It’s Saturday morning and R gathers up some personal items: a toothbrush, hair gel,
comb, clean underwear, and her favorite hot pink lipstick. She piles her things into an acid green backpack with brown leather piping and heads out to her Ford Escort. R is going to visit her parents this weekend.
After a three-hour drive to the Poconos, R gets out of her little jalopy, stretches and grabs her things from the trunk. She hasn’t seen her mother and father in a few months, partially by design, but is looking forward to getting together with them.
She walks into the kitchen and sees her dad’s tools covering the entire table. It doesn’t
surprise her, however, since Dad likes to tinker a whole lot more than Mom likes to cook.
R’s father is a financial advisor turned master carpenter. He had earned his MBA, gotten a high-level job at Grift National Bank, and volunteered with Habitat for Humanity. He decided he liked working with his hands more than he liked working with money and took up woodworking full time. Now, he builds furniture, swing sets, and backyard sheds, but his specialty is custom made caskets for pets. R finds him in the yard building something, she isn’t sure what.
“Hey, R! Good to see ya! Come on over here and bring your old man that stanchion.”
R picks up a long cedar plank and dutifully takes it over to her father.
“Hi, Dad, how’s it going? Looks like you’ve got another project here.”
“Yeah, I’m building a sauna. The specs say it’s for six people but they must be Chinese or whatever ‘cause you can barely fit four in this thing.”
R’s mother comes out of the house wearing sunglasses, plaid Bermuda shorts and a pastel blue sleeveless top with the letter “R” for Rowena embroidered on the collar. She is carrying a glass of iced tea.
“R! Let me get a look at you. What are you, now, thirty-four and you’re still carrying that
Hello Kitty tote bag? I mean, really? Don’t you think it’s time to move on?” she slurred.
There is obviously something in her glass besides Snapple, although it is only 11 AM.
R’s mother is a wannabe socialite. She plays bridge with the girls every other Tuesday
and volunteers at the Historical Preservation Society of Snowdrift County.
Every spring they plan a Miss Snowdrift pageant, and every winter they hold the Blizzard Ball, a formal affair at the Kalahari Resort. That keeps R’s mom and her bridge buddies busy for most of the year.
Her mom also goes to the opera regularly with her gay friend, Pablo. R’s father doesn’t like the highbrow stuff.
“What are we having for dinner, Mom?” It is a joke, since Rowena barely knows the
difference between a bottle opener and a corkscrew.
“Why, we’re going out, of course. We want to treat you to a special meal because you’re
probably living on peanut butter and ramen noodles. You look anorexic.”
“No, I’m not, Mom. I weigh 135 pounds,” says the five-foot-six-inch R defensively. On
the last trip home, her mother had told her she was too fat.
“And what is that you’re wearing?”
R is wearing flare leg jeans and a vintage’90s “Beavis and Butthead” t-shirt. She ignores
the question and goes off to her old bedroom, which she finds has been converted into a mini- gym. It houses a treadmill, Bowflex, and inversion table.
“Mom!” R calls out.
“Oh, you’ll be sleeping in the Dog Room.” R’s mother suddenly appears behind her.
“You have a dog? And it has a room?”
“Oh, no, dear. It’s where I keep my antique dog collectibles.”
At 7 PM, R and her parents get to Lake View Restaurant, which is about thirty minutes
from the residential development where R grew up. Her mother often goes there for appetizers with Pablo after the opera. R’s father looks uncomfortable and out of place with his dirty fingernails and shabby brown sport coat over a navy blue polo shirt.
“Get whatever you want, R, your mother is paying,” her father’s voice drips with passive
aggressive resentment.
“Carl,” R’s mom says and shoots him a don’t-start-with-me look.
“What’s good here?” R interjects.
“Nothing,” Carl says.
“Double Manhattan with extra bourbon,” R’s mother blurts before the server can
introduce herself.
“I’m Cindy, your server. Can I get anyone else a drink?”
“I’ll have a black Russian, please,” R says politely.
“And uh, gimme a Jack and Coke,” Carl states as though it is his birthright.
Cindy goes off to fetch the drinks and Rowena scolds Carl.
“You don’t have to be so rude and demanding,” Rowena says, rolling her eyes.
Cindy brings the drinks and R gulps down half of hers. It already promises to be a long
night.
“Ah, I see who you take after, R,” Carl points out.
“Shut up, you big lummox,” Rowena hisses.
Cindy comes around again, announces the specials, and passes out menus. She is an
attractive older woman with white hair who reminds R of her grandmother. She is wearing all black, with an extra button undone on her starched blouse.
“Would you like an appetizer?” she asks.
“How about some calamari,” Rowena spoke for the group. R hated calamari and Carl
would never even try it.
“Do you have any mozzarella sticks or potato skins?” Carl inquires.
“No, but we have a nice charcuterie,” Cindy suggests.
“That will be fine,” Rowena says, appearing to compromise. “And we’ll have the
calamari, too. Oh, and I’ll have another cocktail as well.”
“OK, I’ll put that in for you. Take your time and look over the menu. If you have any
questions, I’ll be happy to help.”
“Thank you,” Rowena says.
“What the hell is a shar-cootery?” Carl asks.
“It’s a meat and cheese tray, Dad,” R says non-judgmentally.
Rowena rolls her eyes yet again. R and her parents look silently at the menu. In the
meantime, a skinny teenage boy delivers the appetizers.
“This shar-cootery is alright,” Carl says, “if you like expensive lunch meat on a wooden
board.”
Rowena takes some calamari and says, “Try some, R, it’s delicious.”
“Oh, no, Mom, I really don’t care for it.”
“Seafood is good for your brain. Your father would do well to have some, too.”
Carl chews some prosciutto, ignoring Rowena. R looks down at her cheese and ciabatta
toast, wanting to crawl under the table.
“R, tell us about your new job. How are things going at work? I’m sure you’ll be running
the place in no time,” Rowena smiles.
“It’s okay, things are going well.”
“Have you been promoted yet, or are you still a journeyman?”
R’s mother could never get used to the idea that her daughter, an English literature major, was soldering sprockets at a place called Widget Wonders.“
There’s nothing wrong with working with your hands, R. Don’t pay any attention to
your mother.”
Cindy walks past and Rowena flags her down. “Cindy, dear, could you bring us another
round of drinks, please?”
“Certainly, ma’am.”
Cindy brings the drinks and asks if they are ready to order.
“Yes,” Rowena says, “R, why don’t you go first?”
“Okay, I’d like the chicken Francaise, please.”
Cindy looks at R’s mother.
“I’ll have the grilled sea bass.”
“I see you’re going for some more of that brain food,” Carl jokes. “I guess you’re trying
to make up for those lost brain cells from all that Snapple you go around the house drinking.”
“What would you like, sir?”
“Gimme a strip steak, well done.”
“Excellent choice,” Cindy says. “Can I get anyone another drink?” she asks, after
noticing the family has drained their glasses already.
“I’ll take one,” R says.
“I’ll take another, extra bourbon,” R’s mother reminds Cindy.
“Me too,” Carl says. “I bet your husband is lucky to have a woman like you.”
“God rest his soul,” Cindy sniffs and walks away.
“Really, Carl? She’s old enough to be your mother.”
R imagines she is in a cartoon and squiggly lines are emanating from her mother’s head,
her eyes bulging.
In no time at all, Cindy comes back with another round. It looks as though she has
unbuttoned her blouse a little more. She leans forward and dangles her boobs in Carl’s face, handing him his Jack and Coke. Carl reaches out and kisses Cindy’s hand.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” he smiles broadly. R thinks he looks like an animated
crocodile. Cindy sets down the ladies’ drinks and scoots away, wiggling her elderly derriere.
Meanwhile, R’s face is flush with alcohol and humiliation.
“God dammit, Carl, I won’t tolerate this!” Rowena exclaims.
“You didn’t want to come here and now, you think you’re being cute by flirting with that poor old woman. You’re making an ass of yourself, and you know what? I don’t care.”
Steam is shooting from Rowena’s ears.
Rowena drains her Manhattan in one gulp. The teenage boy comes back with the main
course.
“Sea bass,” he says.
“That’s mine, dear. Come here, honey. I want to ask you something.” She motions coyly
with her index finger. The boy looks confused. He leans in and Rowena licks the side of his face.
R’s father frowns and groans.
“I don’t have to take this, you drunken whore!” he says, his crocodile teeth clenched.
“What’s good for the goose is good for the gander,” Rowena sings.
“Look who’s making an ass of herself now.”
“Come on, now, stop it,” R says half-heartedly. No matter how poorly they behave, R still
can’t bring herself to talk back to her parents. She gets up and goes to the ladies’ room as her parents begin screaming at each other. Once there, she smells poop poorly disguised in a flowery scent and sees someone’s feet sticking out of one of the stalls. R notices a window near the ceiling. Maybe she can get the poop lady to give her a boost so she can escape through that window.
Rowena bursts in, sobbing hysterically.
“Your father walked out. He said he was sick of my shit,” she bawls, “and called me a
useless, gold digging drunk.” Though Carl has very little money himself, his parents are able to support his wife’s expensive taste and hobbies.
“Settle down, Mom,” R says cautiously, still afraid to be assertive. In truth, she really
does think her mother is a phony and her father is long-suffering and put-upon. R quietly begins to walk out.
“Don’t leave your mother!” Rowena screams. R grabs her hand and pulls her out of the
restaurant.
“We’re going home,” R says firmly, surprising herself. She calls an Uber since Carl has
taken the car. When they get to the house, R’s father isn’t there.
“You and Dad need to get your shit together,” R says, her voice shaking. “Until then, I’m
going home. And I won’t be staying in the Dog Room. I wish you the best. Good-bye.”
Her body in tremors, R grabs her backpack and sets out in search of a hotel. She can’t
afford it, but there is no way she can drive all the way to New Jersey after the family-sanctioned drinking spree.
Tomorrow, she’ll have a long drive back to her dump of an apartment.
Home sweet home.
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