Chapter Thirty-Four
Marty
“I'm not going to talk about this with you, Ma,” I say.
“Why does it even matter?” Maeve says. “Marriage is such an outdated, problematic institution. Divorce is basically inevitable.”
“It's not such a big deal,” my father says to my mother, who still looks like she's glitching. “Both my brothers are divorced, Dermot twice, of course, the hopeless eejit that he is with women.”
“I don't really care that she's divorced,” Mum says although the way she says the word - all hard consonants and forced syllables - contradicts that statement. “I care that you didn't tell us.”
“Why would I tell you? You want to know her bra size too?” I shoot back.
“36C,” Maeve says without hesitation.
“Pardon?” I glare at my sister.
“She's a 36C,” Maeve repeats. “Or maybe 38B. Either way. Lovely boobs. And those hips... She's a true hourglass. You're definitely punching above your weight there.”
My father's head is shaking as it hangs in his hands and he tries to swallow his laughter. My mother is still open-mouthed and looking lost.
“Maeve,” I say and intend it as an admonishment, but I start chuckling too.
“Just in the interests of avoiding more shock and awe, is there anything else we should know before this dinner continues?” Dad asks as he straightens up. “Does she have kids? A police record? Is she a member of a religious cult?”
“As far as I'm concerned, there's nothing shocking about Jenna,” I reply but I'm looking at Mum.
“Divorce, age, whatever. They are hardly skeletons, but so what if she did have one or two in her closet?
We all have things in our past that we may not be proud of, but that doesn't mean we are bad people.”
Much to my surprise my mother nods at this. “You're right, Marty, and I'm sorry,” she says in a voice so soft and quiet it's practically a whisper, and that along with her apology is so unexpected it silences me.
I'm still staring at my mother waiting for her to throw in a “but” when Jenna comes back with a tray filled with tall glasses, and under her arm is a stack of menus.
“So,” she says as she hands me the tray, and starts handing out menus. “The restaurant is a little short-staffed so I'm going to be our waitress tonight. Here are your menus, and also a special welcome drink I personally prepared earlier.”
Jenna hands the red and pink drinks around and I notice my mother give her the smile I always describe as “try-hard” but it prompts me to downgrade my Mum Terror Alert to a Hot Amber rather than a Lava Red.
“Oh, Marty, you're going to enjoy this,” my father says, his head stuck into the menu before I've opened my own.
“Oh, yes,” Mum chimes in as she reads.
It's Jenna's turn to cough now for our attention, so I don't get a chance to look at what's on offer although my curiosity is piqued.
I've had four days away from a kitchen now and I’m starting to miss it.
But I'm suddenly intrigued by what Jenna's doing as she raises her glass and holds it aloft in the middle of the table.
“Maybe we could toast the birthday boy? Would you all raise your glasses and-”
“Wait!” Mum calls out, and she wrinkles her nose and sniffs with her glass under her nose while mine, Dad's and Maeve's are all held aloft.
“Jesus, Mum, it's not alcoholic!” I say loudly, and if I had a hand free, I would probably slam it down on the table.
Mum's neck almost breaks the way it swings her head towards me. “I know, Aiden. I was just going to ask if it has pomegranate in it because Maeve is allergic.”
“Oh,” I say and then mutter a hasty apology.
“What was that, Marty?” Jenna's head turns to me to, her eyes flashing, daring me.
“Sorry, Ma,” I say a little louder.
“It doesn't have pomegranate in, Maeve,” Jenna says with a smile at my sister.
“So, back to a toast,” Dad says, lifting his drink up higher.
“Yes, I'm afraid this is my only gift for you, Marty,” Jenna says. “It's a mocktail named The Marty Party. And well, thank you for letting me share your birthday with you. I hope you enjoy. Happy birthday, Marty!”
“Happy birthday Marty!” Everyone choruses and then takes long sips on the straws in their drinks. But I'm too stunned to move, keeping my drink in front of me.
“Wait, what is this?” Maeve asks. “It's amazing!”
“Not bad.” Dad smacks his lips. “A dash of rum wouldn't go amiss, but not bad at all.”
“It's delicious.” Mum finally changes posture, literally loosening up. “You need to try it, Aidey.”
“You made me a mocktail?” I turn to Jenna. “That's like the best present in the world.”
“Don’t thank me before you've tried it.”
I take a sip. Immediately the layers of different fruits hit me – watermelon, apple, raspberry, all delivered with the fizz of a little lemon and lime bitters, but a beat later the sweetness dies down to reveal cinnamon, fresh mint and possibly a hint of chilli, the heat of which stays on my tongue.
“You like it?” Jenna leans closer to me, while Mum and Dad discuss the menu and Maeve is back on her phone.
“It's perfect. Sweet but not sickly, a little zing and heat, and very, very memorable.”
Jenna blinks once before she speaks, drawing my eyes to her honey-brown pupils and the long lashes that frame them. “Now you know why it's called The Marty Party.”
If hearts could swell up large enough to burst through rib cages, that's exactly what mine would be doing right now.
I hold her eyes and hope she can read what I want so desperately to say to her, words that are suddenly at the tip of my tongue but it's not like they've had far to travel.
They've been knocking around my mind all day.
“Thank you,” is what I manage to say instead, but I do bend down and kiss the top of her shoulder, while still holding her gaze.
When I pull back, finally able to give the menu my full attention, I catch Mum's eyes on us.
It's an undecipherable look, but it seems to have a question mark rather than a hard full stop or loud exclamation mark.
“Wow,” I say, when I finally turn my attention to the menu.
“Fuck yeah!” I whistle as I read the starters.
“Jesus,” I whisper when I'm done considering the mains and sides.
“Bugger me,” I exclaim when I read the dessert options.
“This menu is fucken class,” I say in conclusion.
A perfect blend of Greek and Cretan dishes mixed with modern Mediterranean cuisine, it's fun and playful but it still has the power to impress without being too pretentious.
And from a chef's perspective, I can imagine it's a challenging but satisfying mix of technically advanced innovation combined with classic cooking.
“Well, order away, son,” Da says leaning back and catching a server's eye. He's no doubt going to ask for that shot of rum. “It's on me tonight.”
Maeve grunts. “This whole week is on you,” she says, fingers tapping on her phone. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here.”
“Thank you, Maeve, for always humbling me back down to Earth with a bump,” Dad says, and I see him catch Mum’s eye and wink. I don’t know why but that also helps melt some of the tension inside me.
A hurried-looking member of the service team rushes over and indeed is given an additional drinks order by my father with input from everyone else.
Me, I'm more than happy to savour my Marty Party and drink water so I can focus on the flavours in the food.
When I say this the server barely conceals her sigh of relief as she stashes her pad and pen in her apron just before her attention is pulled to a neighbouring table who are calling her.
When she looks torn about what to do, Jenna stands and waves the waitress away to deal with other tables, saying she will take our food order, which she proceeds to do, using her phone and then walking over to her brother who is on the phone by the bar.
I watch them for a while and then find my eyes turn the other way towards the kitchen.
“You're missing being in the kitchen, aren't you?” Ma says to me, and I realise it's the first time tonight she's said something to me that doesn't feel like an argument.
“I am,” I say to her with an easy smile.
I am already enjoying tonight more than I expected, despite some foot-in-mouth moments by Mum, and admittedly myself too.
I knew I'd enjoy spending the evening with Jenna and I can't help but recall the countless times Arnie joined my parents and I for dinner.
I always liked the idea of having a boyfriend or girlfriend for the obvious things - good sex, good fun, good companionship - but I never imagined how grounding and affirming it would be to then be with that person and your family.
Before the last year, I'd always gotten on great with my parents, and would consider our relationship a relatively good one.
Arguably it was at its peak when Arnie and I were together before he got sick.
We'd all drink together, eat together, laugh together, and they would all spend far too long taking the piss out of me together.
The love I would feel in the room when this happened always floored me.
And now, fraught conversations and tense moments aside, I'm getting a glimpse of it again.
When Jenna is back sitting by my side, she smiles at me and gives me the quickest wink. I return it but then feel Dad's stare on us. I'm about to give him a questioning look, but he quickly starts talking to Jenna.
“So, aside from work, tell us a bit about yourself? How do you like to spend your time?”
Jenna takes in a deep breath that I suspect only I can hear because her reply is flawless. “You mean aside from picking up younger men in holiday resorts?”
There is barely a beat of silence before Maeve bursts into laughter and Dad and I are not far behind. I risk a look at Mum and while her eyes are wide and unable to focus, the corners of her mouth hold a slight curl.
“Sorry,” Jenna says. “I lean on my often-inappropriate sense of humour to diffuse potentially awkward social situations.”