,” Cate said.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Toledano,” I said.

“Oh, please call me Jan,” she said, staring up at me with a starstruck expression that I’d seen many times before.

I started to shake her hand, then changed my mind, leaning down to give her a quick, awkward hug.

“Goodness, you’re tall,” she said, blushing and letting out a high, nervous laugh. “And more handsome in person. My goodness gracious.”

“Mom,”Cate said under her breath, looking mortified. “Stopit.”

I laughed and waved Cate off. “Don’t tell your mother to stop! She’s being nice,” I said. “Thank you, Mrs. Toledano.”

She smiled at me as Cate peered up the staircase. “Is Chip home?”

“Not yet,” Jan said. “But he should be back any minute. Wendy’s coming, too! But she can’t stay…. Oh, goodness, my manners! Come in! Sit down!”

I smiled, then followed Cate and her mother down a short hall, past the kitchen, and into the verybrownfamily room. The wall-to-wall carpet was brown; the sofa was brown; the coffee table was brown; the heavy curtains, closed and blocking out any natural light, were brown.

Cate and I sat next to each other on the sofa as her motheroffered us something to drink, rattling off an extensive beverage list, which included not only water, beer, wine, and Coke, but also Crystal Light, Mountain Dew, and milk.

“Milk, Mom?” Cate said, shaking her head. “He’s not twelve.”

I laughed and said, “She didn’t saychocolatemilk.”

“Exactly,” her mother said.

I pretended to contemplate this option, then told her I’d take a beer.

“We have two kinds,” she said. “Rolling Rock in a can and a Heineken in a bottle. I’m assuming you’d rather have the bottle?”

“Actually, I’ll take the Rolling Rock,” I said.

“In a glass?”

“The can is fine,” I said.

“Do a glass, Mom,” Cate said.

Her mother nodded, then asked if she wanted anything. Cate shook her head.

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