Dating The Mrs. Smiths

“Plenty! Just none scheduled for today,” I clarified. “I have a few people over, and you didn’t give us much notice—”

“We don’t want to disturb anyone,” he interrupted, back to the smoothly polished salesman’s voice with which he’d started the conversation. “We’ll have a quiet look around, and you and your guests will hardly notice we’re there.”

I got off the phone wondering how much of his estimated ten minutes were left and whether or not I should try to shoo the ladies out of the house. But they weren’t exactly in an age demographic known for speed and agility. Besides, it would look odder for people to view the house with empty folding chairs in the living room and a sideboard of half-eaten snacks than for them to just walk through while we concluded the jewelry show. Heck, if the potential buyers didn’t want the house, maybe I could still talk them into a faux black pearl bracelet.

I quickly updated the ladies, letting them know visitors would be walking through but that we should carry on as scheduled. I didn’t have to worry about wrangling the dog outside because I’d already let her into the sunroom before the jewelry shindig, but I did rush back to my room to check on the kids. God bless ’em, they were behaving perfectly. Ben was sitting in his play area flipping through a board book about fire trucks, while Sara was cuddled with Ellie on my bed, focused on her movie.

She barely glanced in my direction. “Is your party over, Mommy?”

“Not yet, but there are some people coming to see the house.”

“Do we have to leave again?” She did look at me then, annoyance clear on her young features. “I haven’t watched my favorite song yet.”

Though she’d stopped viewing potential buyers as The Enemy, she resented her life being disrupted for the convenience of others.

“Nope, just stay back here in Mommy’s room. Don’t even get off the bed, okay?”

Her brown eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “What if I have to use the bathroom?” The way she was always looking for loopholes, I figured she had a brilliant future as an attorney.

“Why not go use it now?” I suggested. “Hurry, because they’ll be here soon.”

I went back to the living room, suspecting Mrs. Winslow would try to cut me out of my half of the profits if I didn’t actually spend a few minutes helping her. I was explaining, as per the instructional brochure, why jewelry should be the last thing you put on before you go out when our doorbell rang. The Realtor let himself in before I got there, however. Either he’d only rung the bell to prevent startling anyone or he’d remembered after doing so that I had guests and didn’t want to interrupt.

Behind the agent, there was a harried-looking couple who wore matching we-stopped-being-able-to-tell-floor-plans-apart-twelve-houses-ago expressions. They had three kids in tow. I wasn’t sure this house had enough space for a family of five, but the youngest child was a girl who appeared to be about four, and I suspected she’d appreciate the girlish decor in Sara’s room, hopefully causing her to remember this as a house she liked. In case they gave the four-year-old a vote.

Yeesh, I really was desperate.

“Hi. Come on in, and please look around,” I invited. “Don’t feel like you’re imposing, just take your time.”

I barely resisted the urge to tack on, And we have some lovely blue topaz earrings that would match your eyes, ma’am.

The four-year-old made a beeline for the refreshment table, only to be scolded by her father, at which point she burst into tears. The middle child, a boy wearing a black T-shirt and a scowl that made me recall every time my dad had ever teased, “Your face is gonna freeze like that,” declared, “I don’t like this house. It smells funny.”

I chose to believe that any odor came from the combined eight or nine perfumes and numerous arthritis relief creams of my guests.

The Realtor cleared his throat, meeting my gaze. “Um, kitchen’s this way, is it?”

I nodded, but they hadn’t yet turned the corner when there was a cry from the back of the house. The realty party froze in place as I strode toward the hallway.

Sara catapulted out of my room, screaming, “Snake!” She was moving with astounding speed for someone who had Dora the Explorer panties down around her knees beneath her denim skirt.

I met her halfway, scooping her up and probably giving her a wedgie as I hurriedly tugged her undies into proper place. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “But there’s a snake, Mommy!”

In all the time we’d lived in this house, we had never once had a snake in the house—if we did, Tom was smart enough not to tell me about it—so why now? Why today? This was way beyond simple Murphy’s Law. This was more like Murphy’s Magna Carta. I instinctively muttered a phrase under my breath that I sincerely hoped Sara hadn’t heard.

With Ben still at the back of the house, I jogged down the hall, not acknowledging the buzz of alarmed comments behind me. “Where was it?”

“In the bathroom.” Her voice was shaking. “I was sitting on the potty, singing ‘Catalina Madalina,’ and I looked down and seen it. Saw it.”

“Okay. I’ll take care of it.” How?

Maybe it was just a little bitty garden snake, the harmless kind that could be tossed outside. Not that I particularly wanted to get close enough for tossing, but as the only adult in the family, these things fell to me. And if it isn’t harmless?

Ignoring that thought, I lifted Ben out of his pen and set him down in the hallway, letting him crawl for freedom. Save yourself, son. Sara, dragging Ellie by the trunk, followed me so closely that if I stopped, she’d bang into me.

“Stay back,” I told her as I approached the master bath. When I glanced at her to make sure she understood I was serious, I saw that the Realtor and the family touring the house were all hovering in the bedroom doorway. The preteen daughter looked as if she might lose consciousness. The sullen boy was actually smiling now. Figured.

There was no closet in my bedroom, but the bathroom was spacious enough to make up for the deficiency—equipped with the standard toilet and sink vanity, a shower/garden-spa tub and a walk-in closet with its own lights. I’d better find the damn snake, because I didn’t relish wondering if it would slither out at me every time I opened the closet door for the next week.

The Realtor cleared his throat—a habit of his, I’d noticed. “So why again are you trying to get rid of this house?”

“We’re selling the house because I accepted a job in Boston,” I said, wondering what part of my tense body language made it look as if now were a swell time to chat. “Sara, where did you see it?”

“Under the sink. It’s green.” She was climbing up on my bed as she answered, her eyes wide.

Green. Most harmless garden snakes were green, right? I peeked into the room, my gaze coming to a screeching halt when I saw the thin green line across the tile, curling slightly. It was only a couple of inches long, but it disappeared beneath the edge of the vanity, so I wasn’t sure how much more there was. I executed a leap that would have qualified me for National Champion Long Jump status and then reached into my closet for a shoe box, dumping out a pair of strappy silver sandals I’d last worn to a holiday party with Tom.

As I crouched down to make the capture with shaking hands, I blinked, realizing the only reason I’d thought even for a millisecond that I was dealing with a snake was because I’d been told—by a hysterical six-year-old—to expect a snake.

Relief ballooned inside me. “Sara, there’s no reason to be scared. It’s just one of those lizards that are always getting into the house.”

At the sound of my voice, the gecko disappeared the rest of the way beneath the sink. I found out a moment later that he wasn’t the only one startled. I came out of the bathroom with a smile that vanished as soon as I saw the expression of the woman who’d been considering the house.

“Always getting in?” she asked, her face pasty.

“Cool,” her son said.

“Well, not always,” I amended, “but Florida does have a lot of lizards. They’re, um, good for eating the bugs.”

Her eyes darted from side to side, as if she expected giant winged insects to swoop down and carry her off. “The bugs?”

Somehow I got the impression these nice folks weren’t going to be making an offer this afternoon. Maybe now would be the time to see if I could send her on her way with a lovely parting purchase of earrings and matching pendant. But I never got the chance to ask because the doorbell rang.

If it was another real-estate agent, I was going to smack him in the head with his own cell phone…just as a gentle reminder to call ahead next time. But it was more likely to be one of the neighbors who had RSVPed that she might attend late. I opened the door with a cheerful, welcoming, “Hi!” and almost passed out on the spot.

My mother-in-law beamed at me. “Chahlie, deah!”

CHAPTER 4

Carrying a small suitcase in each hand, Rose Fiorello Smith swept into my house. A short woman with a solid build, dark bun and tidy appearance, she radiated authority despite her small stature. I wasn’t sure whether her entrance reminded me more of Mary Poppins or Napoleon.

“H-how did you get here?” I saw neither a flying umbrella nor mounted cavalry.

“Plane, rental car. Who are all these people? I hope it’s a packing party, you don’t look nearly ready to go. There they are, my beautiful babies!” She’d spotted her grandchildren, not that they were hard to pick out of the crowd since Sara was rushing toward us.

Ben hung back, quietly watchful in contrast to his sister’s running narrative.

“Nonna!” Sara tugged at the sleeve of Rose’s red blazer. “Come watch my movie with me. You can hear my favorite song, only we hafta rewind because I missed it when I went pee-pee and there was a snake in the bathroom. Mommy said a dirty word. I can’t say which one, because it was real bad.”

And there went all my motivation for ever encouraging Ben to talk.

“It wasn’t a snake, just a lizard,” I said. “Harmless gecko. Gone now. Um, Rose, can I offer you something to drink?”

With her eyebrows arched toward her dramatically white-streaked hairline, Rose moved farther into the house—a good thing, since the prospective buyers looked as if they would shove her out of the way to escape this loony bin.

Except for the boy. I distinctly heard him mutter, “Cool,” one last time as his parents hurried down our sidewalk. The Realtor followed, making assurances that the next home would better suit their needs.

“They were looking at the house,” I said weakly.

Rose drew the obvious conclusion. “I believe they’ve decided to pass. You know, dear, your living room would appear a lot more spacious if it weren’t full of folding chairs and whatnot.”

Mrs. Winslow glared at me. Apparently, I was testing the limits of her graciousness with the constant interruptions to her business venture.

“Rose, this is Gladys Winslow. We were in the middle of showing the ladies some of ZirStone’s fine merchandise. Mrs. Winslow, my mother-in-law, Rose Smith.”

The two women shook hands and Rose stepped forward, Sara still at her side. “Lovely to meet you. Would you mind if I took a look at those earrings, Gladys? Oh, these are fabulous. Do you take out-of-state checks? I hate to cut your party short, but I haven’t had the chance to visit with my grandchildren in almost a year. I’m sure you ladies understand. Oh, did you see this pendant?” she asked a woman sitting to her left. “It would be beautiful on you. Such a graceful neck.”

She somehow ushered my neighbors out of the house and made four sales for Gladys at the same time. “Did you see how this brooch is the same style as your bracelet, dear? You should splurge on yourself. We all should, before the busy holiday season starts and our time and energy is devoted to others. Goodbye, it was wonderful to have met you ladies.”

I just stared, belatedly moving into action as Gladys closed her jewelry case and turned to gather up her dishes. My business partner was whistling cheerfully when I shut the front door behind her. And then it was just me, Rose and the kids.

My mother-in-law was seated on the couch, Ben nestled in her lap as Sara sat next to her, showing off one of her favorite books. Rose glanced up with a reproachful smile. “If I’d known how much you needed my help, dear, I would have arrived sooner.”

“Tell me again,” Dianne urged, grinning over the rim of her mimosa. She was dappled in the sunlight spilling through mini-blinds we’d half closed because of the glare off the water and sand.

“So glad to provide the entertainment,” I said dryly.

The original plan had been for the kids and me to take Dianne to breakfast before she left this afternoon. With Rose unexpectedly available to babysit, Dianne and I had grabbed the rare opportunity for a more elegant brunch in the restaurant of a five-star beachfront hotel. We didn’t often get to sit down just the two of us, adults only, without being interrupted or having to dice someone else’s food. When we were done here, we’d go to the house so Ben and Sara could say their goodbyes.

Between Dianne’s interruptions and unfeminine snorts of laughter, it had taken me almost forty minutes to relay the full story of yesterday’s events.

She cut off a piece of Belgian waffle. “I’m just glad we got this chance for a girls’ morning out before I left. Although it is weird not to have the munchkins here.”

“‘Weird’ is relative. After yesterday, this hardly qualifies. I still can’t believe she showed up out of the blue like that.”

At least Rose had tempered her declarations that I clearly couldn’t handle the move by myself with the admission that she’d been so excited about seeing her grandbabies, she just couldn’t help herself.

Dianne raised an eyebrow. “Showed up and took over, from the sounds of it.”

It was true that Rose had assigned Sara packing tasks within half an hour of arrival, but I was too tired to resent offers of help.

“It’s her way. You know how she is.” They’d only met on a few occasions, but it didn’t take long for Rose to make an impression.

“Yeah. That, I know. What I don’t know is whether I feel less worried about you because you’ll have her help in Boston or more worried about you and whether or not you’re going to end up needing strong prescriptions for anti-psychotics.”

I laughed and we managed to joke our way through the rest of the brunch. Neither of us wanted some weepy, sentimental goodbye, even though we both knew that our friendship wouldn’t be the same after today. Driving separately back to the house kept me from saying anything that would sound like a badly written greeting card. I parked next to Rose’s rental car, Dianne behind it. When my friend stepped out onto the driveway, she held packages in her arms.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Dianne teased. “Neither of these is for you.”

“Somehow I suspected as much.” I nodded toward the Disney-themed wrapping paper featuring some of my kids’ favorite animated characters.

The kids met us in the foyer, Sara’s cries of “Aunt Di” quickly changing to “Presents!”

Rose hung back in the living room, her lips pursed. “Now, Sara, that’s hardly good manners. Let the ladies at least get into the house before you bombard them.”

“Oh, I don’t mind the bombardment.” Dianne hugged the children close to her. “I’d better stock up while I can!”

This reassurance didn’t really help with the lip-pursing. One of the sources of tension between my mother-in-law and me was that Rose had never warmed to Dianne. When I’d first heard Tom’s co-worker was dating a woman half his age who danced in skimpy costumes at a club on the weekends, I’d formed a premature impression, too—and learned a valuable lesson about rushing to judgment. But no matter how much the kids and I raved about Dianne, Tom’s mother had always seemed annoyed that the children’s closest “family” was the off-Broadway version of a Vegas showgirl. Deep down, though, Rose was probably envious of how little she got to see the kids in comparison.

Either she was respectful enough of my friendship with Dianne not to have made any snarky comments about my splurging on a leisurely brunch when I should be packing, or she was too glad to have an excuse to be alone with her grandkids.

We all adjourned to the living room, where Dianne, the kids and I squeezed onto the couch. I glanced up with the guilty realization that Rose probably felt excluded. Just because I hadn’t expected her to come down right before Dianne’s departure didn’t mean I should be inhospitable.

“Would you like a seat?” I asked. “I actually have something I should go get from my bedroom, anyway.”

Rose shook her head. “Thank you, dear, but no. I’ll go finish up in the kitchen.”

She’d informed me yesterday afternoon that she was here to chip in, and we’d begun the labor-intensive process of wrapping dishes and other breakables and boxing them. It had been a relief that someone besides me could pack the wedding china Tom and I had registered for all those years ago, for use on Thanksgiving and our April wedding anniversary. Whenever I handled the gold-rimmed plates, I was assailed with memories: our first Christmas as a married couple, when I’d overcooked the duck and Tom had assured me it was delicious; my teasing the strapping macho football player about helping me with the bridal registry; the expression on his darkly handsome face when he’d proposed beneath our favorite tree on the UF campus.

With practiced effort, I pushed away the achingly bittersweet past, determined to focus on the present. More important, the future. Though Tom and I wouldn’t have one together, I still had to raise our children with as much love and enthusiasm as I could. After my months of depression, Sara particularly worried when she noticed me looking unhappy.

Summoning a smile, I watched as both kids engaged in frantic tearing, shredding little bits of wrapping paper onto the carpet. Ben had uncovered a soft-to-the-touch choochoo train that made all kinds of noises when you pressed various places and even lit up. One of the sounds was the urgent “ding! ding! ding!” of a railroad crossing.

Dianne’s eyes were bright with affectionate mischief. “I’ll bet you’ll think of me the whooole ride to Boston.”

“I’ll bet the batteries will have mysteriously disappeared by then,” I kidded in return.

Sara unwrapped a purple cardboard box with a clear plastic front that showed dress-up accessories inside. Squeals of anticipation escaped her as she tried to get to the pink feather boa, sparkly tiara, plastic high heels and translucent purse full of makeup.

“Look, Mommy, look!”

While Dianne dutifully helped Sara into her new finery, I slipped out of the room and down the hall. Finances weren’t much right now—I’d pretty well blown any mad money I had on our extravagant brunch—but I’d put together a little something for my friend. I was grinning, thinking about the calendar gag gift, but my mouth dropped open in astonishment when I stepped inside my room.

My clothes were not where I had left them that morning. Dresses lay across the bed, sweaters dangled from plastic hangers on the door, and every pair of shoes I owned was lined up in front of the bureau. Rose. I knew she wanted to help with the packing process, but that’s why I’d given her the kitchen to tackle. I wasn’t wild about the idea of her going through my personal things when I wasn’t around.

If Tom were here, he would have told me she was just trying to make herself useful and I should let it slide; then again, if Tom were here, I wouldn’t be moving to Boston in the first place. Since I was, and Rose and I would presumably be seeing a lot more of each other, I thought it would be best to get certain boundaries clarified now. I sucked in a deep breath, prepared to call her in here, but then reminded myself that she was my mother-in-law, not my six-year-old. We could talk about it after Dianne had said her goodbyes to everyone.

When I returned to the living room, Sara and her brother were both wearing pink lip gloss that Sara informed me tasted like strawberries. Sara was teetering in her new heels, with the boa thrown over her shoulders, and Ellie sat on the couch, the “jeweled” tiara perched drunkenly between her plushy elephantine ears.

“I have a little going-away present for you,” I told Dianne, handing over a flat package wrapped in staid paper, a pattern of mauves and muted gold. “Nothing much, just something you can remember us by while you’re at sea.”

Dianne smiled at me and peeled away the curly ribbon and tape to expose a calendar with modern dancers posing on the cover, in contorted yet somehow still graceful positions—except that I’d stapled another calendar entirely inside the cover. She flipped it open, and a green-eyed hunk grinned up at her from February. His naked biceps were flexed as he prepared to shoot an arrow from a bow, and only the fact that he was standing behind a large red heart on a waist-high white column allowed the calendar to be sold in family-friendly stores.

Surprised, Dianne let out a short bark of laughter.

“I’m sure you’ll have a great time onboard,” I said. “But I figured, by that last month, you might be counting the days until you’re permanently on dry land and back to your own place. Might as well have something fun to look at while you’re counting! But here’s your real gift to remember us by.”

I handed her a two-sided, five-by-seven hinged frame that folded shut. On the left was a picture of Dianne and the kids at the beach; on the right was a picture of Dianne and me. We’d been at a bachelorette party for one of Tom’s secretaries. It was before he’d died, before I’d known I was pregnant with Ben. In the photo, I was a lot thinner and I hadn’t developed the matching baggage under my eyes yet. Dianne and I were grinning foolishly at the camera. God, it seemed like a long time ago.

She hugged me fiercely for just a moment, then let me go. “Well. I have to run. But I do have one thing for you first.” She reached into the beige purse resting against the corner of the sofa and pulled out a glossy brochure. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“A day spa I researched in Boston. I’m booking us some decadent treatments for August. I plan to come up for Ben’s birthday.” She turned to Sara. “When I come up, we’ll celebrate yours, too, princess. Which is cool because that means you’ll get presents in June and in August. Deal?”

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