Once Upon a Time, There Was You (22 page)

“Do you still make them the same way?” he asks.

“Tons of cheese and jalapeños, yup.”

“Good.”

She opens the oven drawer and pulls out a cookie sheet, and as she is turning to place it on the counter, she drops it.

“Shit!” she says.

They both freeze, waiting to hear a sound from Sadie’s room. Nothing.

“See what I mean?” Irene says. “Sorry for the swear.”

“ ‘Sorry for the
swear’
?”

She shrugs. “I’m trying to quit.”

“Quit swearing?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” He slips into the banquette, picks up the salt shaker and inspects it. “You need more salt in here.”

“Up there,” Irene says, and gestures with her chin to a cupboard.

John gets the salt, and fills the shaker over the sink. Irene is close enough that he can smell her shampoo.

“How are you, Irene?” he says, not looking at her. “I mean, really. How are you?”

She laughs. “You mean because I said I’m trying to quit swearing?”

“No. I don’t mind your swearing.”

“Yes you do. You told me once it embarrassed you.”

“Only because you used the f-word in front of my biggest client.”

“I didn’t know he was your client. It was a big party. A lot of drinking going on, too. I didn’t know he was your client.”

“Anyway,” John says, “it wasn’t that big a deal. The guy was a jerk. Now I’m glad you did swear in front of him, but then … it was a little embarrassing, yes.”

She reaches into a cupboard and pulls out a grater. “Want to do the cheese and I’ll do the jalapeños?”

“Sure.”

She takes a package of cheese from the fridge and hands it and the grater to him.

“This isn’t Monterey Jack,” he says, looking at the label.

“No, I use queso fresco now. It’s really good.”

“I always liked Monterey Jack.”

“Well, I use queso fresco now.”

“Okay.” He sits at the table and gets to work.

For a while, it is quiet but for the sounds of John grating and Irene chopping. It’s nice. Irene used to always invite him to help her in the kitchen but he never really wanted to. Now he understands that it wasn’t the help she was asking for; it was the companionship. She gave up early on asking him to help; she used to turn on NPR to keep her company.

He finishes grating the cheese and tastes it. “You really like this better than Monterey Jack?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on, really?”

She turns around from slicing peppers to look at him. “You
know, John?” She’s peeved; her hand is on her hip, her brow furrowed.

“What? I’m just asking if you really like it better.”

“As opposed to
pretending
to like it better?”

“Jesus Christ, Irene.”

“What?”

“I only meant that maybe Harold influences you and—”

“Who’s Harold?”

“That guy you work with. The food guy.”

“Henry.”

“Oh. Right. Henry. I just thought he might be influencing you or something. Not that … I mean, I know he’s a nice guy and all. Sadie is nuts about him.”

“I see,” Irene says. “So according to you, I can’t even make a decision about cheese that isn’t suspect.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“And since Sadie is nuts about Henry, he’s a nice guy. Well, he’s not such a nice guy, John. He’s a temperamental ass a lot of the time. A
lot
of the time.”

John puts down the cheese, leans back in the banquette.

“Irene, what are you so pissed off about? Can’t you just … Why are we even talking about cheese? Do you realize what’s happened here? Do you realize we could have lost our daughter? My God, Irene, she could have been
killed
!”

“And you’re blaming me!”

“I’m not blaming you!”

“Yes you are. You
are
! You think I have a terrible relationship with her and that this never would have—”

“I don’t think you have a terrible relationship with her!”

“Oh, yes you do, and don’t you dare deny it! You’re always putting on that long-suffering attitude, trying to pretend you’re not telling me what to do with her when you
are
telling me what
to do because
you know best
, right, John? You always know best! But you don’t know! You’re not the one here with her! You’re not the one who sees her the most!”

“And whose fault is that, Irene? Huh?”

“Stop yelling.” Her own voice is quiet, now.

He repeats the question, and she comes to sit opposite him. “It is not my fault that we got divorced, John.”

“No?”

“No. There were two people in our marriage, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Well, there were three people affected by it, Irene. Okay? In case
you
hadn’t noticed. And I don’t think you did notice. Or care.”

Irene twists her face up, starts to cry. “What the hell do you know about what I care about? Nothing!”

“Doing really well with the quitting swearing,” John says. “All right, look. Let’s just focus on Sadie. Okay? Let’s just take care of her. I’m thinking … I might as well tell you, I’m thinking about taking her home.”

“What are you talking about? She is home.”

“No she’s not. You took her away from home.”

“She doesn’t even like Minnesota.”

“In fact, she does. But I wasn’t talking about Minnesota.”

“What were you talking about, then? What are you
talking
about?”

“I’m talking about me.”

Irene stares at him.

“I’m her home,” John says.

“And I’m not? Are you crazy?”

“Why don’t you ask Sadie?” he says. He gets up from the bench. “Good night.”

He walks back to the bedroom. That was a low blow. That was
unfair. He doesn’t care. He climbs into bed, pulls the covers up.
“Bitch,”
he mutters.

From the kitchen comes the sound of the garbage disposal. She’s probably throwing out the cheese because he grated it. He closes his eyes.

After a while, he hears a knock, and then the door opens. Irene comes over and sits at the bottom of the bed, stares into her lap. “Guess what, John. You’re not Sadie’s home. I’m not, either. That boy is.”

She looks over at him, shrugs. “She named a successor. I guess I don’t blame her. You know why I think she didn’t tell either one of us about Ron Whatever-His-Last-Name-Is? Because she didn’t want us to ruin it. That’s her experience of what we do with relationships that are supposed to be loving. We ruin them.”

“I don’t think—”

“I’m going to bed. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I really am. From now on, we’ll take care of our daughter. And that’s all. Good night.

“Oh! By the way? Henry doesn’t use queso fresco. He uses queso panela. But I use queso fresco, so … Good night, John.”

“Good night.”

“Are you warm enough?”

He sighs. “Yes.”

She moves out of the room soundlessly. Like an apparition. Like the spirit of something dead and gone.

24

O
n Wednesday morning, Sadie hears a knock on her door. “Sadie? Can I come in?”

Her dad. She gets out of bed to let him in.

“I’m just off to the grocery store. Do you want anything?”

“A get-out-of-jail-free card?”

“Come on, you can understand why we need a little time with you. Is it really so bad being here with us?”

She shrugs.

“We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Right,”
she says. But she regrets the coldness in her tone. Her father looks like hell. She doubts he’s slept much, but then who has? She imagines they’ve all been going over and over the events of the last several days.

“Granola,” she says. “And raspberries.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Hey, Dad?”

“Hey, Sadie.”

She smiles. “It’s not bad being with you.”

“Okay.”

After her father leaves her room, closing the door gently behind him, Sadie flops down on the bed. Last night, when the three of them had dinner, Irene spoke gently to Sadie, saying that she
thought she understood why this happened, but Sadie would come to see that the idea of getting married, although perhaps a natural reaction, was a mistake.

“Why do you call it a natural reaction?” Sadie asked. “You think this is all a rescue fantasy? You think Ron is my white knight because he called the cops?” Privately, she wonders if there isn’t some truth to that.

“I do kind of think that,” Irene said. “But even if it isn’t true, you are far too young to be married, Sadie. And I want you to know that Dad and I will help you out of this.”

“Mom. I
love
Ron.”

“I’m not disputing that.”

“But do you believe me?”

Her mother sighed. “Look. Ron seems to be a very nice boy, and thank God he called the police. But you shouldn’t have married him. You don’t realize how much you’ll miss by being married, Sadie! You’re so young, you’re entitled to live a young person’s life. You need to explore, to try out things that marriage will prevent you from doing.”

“Try things out,” Sadie said. “Such as other men.”

“Well, frankly, yes. But that’s only a part of it. You need to be free, Sadie, to let yourself go in the direction you need to. Let us help you out of this, it will be pretty simple to do.”

Sadie laid down her fork. “So you don’t believe I love him. You can’t
conceive
of me loving a man. You know why, Mom?”

“I didn’t say that, Sadie!”

“But that’s what you think.”

“All right,” her father said then. “Just … Let’s everyone settle down.”

“Wait a minute,” Irene said. “Wait a minute! Let me talk.” She looked at Sadie. “I believe you are fully capable of loving a man. Although to me, Ron is a boy. But let’s just put that aside. Let’s
say he is a man. I believe you are capable of loving him. I believe you do love him. But what does that mean, Sadie? Does it mean you should be married at eighteen? What’s the rush? Honestly, I’m just asking the question.”

“You can’t understand,” Sadie said. It was true. “It’s a waste of time for me to try to explain it to you guys.” For one moment, Sadie thought about revealing Ron’s illness to her parents. But she didn’t want to. It didn’t belong to them. They would distort it, use it as another reason for her not to be married. She could just see it, Irene saying, “His doctors could be wrong! He could relapse! Do you want to be a
widow
?”

“You never give me enough credit,” Sadie said.

“You are a very responsible young woman,” Irene said. “But you’re too young to be married. It’s not just me saying this. Your dad and I agree completely on this. Tell her, John.”

“I think your mom is right,” he said.

And then Sadie lost it. She yelled, “Well, look at you! Look at the two of you! Look what happens when you wait so long! You get too old and you can’t be with
anyone
! The two of you are
pathetic
!”

That shut them up. She felt bad, saying it, but it was true. It would be one thing if her parents liked being alone, but they didn’t, anyone could see that.

After that, her mother sat there, her eyes empty. Her father wouldn’t look at her or her mother. Sadie spoke softly then, asking something she had always wanted to know. “Why
did
it take you so long to get married?”

“We’re not talking about your father and me, Sadie.”

“Well, maybe we should!”

But her mother got up and walked away. Then her father did, too. Sadie went back to her room and closed her door. She heard Irene on the phone, telling Henry that she would need more time
off, at least a week. “Because,” she said, and then lowered her voice so that Sadie could no longer hear her.

Later that night, Henry came over. Sadie heard him ask if he could talk with her, and Irene, still smarting, said, “Be my guest.” She heard him walk down the hall, the floorboards creaking in the place they always did. She heard him hesitate outside her door, then knock gently. At first she didn’t respond, but then, reasoning that he hadn’t done anything wrong, that she’d always liked him (and also that he might have brought her something wonderful to eat), she opened the door.

He stood holding a basket of something that smelled buttery, chocolaty. Before he said a word, he lifted the napkin. Chocolate croissants. A mini-ramekin of butter, and one of raspberry jam. “Did you make the jam?” Sadie asked.

“Of course.”

“Well … thank you.”

“Eat one,” Henry said.

“I will.”

“No, now.”

She laughed and took a bite. “
Staggeringly
good,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“So … may I come in?”

She stepped aside, conscious of the fact that, in her wrath, she had thrown things all over her room.

Henry went to the chair in the corner, removed a pile of clothes she’d flung there, and sat down. He sat at the edge of the chair, his legs crossed, his back straight. “I see we’re sorting and organizing,” he said.

She sat on the bed, took another bite of croissant.

“So. Your mother tells me you got hitched.”

“I got married, yes.” Delicately, she removed a crumb from one corner of her mouth.

“Have I ever met the guy?”

“No.”

“Have I ever
seen
the guy?”

“No.”

“Well,
that’s
exciting.”

“Look, Henry—”

“No, I
mean
it.”

“Okay.”

There was an overly long silence, and finally Sadie said, “You’ll like him.”

“I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well. Talk to my mom.”

“I will talk to your mom. But first I want to talk to you. I just want to see if you’re okay. Are you okay? Are you absolutely sure you did the right thing?”

“I’m fine. And yes, I’m absolutely sure. It’s nearly impossible to explain, but—”

“Oh, you don’t have to explain it to me. I fell in love at sixteen with the person who was right for me. But I let him go because I was sixteen. I’ve regretted it every day since.” He looked at her, his head tilted. “Can you imagine? I mean this literally. Every single day.”