Chapter Twenty-One
There is no way to wait for someone without feeling like you’re a small kid waiting for a parent who forgot to pick you up
from dance class. That had been me every Thursday in the ninth grade until I finally started admitting to Amy Seligman’s mom
that I needed a ride. Amy was mean to her mom on the ride home, and her mom took it in such stride.
Dave’s shirts were off the line when I got home from work, so he had been home. But he was gone again. I left as late as I
could to get to dinner, hoping Dave might get home. No such luck. I was happy to be driving alone because holding it together
in front of my mother was going to be a potential problem. I allowed myself to cry, overwhelmed by the mistake I’d made with
Dave. How had I just walked right into chaos like that? Had I learned nothing? County Road 7 was fairly busy, tourist cars
packed with cottage gear. I had to remind myself I was driving, to pay attention, to stay with the speed of traffic and not
just try to launch my car into the sun. I turned up the song “Dance Yrself Clean” by LCD Soundsystem and sang along, trying
to remember who I was. I passed a horse farm and watched the horses running free and cried again, remembering how it felt
to gallop.
By the time I pulled up to the restaurant, my sobs were out. I did a few deep breathing exercises. I redid my makeup. I did what Kate suggested, I made myself say the words I am an adult, and I can handle whatever comes my way. I almost believed it.
I approached the restaurant from the parking lot across the road, seeing the back of my mother on the patio. Her hair was
up in a tidy bun, and she wore an off-white linen blazer over a coral sundress. She was facing the lake, so I could observe
her for quite a while without her noticing. Her legs were crossed, and she swung one foot back and forth, her soft pink toenails
shiny in her grey suede Arizona Birkenstocks. She was reading the menu, or pretending to. There was only one other occupied
table on the patio, a harried mom with two kids under six or so, and a father on his phone. My mom made funny faces at the
toddler who was staring at her. Eventually the kid smiled back. I don’t think I’d ever seen my mother interact with a stranger’s
child before in such a joyful, easygoing way.
I got right to the table before she noticed me.
“Hey, Mom,” I said, pulling out the black plastic chair.
“Oh hi, Elise,” she said. “How was your day?”
“Up and down,” I admitted. “How was your hike?”
“I saw a purple finch, and a red-tailed hawk way high up in a birch tree.”
“Did you go all the way up to the top of the hill?”
“Of course,” she said, as though I were bonkers to ask. I’d only done the full trail once and it was very steep. I tended
to toddle around on the flatter forest trails below.
“How were your campers today?” she asked
“They are getting very good. Some of them are very talented writers. They’re paired up with actors and directors, so by the
end of camp, we’ll be able to see their films in a little festival at the Regent Theatre.”
“Wow, that’s quite special.”
“I made a short film like that when I was young. All on Super 8 film.”
“My mother had a lot of Super 8 film of the family in the attic. I should show it to you girls. Lots of footage of us on the
farm.”
“Oh, I’d love to see that sometime.”
She looked surprised. “You would be interested?”
“Of course.”
Maybe if I modelled interest in her, she might model it back. The server came by and I ordered still water and mentioned we
would be three. I hoped Ben would remember. I cracked the menu, then googled purple finch.
“Oh, they’re quite a beautiful bird,” I said, showing her my phone screen of a bird with a raspberry-red head and sunset-coloured
feathers.
“I’m starting a bird list,” she said.
“I have one of those, too,” I said, bringing up my list on the phone. “The camp is a real hot spot for wildlife. I saw a cormorant
today.”
My mother and I had something in common. And it was listing birds that we saw. Will wonders never cease.
Ben showed up looking freshly showered and date ready. I was so used to seeing him every day in camp gear that I almost forgot
how well he cleaned up. He greeted me with a quick peck on the lips, like a couple might. I tried to hide my surprise. Before,
it was playful, now it felt a bit wrong.
“Hi, Mrs. Hunter,” he said. “You look lovely in that colour.”
“Why, thank you, Ben. Call me Arlene. You know, Charles rarely ever complimented me on what I wore or how I looked. Of course
he liked my mind, but sometimes that’s not enough, you know?”
“It’s good when you’re appreciated in more than one way, right? Like Elise here, hard to find someone smarter or more adorable, am I right?”
I kicked him under the table. Had he already had a few drinks? Chill, I texted him.
When I get a role I play it right.:), he answered.
“So, you’re here until the wedding?” Ben asked.
Maybe she’d answer questions about why she was here and what was up if a stranger asked and she felt social pressure to be
honest.
“Yes, Kate and Sarah. Lovely couple, very compatible. I don’t know how Kate did it. Their father and I weren’t great role
models.”
“You were pretty good until my teen years, you seemed happy together.”
“Well, that’s what we showed you guys. Behind the scenes was a different story. Back then, all the parenting experts said
it was important to never fight in front of your children.”
“Dad didn’t see it that way. He said all was well and then you just up and left with no warning.”
“Elise, when you settle down, it’s important to do it with a man who is observant. Ben, do you notice things about people
other than yourself?”
Such a rich comment from my mother, of all people. It took all of my strength not to say Only one parent was at my graduation and it wasn’t you! Thankfully, the server arrived. I ordered the mussels and a large glass of wine.
“Order the steak if you like, Ben. It’s on me,” my mother said. It didn’t seem like anyone in Ben’s family was hurting for
money, but it was cute she was trying to act like we were still teenagers.
“I am craving red meat, and it is barbecue season, that’s for sure,” he said. “You’re very kind, Arlene.”
She beamed at that. I’m sure she rarely ever heard that compliment.
But Ben looked really happy. It reminded me of when he was so kind with Cassie on set the first day that we met.
He was either feeling it all sincerely, or he was using this fake-date dynamic to practise his real-life improv skills.
I watched him talk with my mom as though he’d rehearsed certain talking points and conversation openers.
His charm oozed from him. He’d even prepared fake anecdotes about dates with me.
Before, this side of him had felt impressive, whimsical.
Now, there was an edge to it that made me even more confused than ever.
But my mother was utterly charmed. There was an element to their dynamic where I could just sit back and observe my mother
as a person in the world, which was an odd gift. And a nice pause from feeling like the attack object of her random scorn.
At the end of the meal, she still insisted on paying, and I insisted on checking, en route to the bathroom, that she had tipped
fairly—an issue we’d argued about our entire lives. We drove home separately, as we’d arrived. Before I pulled out of the
parking lot, I sent Ben a text thanking him and saying that if he ever felt overwhelmed or inconvenienced by the arrangement,
to let me know. I’d agreed to the fake-dating arrangement when I thought I would next see my mother at the wedding rehearsal
dinner. He hadn’t, after all, agreed to keep up the fake dating through nearly an entire summer. It was a big ask, one I wasn’t
even sure was necessary anymore. Ben replied, simply: It’s fun! No worries! When I heard the computer voice on my car speak Ben’s words, I wondered, what on earth did Ben worry about? It was strange
to get to know someone as confident as he was. Nothing seemed to fluster him at all. Was it possible to be close to someone
who appeared to have so few vulnerabilities?
When I got home, hoping to see Dave’s truck in the parking lot, I stayed in my car for close to five minutes, sitting with the discomfort of this triangle that perhaps I was imagining.
When I was with Ben, I could see, in moments, that we really would be a good match.
And that maybe his confidence, his work ambitions, would match mine or even push me further.
The longer I’d been with Kendal, the more he resented how driven I was.
Wouldn’t it be great to have a partner who would glimpse you hunched over your laptop at midnight and not take it personally?
Or think it admirable? Despite feeling, in moments, like I wasn’t quite “hot” enough for such an unquestionably gorgeous man, we were well matched in other respects.
Marlon, before he met Kris, often complained about how hard it was to find a boyfriend who understood the long hours and the hustle of having a career in the film industry.
There was an automatic shorthand between us.
And even though it felt like Ben was a bit flighty, perhaps had some fuck-boy qualities, don’t men of substance outgrow that, once they are well-matched?
That’s what the women’s dating blogs that I read for research on modern dating styles said.
When I got inside, my mom was on the couch reading The Globe and Mail. It was how I would find her every Saturday morning as a kid when I’d come down for breakfast. She folded up the section
she was reading, just like she always did, placing it on a neat pile in front of her on the coffee table.
“Ben is just, he’s just such a great man,” she started, and continued for what felt like ten straight minutes listing his
good qualities. By the time she paused her filibuster, she’d half convinced me that maybe he really was the better choice.