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Chapter Three
July 16, 2009 | Filed Under Meeghan | Leave a Coment
Meeghan glanced impatiently around the expertly decorated mahogany dining room. In the middle of the set table, two towering candlesticks flickered gentle light across the Cornish Hen dinner. She admired the silver settings, lace-trimmed thick napkins, and of course, her two children, Peter, 10, and Melanie 6, who waited, hands in laps.
Dad would be home any minute.
“Well-” and before Meeghan could speak, Max burst through the front door, briefcase in hand, still on his cell phone. His charcoal trenchcoat flapped behind him in the breeze created by his all-business tornado of obvious importance.
The children barely looked up, both silently wishing to be excused to an evening of television, video games, and magazines in their individual bedrooms.
Peter stared at his mother, pleading. She raised her eyebrows and tightened her lips together leaving him hopeless for a quick exit.
From the foyer, Max continued his conversation. His voice echoed to the top of the spiraling staircase.
“Look Chip, I just stepped into the door where my wife and kids are waiting for me to sit down to a gourmet home-cooked meal. Fax me the proposal tomorrow and we’ll talk.”
Eleven years ago Meeghan would have been momentarily flattered that he’d prioritized her in a business call but the more experienced version of herself knew Max loved painting portraits of a perfect family life in the heads of clients, friends, strangers…whoever would listen.
“OK, sounds great. Talk in the morning.”
Max breathlessly walked into the dining room and kissed his son, daughter, and wife on the head.
“Hello my love. How was your day?”
He took his seat at the head of table and placed a napkin over his lap. Upon meeting Meeghan’s eyes, he hoped the void in her pupils was an eerie effect of the candlelight.
“Wonderful. I did some shopping, met up with the ladies in the city…”
“What did you buy?”
Meeghan’s face grew hot and cold, the way one feels when a teacher summons them to the blackboard.
“Oh just a sweater, cashmere, a few blouses and a coat.”
The children picked at their meat and dreamed of pizza.
“What stores? Designers?”
“I can’t remember just this minute-” Meeghan waved her fork in the air trying to make light of the urgency in Max’s voice.
“Well did you stick to the list Marie made?” He shoved a forkful of tender meat into this mouth and paused to savor how the buttery meat dissolved against his canines.
Meeghan felt herself become a child.
Marie Serdoné was the French style and fashion consultant Max had given her a series of sessions with for their 15th wedding anniversary. Their last instructional meeting ended with a laminated list of the designers, cuts and colors Meeghan should avoid based on her shape and disposition.
With a forced smile. “No, I didn’t take the list.”
Max stopped chewing and stared into his plate as if it were a Rubik’s cube.
Melanie’s eyes were glued on her mother trying to make sense of how she could crumple while keeping perfect “shoulder’s back” posture.
“OK then. Peter how was school today? Straight A’s?”
While Peter could have answered that report cards weren’t given everyday, he recognized his father’s inquiry for what it was; “Is there anything I need to worry about?”
“Straight A’s.”
Meeghan didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. She silently unfolded her napkin to reveal a small, triangular blue pill with the prayer “Xanax” written on it. After saying her own private grace, she received her blessing.
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