More Friday Dinner
In the kitchen, Jane carefully scraped away the slightly burnt crust around the beef Wellington, the delicious, flaky crust she’d made herself.
The tenderloin itself was more well done than she’d like, but it would do, and she stirred some brandy and water into the mixture of herbs and mushrooms to pour over the tenderloin.
“Need some help, Mom?” Florie asked as she floated into the kitchen.
“Please. I need to run up and change into a clean blouse.”
“What can I do?” Florie asked, holding her hand out to see how the overhead kitchen light made the ring sparkle.
“Could you toss the salad?”
Lydia came into the kitchen just then. “Let me help.” She saw her mother bend over her sister’s hand, inspecting the new diamond, and she paused for a moment, swallowing her own selfish sadness, and gathered herself and joined her mother and sister, cooing and oohing and aahing over the beautiful ring.
“It’s gorgeous, Flo,” Lydia said. “He’s pretty gorgeous, too.”
“I know!” Florie agreed. “I feel like the luckiest girl in the world!”
Jane glanced at her older daughter’s face.
Lydia was smiling, beaming, really, but Jane could sense the tension in Lydia’s entire body.
Lydia was probably jealous, Jane thought, or resentful.
Lydia had always been competitive, assuming that because she was the oldest, she should be the first and the best at anything Jane’s three children did.
Lydia didn’t realize how much Florie adored her older sister, and Florie didn’t realize how envious Lydia was of Florie’s sweet beauty.
But it was Stroll weekend. They were all grown-ups. And even without the burned crust, the tenderloin smelled delicious.
“I’ll be right back,” she told her daughters, and hurried up the stairs to her room.
She tried to remove the eggnog-soaked Christmas sweater without rearranging her hair and let the sweater fall to the bathroom floor where she could find it later. A box in the corner of her bedroom held more Christmas-themed garments, and she chose a pullover with a reindeer on the front.
“Everything’s ready,” Lydia told Jane when she returned to the kitchen.
They carried in the tenderloin on a large ironstone platter, and bowls of scalloped potatoes, carrots in maple syrup, crispy Brussels sprouts, pearl onions in cream sauce, a salad of small leaf lettuces, hot rolls, and butter.
Brick Three opened the wine and poured everyone a glass.
Jane accepted a glass of wine—if she hadn’t questions would arise—but drank only water.
The family toasted the Stroll, then they all ate as if they’d just returned from struggling through a blizzard.
And, Jane thought, they kind of had. A blizzard of emotions. Happiness for Florie and Daniel. Concern about Brick Jr.’s health. Anxiety over how the weekend would play out.
And for her and Brick Three, the realization that they were going to have a baby.
She loved them all, but oh, how she loved a baby!
The bright, clear, shining eyes, the chubby thighs, the curiosity and glee at what the world presented.
She’d kept the children’s baby clothes, they were in boxes in the attic, and she remembered especially the winter snuggly snowsuit with the rabbit ears.
Everyone else around the table was moaning with satisfaction.
“I can’t eat another bite,” Brick Three said.
Jane lit up, zipping away from her fantasy right back to reality.
“You don’t have to,” Jane announced. “Our family tradition, if you remember, Brick Jr., is to play a game now. And I’ve got just the one.
No boards, chips, or dice needed.” She held up a small cardboard box.
“We each take a card, ask someone in the family the question, then pass the box to the next person.”
Florie giggled. “I’ll go first!” She took the box holding the cardboard questions and flipped through them until she found the perfect one. “Ha! My question is for Lucas. How do you pronounce the instrument used to measure a person’s blood pressure?”
Without hesitation, Lucas said, “Sphygmomanometer!”
“Damn!” Florie swore, laughing. “Okay, you get the box.”
Lucas checked the cards. He faced his grandfather. “Grandpa. Who was the British band that was the most popular in the 1960s?”
Brick Jr. said, “The Beatles, of course.”
“Well done!” Beatrice patted Brick Jr.’s hand. Brick Jr.’s chest puffed out as if he’d won a gold medal.
Oh, Jane thought, Beatrice is why Brick Jr. is so happy.
Lucas smiled. “Right! Here, Grandpa. Take the box and choose a question. You can ask anyone at the table.”
Brick Jr. took the box, held it in his hand, and leaned toward Lucas. “Why are you deserting the family business?”
The bright smile vanished from Lucas’s face.
Lydia rushed to protect her younger brother. “Grandpa, you have to ask a question from the cards in the box.”
“Well,” Brick Jr. huffed, “I don’t like those questions.”
Jane reached over and gently removed the small box from Brick Jr.’s gnarled, knobby-knuckled hand. “Brick Jr., let’s talk about this later. Now we’re playing a game.” She quickly turned to Florie’s fiancé.
“Daniel,” Jane asked, “what is a group of foxes called?”
“A leash,” Daniel quickly replied.
“That’s not what the card says,” Jane told him in a teasing voice.
Daniel said, “How about a skulk?”
“You’re right!” Jane handed him the box.
Daniel asked Lydia a question while Lucas glanced at his watch, telegraphing his impatience. It was time for him to meet Sheila. Jane noticed. She knew what it was like to have a secret love.
“I don’t understand this.” Brick Jr. pushed himself away from the table and wobbled to a standing position. “We’re going home.”
Beatrice rose. She smiled at Jane—and her smile made her surprisingly pretty. “This was a delicious dinner. Thank you.”
“Thank you for coming,” Jane said.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” Brick Three said.
Florie rose. “We’re going to stroll to town. I want Daniel to see the lights.”
“But first,” Lydia interrupted in her bossy big sister way, “we’re all going to help Mom with the dishes. Everyone, pick up your plate and silverware.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Florie said, but she rose and gathered up her dishes.