Watermelon
Page 32
"So you're in Helen's class in college?" I asked him with false brightness, desperately trying to kick-start some kind of conversation.
"Yes," he replied. "I'm in her anthropology group."
And that seemed to be the end of that topic.
"This is really delicious," he said, smiling at me. "Any chance of some more?"
"Of course," said Mum coquettishly, almost knocking over her chair in her haste to serve him. "I'll get it for you. And would you like another glass of milk?"
"Thanks very much, Mrs. Walsh," he said politely.
He was so nice. And I'm not just saying that because he was the only one who ate the dinner I made. He was so boyish in a manly kind of way. But even though he was alarmingly good-looking I felt very relaxed with him, because I knew that he must be only about eighteen or so. Although he looked and behaved with a lot more maturity.
To be honest, I nearly felt a little bit jealous of Helen, landing herself such a hunk. I remembered vaguely what it was like to be young and in love. But I told myself not to be so silly. I'd fix things with James. Or else I'd meet someone else as nice.
(Nice? I thought in alarm. Did I just say nice? That was hardly the right word to describe James at that moment.)
But Adam, the hero, saved the conversation.
Mum asked him where he lived.
109
This was part of a routine inquiry and was the first question in a set of two that Mum religiously asked gentlemen callers. The second question involved finding out from the young man what his father did for a living.
And thereby assessing the approximate wealth of the family just in case Helen happened to marry into it. And so that Mum would have a rough idea of how much she would be expected to spend on the "mother-of-the- bride" dress.
But Adam managed to head Mum off at the pass and avoid being asked to produce a recent copy of his father's payslip by entertaining us all with snippets of his life story. Apparently he was from America. Both his parents had recently returned to New York, so he lived in an apartment in Rathmines. Although both his parents were Irish and he had lived in Ireland since he was twelve, he still looked American.
It must be something they put in the air in America, I thought. Fluoride, or something, that made them grow so big and beefy.
Adam amused us all with stories of what it was like for him when he first moved from New York to Dublin. And how the native children wel- comed him by calling him "fascist imperialist Yank" and acting as though he was personally responsible for the U.S. invasion of Grenada, and beating the crap out of him for calling tomatoes "tom-ay-toes" and for calling his mother "Mom" instead of "Mammy."
And how, when he tried to defend himself by beating up some of the native children he got called a bully because he was so much bigger than the other boys.
We all nodded sympathetically, sitting around with our elbows on the kitchen table, looking at Adam, our hearts breaking for the poor lonely twelve-year-old boy who couldn't do anything right. You could have heard a pin drop. The mood had suddenly changed from a lighthearted one to a somber one.
Even Dad looked on the verge of tears. He was obviously thinking, "He might not play rugby but that's still no way to treat the lad."
Then Adam turned the full force of his attention onto me. He twisted around in his chair and fixed me with an intense
110
look. In a funny way, he made me feel as if I were the only person in the room.
He was so eager and enthusiastic about everything. Like a little puppy. Well, like an enormous puppy, actually.
"So, Claire, tell me about your job," he said. "Helen tells me that you've got a really important job working for a charity."
I bloomed under the warmth of his interest--like a flower in the sun--and started to tell him.
But before I could, Helen interrupted. "I didn't say it was important," she said sourly. "I just said it was a job. And anyway, she had to give it up when she had the baby."
"Oh, the baby," he said. "Can I see her?"
"Of course," I said, delighted, but wondering why Helen was being so nasty. Why she was being even nastier than usual, I mean.
"Kate's asleep at the moment but she'll be awake in about half an hour so you can see her then."
"Great," he said, looking at me.
Honestly, he was gorgeous. His eyes were a kind of navy blue. And he had the most beautiful body. I thought this purely from an objective point of view. He was my sister's boyfriend, so it was all right for me to admire his beauty just aesthetically speaking, as it were.
I felt a bit like a wise old woman admiring the handsome young men. Realizing how gorgeous they were while acknowledging that my day of dalliance with them was long gone.
For dessert I produced the chocolate mousse, which was greeted with a great deal more enthusiasm than the dinner was. The jostling and scuffling that broke out among Anna, Helen and Dad for the biggest piece was nothing short of shameful, and us with a visitor in the house.
But Adam just laughed good-naturedly.
After a while I took him to see Kate.
We tiptoed into the room.
"Can I hold her?" he asked reverently.
"Of course." I smiled, very touched by his awe.
I thought it was the sweetest thing I'd ever heard that such a big tough man wanted to see my baby, sort of like a huge burly truck driver crying at country and western songs. Incon-
111
gruous and touching. I handed Kate gently to him and he took her and held her gingerly.
She didn't even wake up.
The idiot! What kind of daughter was I rearing? Being held, for the first time, by a beautiful man and she slept through it. It made such a beautiful picture. The huge young man holding the perfect little baby.
"What color are her eyes?" he asked.
"Blue," I said. "But all babies have blue eyes first. Then they usually change to another color."
He continued to stare at her with an expression of wonder on his face.
"You know, if you and I had a baby its eyes would definitely be blue," he mused, sounding almost as if he was talking to himself.
I jumped with shock. Was he flirting with me? I felt a surge of rage.
I had thought he was so innocent and nice. A sweet young man.
The nerve of him!
Not only was I old enough to be his mother...Well, very nearly. But he was here with my sister and was doing a very good impression of being her boyfriend.
"Yes," he replied. "I'm in her anthropology group."
And that seemed to be the end of that topic.
"This is really delicious," he said, smiling at me. "Any chance of some more?"
"Of course," said Mum coquettishly, almost knocking over her chair in her haste to serve him. "I'll get it for you. And would you like another glass of milk?"
"Thanks very much, Mrs. Walsh," he said politely.
He was so nice. And I'm not just saying that because he was the only one who ate the dinner I made. He was so boyish in a manly kind of way. But even though he was alarmingly good-looking I felt very relaxed with him, because I knew that he must be only about eighteen or so. Although he looked and behaved with a lot more maturity.
To be honest, I nearly felt a little bit jealous of Helen, landing herself such a hunk. I remembered vaguely what it was like to be young and in love. But I told myself not to be so silly. I'd fix things with James. Or else I'd meet someone else as nice.
(Nice? I thought in alarm. Did I just say nice? That was hardly the right word to describe James at that moment.)
But Adam, the hero, saved the conversation.
Mum asked him where he lived.
109
This was part of a routine inquiry and was the first question in a set of two that Mum religiously asked gentlemen callers. The second question involved finding out from the young man what his father did for a living.
And thereby assessing the approximate wealth of the family just in case Helen happened to marry into it. And so that Mum would have a rough idea of how much she would be expected to spend on the "mother-of-the- bride" dress.
But Adam managed to head Mum off at the pass and avoid being asked to produce a recent copy of his father's payslip by entertaining us all with snippets of his life story. Apparently he was from America. Both his parents had recently returned to New York, so he lived in an apartment in Rathmines. Although both his parents were Irish and he had lived in Ireland since he was twelve, he still looked American.
It must be something they put in the air in America, I thought. Fluoride, or something, that made them grow so big and beefy.
Adam amused us all with stories of what it was like for him when he first moved from New York to Dublin. And how the native children wel- comed him by calling him "fascist imperialist Yank" and acting as though he was personally responsible for the U.S. invasion of Grenada, and beating the crap out of him for calling tomatoes "tom-ay-toes" and for calling his mother "Mom" instead of "Mammy."
And how, when he tried to defend himself by beating up some of the native children he got called a bully because he was so much bigger than the other boys.
We all nodded sympathetically, sitting around with our elbows on the kitchen table, looking at Adam, our hearts breaking for the poor lonely twelve-year-old boy who couldn't do anything right. You could have heard a pin drop. The mood had suddenly changed from a lighthearted one to a somber one.
Even Dad looked on the verge of tears. He was obviously thinking, "He might not play rugby but that's still no way to treat the lad."
Then Adam turned the full force of his attention onto me. He twisted around in his chair and fixed me with an intense
110
look. In a funny way, he made me feel as if I were the only person in the room.
He was so eager and enthusiastic about everything. Like a little puppy. Well, like an enormous puppy, actually.
"So, Claire, tell me about your job," he said. "Helen tells me that you've got a really important job working for a charity."
I bloomed under the warmth of his interest--like a flower in the sun--and started to tell him.
But before I could, Helen interrupted. "I didn't say it was important," she said sourly. "I just said it was a job. And anyway, she had to give it up when she had the baby."
"Oh, the baby," he said. "Can I see her?"
"Of course," I said, delighted, but wondering why Helen was being so nasty. Why she was being even nastier than usual, I mean.
"Kate's asleep at the moment but she'll be awake in about half an hour so you can see her then."
"Great," he said, looking at me.
Honestly, he was gorgeous. His eyes were a kind of navy blue. And he had the most beautiful body. I thought this purely from an objective point of view. He was my sister's boyfriend, so it was all right for me to admire his beauty just aesthetically speaking, as it were.
I felt a bit like a wise old woman admiring the handsome young men. Realizing how gorgeous they were while acknowledging that my day of dalliance with them was long gone.
For dessert I produced the chocolate mousse, which was greeted with a great deal more enthusiasm than the dinner was. The jostling and scuffling that broke out among Anna, Helen and Dad for the biggest piece was nothing short of shameful, and us with a visitor in the house.
But Adam just laughed good-naturedly.
After a while I took him to see Kate.
We tiptoed into the room.
"Can I hold her?" he asked reverently.
"Of course." I smiled, very touched by his awe.
I thought it was the sweetest thing I'd ever heard that such a big tough man wanted to see my baby, sort of like a huge burly truck driver crying at country and western songs. Incon-
111
gruous and touching. I handed Kate gently to him and he took her and held her gingerly.
She didn't even wake up.
The idiot! What kind of daughter was I rearing? Being held, for the first time, by a beautiful man and she slept through it. It made such a beautiful picture. The huge young man holding the perfect little baby.
"What color are her eyes?" he asked.
"Blue," I said. "But all babies have blue eyes first. Then they usually change to another color."
He continued to stare at her with an expression of wonder on his face.
"You know, if you and I had a baby its eyes would definitely be blue," he mused, sounding almost as if he was talking to himself.
I jumped with shock. Was he flirting with me? I felt a surge of rage.
I had thought he was so innocent and nice. A sweet young man.
The nerve of him!
Not only was I old enough to be his mother...Well, very nearly. But he was here with my sister and was doing a very good impression of being her boyfriend.
