Dinner for Four
written by: Sheila M. Cronin
My mother-in-law was coming to dinner for the first time since our wedding. When I called to invite her, she asked me if she could bring a date. Since both of my husband’s parents attended our wedding solo, her question caught me off guard.
It was Wednesday evening, and she was coming on Saturday. I broached the subject to Dan while we folded laundry.
“A date?” he chortled. “My mother doesn’t date.”
“Dan, evidently, she does. After all, she’s only 58, pretty, fun to be with, easy to talk t—”
“Mom. Doesn’t. Date.” He compressed his lips into a tight grin, blinked once, and slammed shut his sock drawer. Case closed.
I handed him a pair he had overlooked, which he quickly deposited, then slammed the drawer again.
“Well…. she does eat. What shall I serve?” Come on, my tone implied, give me a clue. After all, it’s your mom we’re talking about.
We’d been together less than a year. Our eyes locked on each other one glorious July afternoon at Wrigley Field when we both reached up for a fly ball hurtling in our general direction. Someone behind us nabbed it, but who cared? We couldn’t stop checking each other out, which at any age is fun, but at thirty, irresistible.
He’d gone to the game with two buddies from work. I was there with a group for a friend’s birthday celebration. He and I excused ourselves from our companions and retreated to a quiet pub along the river. Six months later, we were married. We found a condo for rent facing St. Michael’s Catholic Church in Lincoln Park and felt the thrill of starting a new life together.
His parents had been finalizing their divorce when Dan and I began dating, which made things awkward and a bit complicated at first. I liked them both, and they each seemed to go out of their way to make me feel welcome. Their behavior touched me since my parents lived in Hawaii, and I rarely got to see them. However, I knew his parents’ breakup hurt Dan deeply.
Still, life goes on. And I hoped dinner with his mom would bring us all closer.
How I yearned for a life full of family and friends and evenings of entertaining around our dining room table. Yet, it was now winter, and the “Friendly Confines” seemed far away as Dan ignored my question. Pressing the speed dial on his phone, he instead waited for his twin sister Deidre to pick up, then strode out of our bedroom.
At that moment, I felt snubbed and totally unsure of how to handle the situation with Dan in this mood.
Instead, I turned to our lone ficus tree in the corner. “While we’re at it, what does her date drink?” If it could talk, I felt certain the ficus would gladly provide me with a delectable, leaf-free entrée suggestion, fruit salad, rolls, and a savory wine included. Moreover, it would note that Dan’s habit of phoning his sister who lived in another state each time a matter concerning his mother arose, rather than turning to me, his partner for life, needed to change.
On Thursday, I telephoned my mother-in-law. “Marlene, hi. It’s Shirley.” I hadn’t yet begun calling her mom.
“Shirley, doll. What’s doing?” piped Marlene.
“Dan was surprised to hear you’re dating.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Oh, great. I’d blundered headlong into the family drama.
“Oops,” she said in her bubbly, not too helpful voice.
“Uh, so, anyway, I wanted to check with you about the menu for Saturday night. What does your date like to eat? Any allergies I should be aware of? I know you drink scotch. What does he drink?”
“I’ll bring along a bottle of his favorite wine. No worries. As for dinner, have whatever you two like.”
“That sounds great. Oh, Marlene, before I forget, who are you bringing, I mean, uh—”
“Oops, there goes my other line. Gotta—”
The line went dead.
Rats! That was the one thing I’d hoped to find out for Dan. I felt a headache coming on. The pounding in my head warned me to serve something delicious yet simple to prepare. In that moment, I decided on a hearty spaghetti—easy to embellish with bread and a tossed salad—and sherbert for a light dessert.
Friday night, we went out with friends. It was a relief not to have to be alone together, since some tension lingered between us due to our different attitudes about his mom’s new social life.
The wife of the couple sat across me, smiling sweetly, seemingly unperturbed as her husband tried to tell several jokes but each time mangled the punchline. She reminded me of that actress who played the mother in Breaking Away. She even resembles her. I saw the movie the year my college held a retrospective of Peter Yates’ films. The woman in the story had endeared me because she remained calm while her husband and teenage son took turns driving each other crazy. She knew her objective—to keep the circle intact.
Now that I was a wife, it was dawning on me that to achieve that calm took patience. Supreme, even heroic patience. I eyed the woman facing me in the booth. Ruth was her name. She was older than me by about ten years. Her husband and Dan were both managers at the same company. Maybe, I thought, I will ask Ruth out to lunch one day soon, just the two of us, and learn the secret of her composure.
Saturday afternoon, following a trip to the grocery store, Dan and I shined up our apartment. Dan volunteered to mop the guest powder room floor while I tackled the main room. We were still not in sync about the evening ahead. Periodically, he stuck his head out the door and vented his feelings.
“They haven’t even been divorced a year yet,” he called out.
I killed the vacuum cleaner. “So?”
“So!?” In his slightly annoying, your-folks-are-still-married-you-couldn’t-possibly-understand tone, he said, “It’s too soon, Shirl.”
“Maybe she’s lonely.”
“She has a life. She has friends…church…her garden,” he insisted while toting the decorative waste basket to the kitchen to empty it in the garbage container.
A terrible thought occurred to me. What if Dan and I were to break up one day? Would that be my refuge, a cliché-riddled list of activities?
But this wasn’t about me, so why was I challenging Dan by defending his mom?
I said a quick prayer. After taking a deep breath, I felt something inside me shift. Perhaps it was my attitude, for a wave of compassion flowed through me; now I wanted to encourage my husband to keep talking.
“Is your dad dating?” I asked him on his return trip.
“Yeah, right.” He paused, one hand on his hip. “He’s dating his golf clubs, poor guy. Problem is, he has to take them all out at the same time.” He looked at me, the hint of a smile curving the corners of his mouth. He could never resist a funny thought once it popped into his mind. I remembered how much I loved this man, and my body relaxed. The air around us definitely felt lighter. I kissed my love’s glistening but furrowed brow and finished vacuuming.
Setting the table allowed me some quiet time while Dan took a shower. I used it to give myself a pep talk. You can do this, I told myself. I unfolded a tablecloth my mother sent me from Hawaii that I had tucked away for a special occasion. Its royal blue background and white floral designs down the center instantly filled our dining room with beauty and grace. Just remember to be patient tonight, whatever happens. After placing matching napkins at each setting, crystal, and silverware, I then added fresh-cut mini sunflowers for the centerpiece. Slender pearl-colored candles waited to be lit, completing the tableau. I felt the first flutters of excitement as I surveyed the scene, then dashed to get ready.
“And another thing,” said Dan later, while he finished dressing. “Mom’s put us in quite a spot. Deirdre doesn’t know a thing about it. I mean, we don’t know who this guy is.”
Well, well.
So, for once, Deirdre had been no help. I got it that they were twins and especially close, still, I wanted our marriage to work. More than work. I wanted our marriage to go the distance. Was this my chance to show Dan that he could confide in me first and always? Or was a catastrophe brewing? Was Marlene dating her next-door neighbor’s husband, or some gigolo only after her money?
“I hope he likes Italian,” I replied playfully while I slipped into my new dress.
“Who doesn’t like Italian?” he countered while zipping me up, his tone subdued. “Dad can never get enough of it.” He put his arms around me and nuzzled the back of my neck. “I’ve been a bit on edge. Thanks for being so understanding.”
My body tingled with joy. I closed my eyes and leaned against him. My prayer had been answered.
The doorbell rang.
As I raced down the hall, excited by our new closeness, I suddenly worried that my humble spaghetti with sausage and meat sauce wouldn’t match his mom’s culinary skills. Dan exited the hall and breathed in deeply. “Mm. Something smells awesome!”
Had he said “someone,” it would have delighted me. But in that moment, I was thrilled he meant the aromas emanating from our kitchen.
“Hurry up, Dan.”
“I’m here.” He reached for my hand. With his other hand, he threw open the front door. Nervously, for the first time ever, I uttered: “Mom!”
And Dan, in the second it took him to blink twice, yelled, “Dad?”
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