Part Forty-Eight

The call from Taylor came last night while she was washing dishes. Peggy had been dreading it, but she scolded herself because she knew she was thinking only of how Taylor's actions affected her.

"I went to Philadelphia," Taylor had said. Peggy replayed the conversation in her mind as she walked slowly to the ferry.

"Did you have a good time?" she asked, realizing the question had multiple meanings.

"Uh, yeah. It was great. Did Marjorie tell you about it?"

"She mentioned it."

"What did she say?"

"Why don't you tell me about it, Taylor?"

"I went to an art exhibit. And I saw Deidre."

"At the art exhibit?"

"Yes. Well we went together."

"How is her roommate?"

"Fine. She's over the chicken pox."

"Sounds like you have a nice visit."

"Yes. We had fun."

Peggy had the feeling that her son wanted her to know about it and didn't especially want to discuss it. There was nothing to discuss, really, after all, it was only a weekend visit.

"She's coming to Brooklyn next weekend," said Taylor.

Peggy was jolted out of her thoughts. Why is this so difficult, she wondered? What's wrong with me? "I see," she said.

"I'm taking her to an art exhibit."

"I suppose after you've seen all the art exhibits in Philly you would naturally go to Brooklyn. What's next, Chicago?"

"You don't like this, do you?"

"It's not a question of whether I like it. If you two get along then that's great. Who am I to object?"

"You don't like it a bit, I can tell."

"She's a nice young lady, and smart. I'm sure she'll be a great corporate C.E.O. one day and make millions of dollars."

"Mom, I know your voice. You don't like it. I would like to know why."

Peggy was stumped. That was the question: why? "I don't know," she answered. "I have a funny feeling about you and Deidre. I can't put my finger on it. Besides, since when do sons listen to advice from their mothers regarding girlfriends?"

"I didn't say I would follow your advice. I just want to hear it."

"I'm glad we got that straight."

"I mean, it's not serious or anything. She likes it when I explain art to her."

"I didn't know art needed to be explained. I thought you simply experienced it."

"That's the ideal, of course. But some people like to know the historical context and something about the technique."

"Okay so you're bonding at museums and chatting about Vermeer over Thai food. Then what? You know she's on a pretty serious career track. I see her marrying somebody with a Porsche and a really good golf swing."

"I like Porsches."

"Very funny. But you know what I mean. I don't want you to get hurt."

"People don't always think of the future when they like someone. They just do it, and see where it goes."

Peggy had been putting away a tea mug when Taylor said that and she almost dropped it. Maybe I'm too analytical, she thought. I'm analyzing my relationship with Raoul, sizing it up like real estate and trying to make an optimal decision. Maybe it's not that way. But she wondered why she was just figuring that out at age fifty-eight. Perhaps she had been in such a cocoon with her late husband for thirty years that she forgot how to deal with the opposite sex in dating situations. If only Taylor, Sr., were still around. Life would be so much simpler.

"Perhaps you're right, Taylor. I certainly don't have a crystal ball."

"By the way, the other thing I wanted to mention is that I thought Raoul was a lot of fun."

"But you didn't like him at first?"

"I didn't like him based on your descriptions. But when I met him I thought he was pretty neat. With him, you have to get past his sense of humor. He comes across like he has an attitude about everything, but actually I think he's very tolerant and understanding."

"Wow. You got all that in a week?"

"We had a few good chats."

Peggy was perplexed, and a tiny bit elated.

When she joined the others on the ferry she kept silent for a while, listening to the chatter about Raoul's party. Florence was threatening to make something called white lightening punch. Peggy's mind was on Raoul. Maybe I'm the one who has to be more tolerant and understanding, she thought.

"I know what I would like Peggy to bring," said Raoul. They all looked at her. With her eyes on Raoul and had the eerie sensation that he was having a silent conversation with her, a line of unspoken dialogue floated across the space between them.

"Let me guess, blackberry cobbler," said Peggy aloud. And then she sent him a silent reply.