He is seated at my dining table, reading and re-reading the poison pen letter Charlotte sent weeks ago and hoping to stir up my curiosity. Little does he know that despite being an extraordinarily curious person, I have no curiosity about this letter. There is a reason for that. I read the draft!
So I am dropping hints like, “Geez, look at the time, I’d better shake a tail feather to get out of here on time…and I still have to shower!”
Nothing. He’s the worst guest. I am shocked he hasn’t asked for a beer.
My cell rings. It’s Charlotte. I let it go to voicemail. She texts. I respond. “joeishere.oy”
She offers a rescue. I decline. I’ll let this play out. It would be comical if it were not so darn annoying that I am trying to accomplish quite a lot and he is so demanding of my attention.
He tries once again to rally support. This time the rally is not in support of his handling of the Open-Door/Xbox/Cat-Poop debacle but for Charlotte’s “way out of line” reaction to it.
Like I am any more amenable to that.
I am putting up a pretty convincing demonstration of neutrality, feigned though it may be. I nod, and uh-huh, and you-don’t-say through his meandering re-telling of things. He’s still baffled as to how Estelle got involved and I am not giving up the tapes.
I try one more time.
“Joe, you really need to work this out with Charlotte. It only involves the two of you.”
He tells me that since our father died, Christmas is not the same. (It is usually celebrated at my sister’s home.)
I offer that it never could be. It is changed forever because Dad is not there with us. Like the 4th of July without the fireworks.
He states that when Christmas comes, he’d rather be out of town. (Now we're talking!)
And while he is unsuccessfully pontificating, he mentions that he told all of this to our mother and had remarked to her that Mom “had raised one self-rigteous B****” And according to his recollection, Estelle had whole-heartedly agreed.
Like a tournament winning poker player (Bill and Estelle would be so proud!) I faked a non-response with an “Oh-for-heaven-sakes” over my shoulder as I put the icecream sandwich cake into the freezer.
At that point, I am going to be 30 minutes late to the party even if I break the land speed record getting there. I call to my kids to help Uncle Joe to the car with all the stuff my daughter has assembled for his daughter and kiss Joe goodbye with an insincere “Thanks for coming by, gotta scoot, let me know about the furniture!” Hint, hint. Hint.
I trot upstairs and close my door, peel off my clothes to shower and get out the outfit I intend to wear.
I hear Joe making his way out to his car and giving my kids childish little goodbye noogies.
On the edge of my bed in my towel, I dial my sister.
She is expecting my call.
“Oh, do tell!” she begins.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment