Dinner with Steve’s Parents

Sandy Applebaum sighed, as they rattled southward.  “This is such a difficult time for me,” she said, hoping for a sympathetic ear.

Marty agreed.  “The beltway is always hell, and DC traffic is never the best.”

Sandy looked at her husband as if his lack of comprehension was deliberate.  As it probably was.  “Marty, what are you talking about traffic for?  I’m talking about our son and this—art history major.”

“Hummm.”  Marty tried to sympathize but didn’t really understand his wife’s objections to what to him seemed a nice enough girl.  So, instead of engaging, he changed lanes to edge a few cars ahead, whereupon he fell a few cars behind.  Still, his wife was waiting.  “Look, Sandy, they’re getting married.  She seems very acceptable.  Good manners.  Educated.  Holds a job she likes.  And let’s face it, Steve is—well, different.  Very—very different.  In fact, socially inept.  The fact that he found anyone makes me happy.  It should make you happy too.”

“That’s just it, Marty.  You’ve made the right assessment.  He definitely is not Mr. Personality, as we have noted time and time again at family gatherings.  So what does she see in him?”

“Sandy, he’s our son.  What do you mean what does she see in him?  What’s not to see?  He’s bright.  He has a good job.  Travels a lot.  A life we never expected for him.  Okay, he’s not like our other sons, I’ll admit.  They followed a more straight and narrow path to success.  Barry’s a people person, which Steve is not, David is academically successful, which Steve was not.  But Steve’s made a great life for himself.  Look at that expensive apartment of his.  Opposites attract.  Maybe that’s their mutual attraction.  He’s happy.  She’s happy  What more could you want?”

“A nice Jewish girl?” Sandy suggested.

“Jewish girls aren’t finding Jewish men, Jewish men aren’t finding Jewish girls.  It’s what’s happening now.  Look at Barry.”

“Beth converted.”

“Reform.  As are we.”

“Hebrew school for the kids.”

“Christmas tree for the holiday.  And you said her brisket was inedible.  Now, look at David.  He married Yael.  They won’t even eat at our house because we don’t keep kosher.  He goes around in a kippah and is learning Yiddish. Believe me, I prefer Beth to Yael any day.  And I liked Eden,” he said rather too forcefully.

“Fine.  You like who you like, I’ll like who I like.”

An uncomfortable silence descended until they reached Steve’s apartment, without calling first.  It was mid-afternoon, Eden was at work, but Steve answered the door and greeted them warmly.  But when his father started to take their overnight bags to the second bedroom, Steve had to stop him and direct him to his own sanctuary.  “Eden’s had to move in early,” he explained.

“Wasn’t she living in an apartment of her own?” Sandy asked suspiciously.

“No.  She was living with four roommates; and they found someone to take her place, so she came here.  You didn’t say when you had tickets, but if it’s not for tonight, we can meet Eden for dinner.”

“That sounds great,” Marty said.  “Our tickets are for tomorrow night.”

Steve made two calls, one for reservations, the other to alert Eden.  They’d have an early dinner at Le Poisson d’Or, then come back to the apartment for dessert, which Steve had already bought, and coffee.  But first he’d make a drink for his father, who looked haggard from the drive.  His mother?  Like it was Passover and she had tasted a bitter herb.

Eden was already seated when they arrived at the restaurant.  But Sandy noted she rose as they approached and came around to give Sandy a short hug and one for Marty too.  “So glad to see you again,” Eden gushed, Steve thought with a bit too much enthusiasm.

Steve suggested that his mother sit next to Eden, but Sandy said, “No, no, I want to be across so I can see both of you perfectly.”

“Drinks, dear,” Eden said pointedly to Steve.

“Oh, we’ll just have wine with dinner, if you don’t mind,” Sandy countered.  “Steve’s already plied us with cocktails.”

“Well, I’d like a another drink,” Marty said.  “That drive took a lot out of me.  I don’t know how you live here.”

“Public transport,” Eden informed, vowing not to guzzle when the drinks arrived.  She had a smile plastered on her face and tried to concentrate all her attention on Marty, who at least seemed ready to accept her.  Fortunately, she didn’t have to say much as Sandy was busy informing Steve about his brothers, their lives, their wives, their children.

And then, “They’re all wondering about the wedding.  Like, no save-the-date yet?” she wondered, only looking at Steve, who, rat that he was, deferred to Eden.

“We have a tentative date, but we’re still in the planning stage,” Eden admitted.  “An acquaintance of mine runs an art gallery next door to a restaurant, where she and her husband are part owners.  Their chef is from Argentina, makes the most delicious dishes.  I’m thinking ceremony in the gallery and then dinner afterwards, then moving back into the gallery for dancing.  It’ll be between exhibits so we’ll use projections on the walls.  For the wedding it’ll be a garden feeling, with sunlight and flowers projected everywhere.  For the reception hopefully people will scan their favorite photos of us and send them to us.  Then we can make a reel of them, sort of juxtapose them in all sorts of crazy ways.  My girlfriend’s boyfriend is a DJ, and I’m already making a list of our favorite songs.”

Turning to her son, Sandy said, “I didn’t know you had a favorite song, Steve.  What is it?  I’m so curious.”

“I’ve always been fond of Elgar’s ‘Pomp and Circumstance.’  Any of the five.”

“Perfect for our recessional,” Eden said brightly.

“How do you recede in an art gallery?” Sandy wondered.

“We’ll of course have an open bar,” Eden continued, undismayed.

“About this Argentinian chef,” Sandy broke in.  “You know, my son David and his wife and children keep kosher.”

“Mom,” Steve warned.

“Oh, today everyone has different dietary needs,” Eden waved that complaint away.  “I’m sure they’ll find something to graze on.  By the way, it’ll be a no-children policy, as it’s a nighttime wedding.  Though I suppose children could attend the ceremony if they wanted to.  What do you think, Steve?”

“Practically speaking, they’d still have to get a babysitter,” he pronounced.  “I think it’d only be my brothers and their families, as the rest of the invitees live around here, those who have children.”

“I see you’ve planned this to a t,” Sandy said, almost sarcastically.  “What does your mother think of all this—loosey-goosey planning?”

“There’s nothing loosey or goosey about this, Mom,” Steve corrected.  “This is what Eden and I want.”

“My mother will be our guest, as will you and Marty,” Eden said, as sweetly as possible.  “So much more relaxing for all of you to just show up and enjoy.  I want everyone to celebrate the moment with us without any stress.”

“Stress is part of a wedding,” Sandy disagreed.  “I remember when my other boys got married, the in-laws got to know one another well, threw engagement parties and bridal showers.  That’s just part of a wedding.”

“And yet, it’s not going to be part of ours,” Eden said, almost through gritted teeth.  “We just want to keep this nice and simple and fun.”

“Sounds great,” Marty said.  “Black tie?  I hope not?” He looked at his son.

Frowning, Steve said, “I hope not too.” He checked with Eden.

“Well,” Eden said, “I doubt ‘fun’ includes renting a tux, and I also doubt any of our friends would bother.  Except maybe the people I work with who have to go to some formal affairs.  I will be wearing a bridal gown, if I can find one I love.  Steve will be wearing a suit—of some sort.  New, most likely.  Maybe sort of Saville Row.”

“And who is going to conduct this wedding, may I ask?” Sandy questioned.

It was Steve’s turn.  “A friend of mine who used to be a yeshiva student but is now a Buddhist monk.”

Sandy turned to her husband.  “I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

Marty waved her off.  “Well, I think it’s going to be grand.  And exciting.  I’m very happy for you, Steve.  After all you’ve been through.”

“What has he been through?” Sandy wondered.

There was a long pause before Marty said tactfully, “I mean being one of a kind.”

Eden laughed, then directed all her conversation to Steve’s fabulous father.  “Did I ever tell you about the first time I met your son?”

“Don’t or I’ll tell them about the steak to go,” Steve warned.

Eden just brushed him off and began to regale Marty with the hair and the infinity tie and her debating whether to come to his table or rush out the door.  “But meeting him was the best thing I ever did,” Eden finished.

Even Sandy should have melted at that.  Should have.