Chapter 23 Miles
MILES
Less than a week to go before opening night, and my parents are already in town for their visit.
The whole family has gathered at Owen’s house for a dinner party.
It’s a belated family celebration of the engagements of Owen to Frankie and Dylan to Scarlett.
I’m so happy those fuckers have found love that I can’t even make sarcastic comments about how lucky they were to lock down the two most beautiful and intelligent women in LA who also happen to have horrible taste in men and make bad life choices.
Just kidding. That’s pretty much all I’ve been talking about. But I do it with a warm smile.
It’s great to be in one place with all of these people, but Aria should be here too.
I didn’t invite her because I still haven’t told Macy about us, but despite being surrounded by so many people I love, this night is defined by Aria’s absence.
Nearly every minute that she’s not with me is defined by her absence now, if I’m being honest. And this is the seven-word poem that I keep reciting in my head:
Aw, fuck.
I’m in love.
Now what?
ME: Hey. Dinner’s over. Should be home in a couple of hours. Will you be around?
ARIA: Hi! Just went for a quick swim in the pool, and now I’m going to shower. I’ll be around when you get back. Come on over.
ME: So what you’re saying is, you’re wearing a bikini and you’re about to take it off before getting in the shower?
ARIA:
ME: That is the meanest thing you’ve ever done to me.
ARIA: See you in a couple of hours.
I put my phone away and consider sneaking out to drive to Aria’s real quick because I bet no one will even notice I’m gone for like twenty minutes.
But then I remember we took an Uber here because I knew I’d be drinking, so I gather up dishes from the kids’ table to take to the kitchen while we transition from dinner to drinks and family friendly party games.
Because I’m the oldest, most responsible brother.
And because the other two are busy being all huggy and kissy and gross with their mates.
Macy was not pleased to be seated at this table with her cousin Sam and her classmate Noah—otherwise known as Owen’s son who she’s hated for no reason since the day he was born, and the son of Dylan’s beautiful fiancée who everyone has conveniently forgotten was once his therapist. Like most seven- and eight-year-old boys, Sam and Noah are both connoisseurs of fart jokes and all things poop and fart-related. She was in hell.
But the good news is that after weeks of Aria-enforced practice and enunciation and visualization, Macy can now sing the words “Queen of Hearts” properly, as well as the line that leads up to it.
Aria knew she’d get it eventually, and she was right.
She got her to focus on the technique, and then she got her to forget the technique and enjoy the song.
And she only resorted to gently reminding Macy that there’s an understudy who’s all ready to fill in for her one time.
I’m so proud of both my girls, and hopefully Macy will get it right on opening night too.
My mother is in the kitchen, mixing up a pitcher of Texas Tea.
I knew she’d be doing the cooking tonight, so I didn’t eat lunch today.
She and Pops got in yesterday morning, checked into their hotel, and then Mama came here to start baking two cakes, a chocolate pecan pie, and to marinate three racks of ribs in a Dr. Pepper chipotle sauce.
She’s been here all day today, making chicken-fried steak, deep-fried okra, sweet potato salad, and biscuits.
Fortunately, Scarlett’s mother brought a green salad. Unfortunately, nobody ate it.
We usually play games before dinner and drinks, but I suspect that after what happened this past Christmas, they all decided there’d be less chance of any family fights breaking out if we were all subdued by Texas barbecue.
If they only knew—I’m not that guy anymore.
I’m the guy who texts his secret girlfriend under the table because he misses her after not seeing her for three hours.
“Awww, you just set those right down in the sink there, sugar dumplin’.” My mama has never called me that before in my life. “So sweet of you to bring those in for me. I would have gotten around to it.”
“You don’t have to do everything, Mama.”
“Oh hush now. That is just incorrect.” She sighs and stares at all the plates. “We hardly have any leftovers. I’m worried I didn’t make enough food. Are you still hungry?”
“That is not something you should ever, ever worry about. And I don’t expect I will be hungry again until next week, Mama.”
She pours me a glass of Texas Tea and then one for herself, clinking glasses with me. “Now, Miles. I am so lookin’ forward to your opening night. Macy is doing well, it seems?”
“Very well.”
“And you—you seem to be doing very well.” She lowers her voice. “With that lovely girl who happens to be the director of the musical you and Macy are performin’ in.”
I lower my voice too. “Yes. Macy doesn’t know that Aria and I are friends yet. I want to tell her though. Soon.”
“I am so pleased to hear this, my beautiful boy. Truly, I am. But please. You must tell me. How did your sweet daughter get the lead in this show? What did you do? Promise to introduce Aria to Schmeven Schmielberg?”
I’ve been dreading this. There’s always been two people on Earth I just can’t say “no” to. My daughter and my mother. There might be a third person now. But the first love of my life is staring me down with her Grace Kelly eyes, and I can’t avoid the subject like I was able to in text convos.
So I tell her about the deal. About being a silent investor in the production, about hiring Aria to be Macy’s vocal coach, about the guest house, and about me playing the Cheshire Cat. And then I assure her that Macy really has earned that role.
“I believe you, my darlin’. Thank you for tellin’ me. I was, I must admit, very curious. And I am so touched that you went to all that trouble for her.”
“That’s the thing. It hasn’t ended up being a lot of trouble at all.”
From behind me, Sam asks if he’s allowed to have a piece of pie yet, startling us.
“Let me carry it into the living room, doodlebug. You sure you have room for dessert already?”
“Yeah. I didn’t even have any cheese today because I knew there’d be pie.”
“Such a forward-thinking young man. Bring that pitcher for me, will you, Miles?”
When I’m alone in the kitchen, I start to pull my phone out to text Aria again, but Dylan’s fiancée comes in with a few more dirty dishes. She’s quietly singing to herself. Sounds like a pop song about wine.
She finally notices me. “Oh, hey.” She puts the dishes in the sink.
“Hey there.”
“Haven’t talked to you yet tonight. You seem happy, Miles,” Scarlett says, studying me. “In a very genuine, not at all weird way.”
“Thank you. Genuinely.”
“You’re welcome. I’m going to have a little more wine.”
“Would you like me to pour you some?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She wobbles just the tiniest bit while I’m pouring the wine, but she steadies herself.
“Can I ask you something?”
“This is only my third glass of merlot,” she says, somewhat defensively.
I laugh. “Can I ask you something as a family therapist—off the record?”
“Ahh. If by ‘off the record’ you mean will I charge you for this? The answer is no. I won’t charge you for the conversation. But if I deem you clinically insane, I do have the authority to have you institutionalized without your consent.”
We stare at each other for a beat. I believe, in this moment, that she would totally have me committed just to punish me for being a shit to my little brother over Christmas.
“A little shrink humor. I’m kidding. What’s up?”
I look around to make sure Macy isn’t nearby. I tell her how well things are going with Aria, that I still haven’t told Macy about our relationship yet but I really want to. “There isn’t any tension between her and Aria anymore, and I just…I really want to tell her tonight.”
“You want to tell Macy?”
“Yeah. How do you think I should approach it?”
She takes another sip of wine and stares into her wineglass for a while, almost as if she’s looking for the answer to my question in there. Finally, she says, “I don’t think you should tell her yet.”
“You don’t?” That is surprising.
“I don’t. I think it’s great that you want to. I think it’s great that there’s no tension between them now. But this is Macy’s first starring role in a musical, yes? Something she’s wanted for a long time.”
I sigh. “Yes.”
“That’s a lot for an eight-year-old. I mean, she doesn’t seem too stressed about it, but I’m afraid if you tell her about this new relationship too, it may be too much for her to handle all at once.
Especially since your new relationship is linked with this musical.
She needs to think of Aria as her director now.
Not the first serious girlfriend you’ve had since the divorce. ”
I rub my forehead. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear.”
“No, you’re right. I know you’re right. Thank you. You’re remarkably insightful, even after two and a half glasses of merlot.”
“Can I quote you on my website?”
We laugh and join everyone else in the living room for a few rounds of Mad Engagement Libs.
Pops typed and printed out large templates with engagement-themed sentences on them and left blank spaces.
We all get to choose a bunch of random words to write down on blank cards—in noun, verb, adverb, and adjective form—and then Pops shuffles all of the word cards and hands out seven to each of us.
Donna and Peter Hogan are Skyping with us from Florida, seemingly watching us from Frankie’s laptop. They made their own set of word cards.