“At least I can say now that I’ve met your entire family,” Eunice said.
He didn’t know why he felt a momentary impulse to correct her. He wasn’t thinking of his sister, surely. Was it Barbara? No, how ridiculous. He said, “So you have.” Then he said, “And I’ve met exactly zero of yours.”
Eunice looked unhappy. She said, “Oh. Right.”
Although Liam couldn’t really work up much interest in her family. It was just her parents, after all-a couple of right-wing Republicans, from the sound of it-and he felt that he was long past the meet-the-parents stage of life. Besides which (here was the real thing), he was uncomfortably aware that he and Eunice’s father were members of the same generation, more or less. What a bizarre scene: one gray-haired man playing Daughter’s Boyfriend while the other played Stern Dad. Further proof of just how unsuitable this romance really was, at least in the eyes of the outside world.
So he said, “Maybe when your father’s a little stronger,” and Eunice said, “Yes, maybe when his speech improves.” She looked relieved. “Then you could come for a drink,” she said. “They’ve been dying to meet you. We could all sit out on the terrace and have a nice long visit. You would have so much to talk about! Once they got to know you they would love you, I’m just positive.”
With every word she uttered, she sounded less convincing. Liam said, “No point rushing though, when he’s been so ill.”
“Oh, no.”
“Plenty of time to meet later.”
“Oh, yes.”
“How is his speech, by the way?”
“It’s going well,” she said. “Bit by bit, I mean.”
“Is he getting any sort of professional help?”
“Oh, yes, every week. I’m the one who takes him, because my mom has her aerobics class then. He sees this cute little girl who talks with a lisp. Can you believe a speech therapist would lisp?”
“Maybe that’s why she went into it,” Liam said.
“She calls him ‘Mithter Dunthtead,’” Eunice said with a giggle. “‘Mithter Thamuel Dunthtead.’”
She looked pretty cute herself, Liam noticed. Laughter always turned her cheeks pink.
He tried to picture the four of them sitting on the terrace. Her parents would ask him where he worked, just making polite conversation, but when he said he didn’t work, their expressions would cloud over. Where was he thinking of working, then? Nowhere. And he was twenty-some years older than their daughter, and he’d flubbed up two marriages, and he lived in a rented apartment.
They would exchange glances. Their eyes would narrow in a certain way he knew well.
But things were not as bad as they seemed! he wanted to tell them. He was a better man than he looked!
He did somehow feel, these days, that he was a good man.
She was even less social than Liam, if you didn’t count those girlfriends of hers. That was another of her traits. When Liam’s old philosophy professor came through town, she claimed Mr. C. had an evening meeting that would keep her from going to dinner with them. When the guidance counselor at St. Dyfrig threw his annual barbecue, she declined on the grounds of the high pollen count.
But one Friday afternoon, Bundy phoned and asked Liam if he felt like going out for a bite to eat. His fiancée had dumped him, he said, and he was tired of sitting home brooding. In view of the circumstances, Liam felt he couldn’t refuse, although he had already arranged to spend the evening with Eunice.
“Would you mind if I brought somebody?” he asked.
“Who’s that?”
“Oh, just a woman I’ve gotten to know.”
It occurred to him to wonder if demonstrating his new couplehood at that particular moment showed a lack of tact, but Bundy seemed to find the prospect entertaining. “Whoa!” he said. “This I’ve got to see. Why not? Bring her along.”
So Liam called Eunice’s cell phone and left a message about the change of plans. He was conscious as he spoke that he was not delivering welcome news; and sure enough, when Eunice called back she sounded less than thrilled.
“I thought we were eating in tonight,” she said.
“Well, yes, we were, but Bundy’s getting over a breakup.”
“You never mentioned any Bundy before,” she told him accusingly.
“Didn’t I? Oh, Bundy and I go way back. He’s African American,” he added as an enticement.
But still Eunice said, “Maybe I’ll skip it. I’m not sure how late Mr. C. will be needing me.”
Liam groaned. From time to time, he had the feeling that Ishmael Cope and he were engaged in a sibling rivalry of sorts. He said, “He’s got to allow you some private life.”
“Well, but, and also, Tumbleweed, you said. I don’t want to eat at Tumbleweed! It’s too fancy. I don’t have the right clothes.”
“Tumbleweed is not fancy,” Liam said. “I’m not even wearing a tie. I doubt Bundy owns a tie; he isn’t old enough for a-”
But then he saw underneath to what was really bothering her. “Eunice,” he said. “Sweetheart. You would look fine, whatever you wore. I’m going to be very proud to introduce you.”
“Well, I do have something black,” Eunice said. “Black always seems more elegant.”
“Black would be perfect,” he told her.
They arranged to meet at the restaurant, because Eunice had to stop off at her parents’ house to change. Since she and Bundy didn’t know each other, Liam made a point of showing up first, and he requested a table in front where he could watch the street for her arrival.
It was true that Tumbleweed wasn’t fancy. The lights were fake kerosene lanterns, the decor was Old West (dark, slightly sticky wooden booths and framed Wanted posters), and most of the other diners were Towson University students. Liam couldn’t imagine that Eunice would find it intimidating.
Through the front window he saw Bundy striding toward him, a long-legged figure scissoring down the sidewalk in a way that didn’t seem particularly heartbroken. A moment later he was settling into the seat opposite Liam. “Where’s your lady?” he asked.
“She’ll be along.”
“See how it works: there’s just a limited amount of romance at any one time in the universe. Naomi dumps me; you get lucky. What’s her name?”
“Eunice,” Liam said.
All at once the name sounded vaguely embarrassing. The u sound reminded him of urine.
“So!” he said brightly. “Why’d Naomi break it off? Or would you rather not discuss it.”
“Not much to discuss. I come in yesterday from the gym, she’s talking on the phone in this low sexy voice. ‘I’m home!’ I call, and quick as a flash she says into the phone, ‘Fine, let’s make that two o’clock. Shampoo and a trim.’ In a voice that’s totally different, real efficient and bossy, like she’d use with her beautician. Then she slams down the receiver. So after she goes off to the kitchen, I press Redial. Man answers. Says, ‘Yo, babe. False alarm?’”
“Plenty of beauticians call people ‘babe,’” Liam announced with authority.
“But ‘False alarm’? Why’d he say that?”
“Uh, maybe…”
“It was her boyfriend, I tell you. The two of them making a fool of me. I tell you, I’ve been stupid. I say to him, ‘No, man. It wasn’t no false alarm.’ Then I go out to the kitchen. ‘Naomi, you got some explaining to do.’ Know what she says? Says, ‘Why you say that?’ Says, ‘That was just Ron at the beauty shop.’”
“Well. See there?” Liam said. “It was Ron at the beauty shop. And when she hung up in a hurry he assumed she must have some emergency, so when his phone rang again he said, ‘False alarm?’”
“How’d he know it was Naomi?” Bundy asked him.
“He had caller ID, of course.”
“Right. What’s a place of business want with caller ID?”