“My mother was an addict for most of her adult life, so you don’t think it’s odd that she lives in a city notorious for its vices? I’m telling you now. You should be prepared for the fact that you’re going to be deeply disappointed. She is probably living in a rinky-dink apartment, spending most of her money on her bad habits.”
“I think you’re the one who may be pleasantly surprised. When I spoke to her a few weeks ago she sounded good and is looking forward to seeing you again.”
“Uh-huh.”
As the driver continues past the city limits, Roman’s body stiffens as the view transforms.
“Are you sure we’re in the right neighborhood?” Roman leans forward to ask the driver.
“Whitney Ranch, right?”
“Yes,” I respond.
“Then we’re in the right place. Just another five minutes and we’ll be at your destination.”
We pull up to a relatively large Mediterranean home with an attached garage, pristine terra cotta roof, and an immaculately maintained succulent and stone garden in front. The house is drop-dead gorgeous and doesn’t look like a place where the woman I’ve heard about would live.
Now I’m the one nervous.
A relatively minute man with a round pot belly answers the door. He’s wearing a crisp white T-shirt and a pair of Bermuda shorts and pool slippers. This must be the man that Roman’s mother mentioned in her apology letter to him.
He looks friendly as we approach the door.
“You must be Roman. I’m Peter.”
He extends his hand forward. Roman pauses for a moment, but then finally accepts the gesture and shakes his hand as well.
“This is my fiancée, Elizabeth.”
“Pleased to meet you, Elizabeth. Come on in, you two. Frances is in the kitchen preparing a couple of things. Hope you’re hungry.”
Peter leads us through the foyer to a beautiful great room and then farther through the house into the prettiest, airiest kitchen I think I’ve ever seen. The walls are a pale peach and every small appliance has its rightful place on the countertops. There’s a wall of sliding glass doors that Peter walks us through that leads us to a second kitchen. This one is an impressive outdoor one complete with a built-in fireplace, stone grill, countertop with sink, and upscale wicker furniture.
I am duly impressed.
“They’re here, Frances.”
A tall woman with olive skin and a simple white sundress turns away from the counter holding a tomato and a paring knife. She’s stunning and Roman favors her in almost every way, especially the eyes. If this woman was an addict for most of her life it hasn’t seemed to have ravaged her beauty at all.
“Hi, Roman.”
“Hi.”
“You look… well.” Roman’s mother gives me a quick once-over. “And your Elizabeth is beautiful.”
Roman nods silently.
“Thank you,” I offer in return for the compliment.
“Did you leave the baby back in Philly?” she asks.
“Yes, he’s spending some time with my aunt.”
“And Joseph,” Roman adds.
His mother blinks her eyes a few times as if she’s stuck on how to respond. I think Roman’s comment about Joseph being in our son’s life may have hurt her. These are unchartered waters for us all and I imagine that his head is swimming with questions and feelings that he has been contemplating expressing to Frances for years but this isn’t really the time to say them though. This is supposed to be an initial meeting, so he isn’t speaking to his mother for the first time on our wedding day.
“That’s fine. We’ll meet him another time,” she finally responds.
“Yep, we’ll definitely figure it out,” I say.
“So, I made a rather large taco salad and I’m grilling some skirt steak for dinner. Do you two eat meat?”
“Yes,” I answer brightly for the both of us. “That sounds delicious.”
“We weren’t sure if you guys do dogs,” Peter adds. “So we put Bonsai in the den. Would you mind if I let her out for a second? She probably needs to pee.”
“Oh, we love dogs,” I say. “You need not confine her on our account.”
Roman is strangely quiet as Bonsai comes out to greet us. She’s a spunky terrier mutt with soulful eyes and a friendly disposition. She takes a liking to my handbag and keeps trying to sniff inside of it.
“No, Bonsai!” Peter reprimands her.
“Oh, it’s fine. She must smell our dog,” I say to let them know it’s all right. “The name Bonsai fits her. She’s so cute.”
“Can we get you a drink or something?” his mother asks. “Dinner will be ready in five minutes.”
There’s a flat screen on the stone wall above the fireplace which I continue to stare at in amazement. What do they do when it rains? We don’t see outdoor spaces like this as much over on the East Coast because of the weather.
“I’ll take anything with rum if you have it. I’ve stopped nursing recently and am excited to have cocktails any chance I get.”
“Peter, can you grab the drinks please?”
“Coming right up,” Peter says. “Rum for you, Roman?”
Roman isn’t paying attention to any part of this conversation because he is busy watching the dog sprint around the yard.
“Juice for him. He’s still taking pain medication for his injuries.”
“You want me to put her away, Roman?” Peter asks, probably wondering if he’s uncomfortable.
Roman bends down to scratch behind her ears, and Bonsai licks his hand.
“You told me I couldn’t have a dog,” Roman says in a sorrowful voice.
It’s so quiet now that I think I just heard a hawk call from a mile away. I desperately wanted to keep this visit light and breezy, but I should have known… Roman does nothing light and breezy.
“You said you were allergic,” he continues.
Frances places a plate of the grilled steak onto the large farmhouse-styled dining table then responds.
“Did I say that?”
“Yeah, you did.”
“I probably didn’t want to admit that we couldn’t afford one,” she says apologetically. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”
“Well, what were you spending all of Joseph’s money on then?”
We haven’t even had an appetizer and he’s going straight for the jugular. It rocked him to the core to discover that he had been lied to his entire life by his mother. She lied to him for years, telling him that Joseph was his “dead-beat” biological father when that wasn’t the truth at all. That kind of lie is not a simple thing to just get past. Your mother is the first woman you trust. If you learn that you can’t depend on the person who gave you life, then how do you trust anybody?
An uneasy look conforms on Peter’s face as he keeps his eyes trained on Roman. He is clearly very protective of Frances and doesn’t like the direction of the conversation. Hell, I don’t like it either, but this is a discussion that’s overdue, and I will stand by my man to make sure he gets what he needs.
“I thought I explained things to you in the letter,” she asserts.