Short Story: That's Minnesota

Short Story: That's Minnesota

I stepped over an egg-shaped pumpkin and rang my parents’ doorbell. An autumn wreath hung on the door, encircling one of the three triangle windows. I leaned in, spotting a shadow through the opaque glass. The lock clicked and the door flew open.

“Come in, come in, Pete. Did you forget your house key?” My mom glanced up at me through her rimless glasses before tilting to the left and gazing down the gravel road.

I patted my pockets. “Must be at home.”

The key was in my pocket. I moved out seventeen years ago, but I didn’t feel a sense of freedom until I started ringing the doorbell.

“Never mind, it’s so good to see you.”

I bent my knees, waist, and neck, and gave her a hug. She squeezed the cold air out of me with her short arms. “It’s good to see you too, Mom.”

She grabbed at the collar of my jacket. “Can you believe this weather? A warm morning and a freezing afternoon. Everything’s backwards these days.”

Leaning away from her hurried hands, I took my jacket off and hung it on top of the wooden banister. “That’s Minnesota for you.”

I slipped my shoes off without untying the laces and stepped over another pumpkin to reach the side window. Pushing the blinds away, I peered out to the end of the walkway. When I spun around to ask my mom a question, she was hanging my jacket up in the closet. I pointed outside. “Is that my bed sheet covering the lamppost?”

“Looks like a ghost, right?”

“Looks like I’ll be sleeping on a bare mattress tonight.”

“Don’t be silly.” She stuffed all the puffy sleeves of the winter jackets back into the closet and shut the door. “Come in the kitchen, I have a surprise for you.”

I had already smelled the cinnamon from the apple crisp when I entered the house. “You’re rewarding me before I rake the leaves? Dad’s gonna love that.”

She didn’t answer when I followed her into the kitchen. “Did you clean the entire house this morning?”

She ignored me again as she put on a daisy patterned oven mitt and moved the pan to the counter. I stepped to the row of windows facing the backyard and arched my neck. Six oak trees rose high above the house. With each gust, a few of the remaining leaves fell on the lawn. “Almost all the leaves are picked up. Why’d you call me over here?”

“Well…” She stopped when my dad appeared at the basement door.

He squinted, deepening the crow’s feet that must have reached to his ears. He fiddled with a button on his double pocket flannel shirt. “What took you so long?”

I knew he was waiting to devour half the pan. “I was hoping you’d have the leaves cleared by the time I got here.”

He smirked through his beard at my half-serious joke, trying to steal my plate. “We got point-two-four inches of rain last night. It was like raking up a bunch of wet rags out there.”

My mom grabbed the plate from us, and covered it with a giant slice that oozed off the spatula. The crispy crust held the entire piece together. “Mom, I’m gonna call you ‘Crispy Crust’.”

“What’s that, Pete?”

I pretended I didn’t hear her. My dad was more convincing than me as he dug out half the carton of vanilla ice cream onto his plate. When he finished, he licked the ice cream scoop and tossed it in the sink.

I checked the microwave - 1:58pm. “I’m only half an hour late. Why’d you even ask me over here?”

My dad didn’t look up from his plate as he moved to the kitchen table. I turned to my mom.

She took a seat next to him. “Well…well, have a seat here.”

When I dropped on the chair, my dad bounced off his and walked back to the counter.

I rested my elbows on the table and folded my hands. “Okay, what’s going on?”

She peeked at her silver watch. “I was watching Discovery Channel last month –”

“You promised you’d stop watching that channel…are you still running outside with the camera when the tornado sirens go off?”

“— and there was this program...” She seemed to lose her train of thought as she studied the side of my head, appearing to count the gray hairs. “Pete, you’re 36 years old.”

I had a feeling where this was going.

“Robert already had three kids by your age. And Jeanie, well, she was carrying her second.”

I looked to my dad for support, but he shrugged his shoulders.

“Mom, what does Discovery Channel have to do with this?” I usually attempted to change the subject at this point, but I was somewhat curious.

She fidgeted with her wedding ring. “There was a documentary on arranged marriage and –”

I laughed, hoping my dad would join in, but he vanished. He was a farmer, but he walked like a ninja. “I still don’t see the connection.” I stalled trying to think of a way out of this insanity.

“– and I knew it was perfect for you.”

“But…”

“Please, Pete, let me finish. I know this sounds strange, I mean there are some strange rituals like matching horoscopes…”

“Yeah, only that part of this is absurd.”

“I’m serious about this.” She placed her hand on my wrist. “I’ve already checked with Pastor Krause and he thinks it’s a great idea.”

I pulled my arm away. “So you’re just going to pick my wife out of a hat? What then, invite her over here, covered from head to toe, and I’m supposed to gaze into her eyes and just know that she’s the one for me?”

“Don’t be silly, she won’t be covered from head to toe.”

I tugged on my earlobe and scrunched my face, making a mental note to walk out the door the next time I smelled apple crisp.

Scuttling her feet, my mom rolled her chair over to the desk and grabbed an unmarked manila envelope. She opened it, placed an eight by ten photo face up on the table, and slid it over to me. “This is Sydney Carlson.”

My mouth froze open and my face burned red. Staring back at me was a woman somehow photographed from my dreams. Her deep brown eyes made the print three-dimensional. Brown hair flowed down past the border of the image and a few strands trickled over her forehead and rested on her lightly blushed cheek. Her smile was warm and natural, as if she was absorbed in conversation.

My mom continued, “Jackie plays in our bowling league, she’s Sydney’s aunt, and she happened to see the same program. It’s really something, everything happened so fast, I was on the phone the next day with Sydney’s mother in Eden Prairie. Can you believe you and Sydney were both born in April? That was just one of the signs. Before we hung up, we had already decided you two were perfect for each other.”

When I heard, we decided, I had this instinct to argue, but my open mouth remained speechless as I gawked at Sydney.

My mom put her index finger on the top off the photo. “We exchanged photos…”

“Which photo?” I pressed the bottom of Sydney’s picture, pulling it back.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters, Mom.” She had probably sent my high school yearbook photo with my hair parted down the middle.

She grabbed her camera from the desk. “I emailed her this one.”

“That’s not me!” I shouted a sense of relief that sounded angry.

“Well, you always wear those baseball hats of yours. Can’t even see those amazing blue eyes.”

The man on the camera had blue eyes like mine, but a shade too dark. I had my mom’s light blue eyes, but unfortunately, not her symmetrical face. I shook my head in bewilderment. “He’s shirtless?”

She squinted at the two by two inch screen. “You can hardly tell.”

“You captured half his bare chest!” I exhaled through my nose and scanned the desk for any open magazines.

“Don’t worry, you’re more handsome. You’ve always been a handsome boy. I think Sydney will be surprised when she meets you.”

“Yeah, she will definitely be surprised…wait, what do you mean, meets me?”

“Pete, I understand this is a lot to digest,” she gestured for me to finish the apple crisp, “but you have nothing to worry about...really. After you meet Sydney and her parents today, I know you’re going to feel a lot better about this.”

“Today?!”

The doorbell rang.

__________________________________________________________________________________

“Oh, they’re a few minutes early…Frank, Honey, can you get that?”

An incoherent assent came from the living room.

My mom picked at the sleeve of my hooded sweatshirt. “How about you go into our bedroom and put on some of your father’s clothes?”

I can’t believe I didn’t notice that my dad had his shirt tucked in and my mom was wearing her favorite snowflake sweater. Even her artificial curls were curlier.

I scampered up the stairs, tripping halfway, and crawling on all fours to reach the top where I was out of view. Collapsing safely on the fuzzy carpet, I felt a sudden fear that by running up the stairs, I had signed on the dotted line to all of this. With no other choice, I lifted myself up and hurried into my parents’ bedroom, shut the door, and leaned my back against it with my arms sprawled out. I wasn’t certain what I was holding back. Life? Marriage? I had a few girlfriends in my 20s. Not girlfriends...Relationships. They were all married now, but that didn’t mean anything. I had put on a few pounds, lost some hair, but I knew I’d find someone on my own.

Muffled laughs from the living room echoed up through the vent. Maybe my parents explained to them not to expect a Calvin Klein model to parade into the living room? Sydney would be disappointed, angry.

Trapped in my parents’ bedroom, I held a cough from the smell of hairspray clinging to a cloud of dust. In front of me, the bed was buried under a pyramid of pillows, but I found an open corner to sit, and think. I considered jumping out the window. It couldn’t be that high. Springing off the bed, I split the yellow curtains and looked down. The glare off a Grand Caravan blinded me. Parked two inches from the bumper of my Beretta, the spotless van rendered my getaway car useless. It all seemed so sinister.

Succumbing to fate, I opened my parents’ closet to a rainbow blob of shirts and pants and dresses. A hundred hangers jammed on a single rack. The colors blended on my dad’s side into a myriad of plaids and then erased into his white shirts. I yanked out a white shirt, put it on, and tucked it into my jeans. I sucked in my gut, willing it to be too big. It fit perfectly. I even felt grumpier with it on. Stepping into the bathroom and staring into the mirror, I ran my fingers through my straight, black hair and then stretched my face. No beard, but I had his flat nose and thick neck.

The bedroom door squeaked and I jerked back. A few softened footsteps on the carpet, and then nothing. I crouched down and peered through the crack of the bathroom door, but there was no one.

I moved closer right when a face flashed into view on the other side. Jumping back, I grabbed the shower curtain for support, almost ripping it down.

My mom asked through door, “Are you about ready? Sydney and her parents are excited to meet you.”

“Yeah, I’ll be down in a sec.”

“Pete...”

“Yeah, I’m almost ready, Mom.”

“Pete, I know this isn’t what...well, anyway, I know you’re going to really like Sydney. Just be yourself.”

“But...” I heard my mom walk away, and close the bedroom door behind her. “But she’s not expecting...me?”

I rummaged through the drawers and under the sink for an answer, and I found it - a white dust mask that my dad used for working on drywall. It was idiotic, but it was the only way. I slipped the mask on and struggled to take a deep breath.

I opened the bedroom door slowly, but the creak stuttered and the voices downstairs went silent. I couldn’t turn back. Walking to the top of the stairs, I placed my toes over the edge, imagining myself tumbling down and out of this mess. But waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, I saw four socked feet – two red and two woolly gray.

__________________________________________________________________________________

I took each step fighting against gravity and imminent embarrassment. I heard my dad say to my mom, “He’s coming down those stairs slower than Jeannie on her prom night.”

My mom shushed him. “This is a big day for Pete.”

Halfway down, I could see their faces. My mom beamed, but my dad shook his head. “Why is he covered like that?”

“He must be following tradition, Honey. Just play along.”

“Oh boy.” My dad dropped his head and moped out of sight.

When I reached the last step, I paused. My mom squeezed my hand, then gave me a tug and led me into the living room. I flipped a family portrait face down on the hallway shelf. Waiting in the room, Sydney’s parents stood flabbergasted. Her dad played with his chequered tie, gazing at the front door. Her mom made eye contact with me, but raised her darkened eyebrows.

Her mom cleared her throat, taking charge. “Hi there, Pete, I’m Kathy and this is my husband, George.”

The mask stifled my hello. I shook Kathy’s hand first, and she held it for a moment longer than I intended, looking me over.

Kathy straightened her ruffled blouse over her pants. “And this is our daughter, Sydney.”

She was stunning. I adjusted my mask to allow my eyes to open wider, taking as much of her in as I could. The photo didn’t reveal her curves that ran along her jeans and v-neck sweater.

She seemed to force a smile. “Hi Pete, nice to meet you.”

“You too, Sydney.” I inched my left hand up the back of my neck, checking that the mask still concealed my face.

Sydney patted her high cheek bones. “Why do you have a mask on?”

“It’s nothing, it’s –”

“Can you take it off then?”

“That’s for the wedding night, Dear,” my mom answered from behind me.

“Oh boy.” I heard my dad collapse on his favorite chair.

With a blazing red face that must have shown through my thin mask, I quickly interjected. “I’ve...I’ve got a bad fever. Didn’t want to get anyone sick.”

Sydney’s parents nodded in half understanding. Sydney nodded as well, but I saw her reach behind, pull something out of her mother’s purse, and hide it in her fist. I had a bad feeling it was Mace.

My mom broke the silence. “George, Kathy, can I get you another black coffee?”

Kathy nodded. George picked up his mug and swirled the last drops around. “You bet.”

My mom winked at my dad and he followed her into the kitchen.

The four of us sat down, me alone facing the Carlson family.

Kathy gaped at my mask. “Everyone in China is wearing those now. It’s the only way to stop bird flu. I was skeptical, but it was in the Star Tribune.” She turned to her husband. “So many germs going around. It’s good to see that Pete’s considerate.”

I coughed for effect, leaning forward and nodding.

A few seconds passed with silence. George scratched the cushion seat of the couch, and fidgeted with his tie again. Sydney rested her arms on the wide La-Z-Boy chair, and drummed her fingers.

Against the wall behind them, a grandfather clock distracted me from the tension. I followed the pendulum as it swung me into a state of nausea.

Kathy straightened her posture. “Your parents have said very nice things about you. Your high school grades were impressive.”

I needed to remind my mom that I was 36 years old. “Thank you, Mrs. Carlson.”

Kathy searched in her tassel purse and dug out an organizer and a pen. “Pete, I wrote down a few questions.”

I wasn’t prepared for this, for any of this. I gazed at Sydney, her brown eyes melted away my anxiety...away my defences, my mask, my heart, her sweater, her sweater...Focus!

Too much time had passed without a reply. George crossed his legs, resting his ankle on his knee, and he picked at a piece of lint on the bottom of his sock.

Kathy pointed at her organizer again and tapped it with her painted fingernail. “Pete, is that okay?”

So much was running through my head, I didn’t know what she was referring to. Was I okay with Sydney sitting across from me and instead of in my dreams? Yes, I was okay with that.

“Pete, the questions, are you okay with a few questions?” Kathy slid forward on the cushion. “Or would you like to start with asking us some questions? I’m not sure of the exact protocol. George?”

George’s head sprung up and he glanced both ways as if he woke up and found himself in the middle of a road. “Yep, yes, I’m okay with...What?”

I coughed again. “Sorry, I was feeling a bit lightheaded. Please...go ahead.”

Before I finished my breath, Kathy started in. “How many kids do you want to have?”

Sydney shielded her eyes with one hand.

“Three.” I had no idea, but three sounded reasonable.

“Good. Now assuming you will have two boys and one girl, what names do you have in mind?”

Names?! What was the point of that question? Who was this lady? I came here to rake leaves and now I had this stupid mask on my face that was too late to take off, and I had to come up with baby names?

I rubbed the tip of my index finger where I had punctured it with a fishhook. “You know, I always wanted to name my kids after my favorite Minnesota lakes – Leech, Badger, and Strawberry.”

Sydney laughed. It was a genuine, warm, feminine laugh that I didn’t want to stop.

“I see.” Kathy shook her head while she scratched a few notes. “With 10,000 lakes, I’m sure we can come up with a few more appropriate...”

“I kind of like the names,” George cut in.

Kathy glared at him, before focusing back on me. “Now, let’s discuss the wedding. I’m sure you’re fine with Christ Lutheran Church in Eden Prairie?”

“I was thinking, maybe, Chapel of Love at Mall of America. It’s only twenty-five bucks for fifteen minutes and there are so many options on where to eat afterwards.”

“We could do the reception there…after the church service. Now, George and I would like to be near our grandkids, so where do you plan on raising your family?”

I wanted to glance in Sydney’s direction, to hear her laugh again. “Dundee.”

“Where’s that? Is that one of those new suburbs popping up east of St. Paul?”

“It’s in Scotland.”

“No, you don’t want to go there.”

“I don’t?”

“Scottish rain makes our thirty below winters feel welcoming.” Kathy turned to Sydney. She had her mouth covered, stifling a laugh. “It’s fact. I heard it from a lady at church who is well travelled...and well to do.”

The grandfather clock chimed three times. My parents reappeared with a mug in each hand, my mom first, and then my dad dragging his feet on the carpet. Leaning towards me, my mom whispered, “How about you two go have a private chat?”

I knew she could read my face no matter how covered I was. I adjusted my mask, jumped up, and zeroed in on Sydney. “Sydney, can I show you something in the basement?”

I realized it might have resembled a hostage-taking scene, so I forced a deep cough to remind them I was sick.

George coughed, as if my stress was contagious.

Desperate, I blurted out, “All our family photos are down there!”

“Sure, yeah, that sounds like fun.” Sydney replied before I even understood what I had said. “I’ve only seen one photo of you.”

__________________________________________________________________________________

Walking past my mom, she mouthed the words, “Good luck.” I stretched my eyes in horror to make her stop, a look I hadn’t given her since Homecoming in my sophomore year.

Our dads sat directly across from each other, both squirming in their chairs and staring into the bottom of their mugs.

At the top of the stairs, I flipped the switch on and dimmed the lights. Halfway down, the door shut, and when I turned back, I saw Sydney shift her eyes and smile away from me.

The basement was a museum. Paintings bought at garage sales, my dad called them treasures, hung on every wall depicting deer, tractors, pine trees, freezing cows, and cottages. A stuffed largemouth bass hung between a painting of Jesus and a cross stitch of an angel. On the top of one shelf, a clutter of black and white photos of ancestors I couldn’t name. One of the sullen faces was apparently the owner of the worn leather trunk, tucked into a corner behind the TV. Jeannie’s high school swimming trophies gathered dust on another shelf, next to a collection of Beanie Babies all facing forward in rows of three, and four deep. A settled, attentive audience ready for the show to begin.

Sydney brushed my shoulder as she passed me. She stopped in front of a shelf, crossed her hands behind her back, and leaned in, examining a replica of the Mayflower. Her brown hair fell over her shoulders and covered her face. She lifted her head and brushed her hair back behind her ears. A white ceramic elephant caught her attention and she bounced her palm off the dull pointed tusk. On the next shelf, she ran her fingers along the gossamer beard of a bright red German nutcracker, then played with the wooden lever, biting down on her fingertip. I didn’t realize I was smiling until I felt the soreness in my jaw.

Sydney touched the base of one of the bigger trophies. “Are you the swimmer of the family?”

“No, no those aren’t mine.” I pointed at the stuffed bass. “Robert and me always liked catching fish. Jeannie was...she’s my sister, was the one who preferred swimming like one.”

Sydney continued poking around. She picked up a wooden owl and flipped it upside down, reading the stamp on the bottom. “There’s a lot of stuff down here. Really.”

“Yeah, you know, a lot of...stuff.” I was going to say ‘junk’, but I held my tongue.

“Your parents’ house is so immaculate upstairs, but the real story is down here...right here, hidden underneath the living room.” She took a step towards me. “Can you just...”

“Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have brought you down here,” I interrupted. “Some things are better left hidden.”

Sydney slipped both hands halfway into her jean’s back pockets. “Pete, can...”

“Yeah, no, no problem, sorry, we can sit down.” I couldn’t think straight standing up. This gorgeous woman was torturing me. She was acting sweet and curious, and she forced me to put on this itchy mask and my Dad’s shirt, and she just stood there, leaning on one leg, and now I realized I stared for too long and she must have thought I was losing it.

“Sure, okay, let’s sit first.”

In contrast to the cluttered walls, the centre of the room was empty except for a three-seat couch. I dropped on one end, hugging the cushioned edge, and Sydney plopped down on the other side. She crossed one leg and rested her foot on the couch, pressed against her inner thigh. I scratched my chin through my mask, wanting to tear it off.

She straddled her arm over the back of the couch. “Can you...”

I coughed from my lungs, trying to avoid the inevitable question.

“Pete...can you take your pants off?”

“Sorry?” I stopped in mid-cough.

She pointed. “Your pants.”

I took a deep breath at the wrong time and was hit by a fragrance of blooming flowers and citrus and ocean breezes and sunshine, and her smooth neck and lips, and I couldn’t think. “My pants?”

“Yes.” Her brown eyes held steady.

The ceiling was as thin as the walls and I could hear our parents speaking upstairs. It would only take a few seconds for them to peek down to check on us. Overcoming the fear that I might be the first man to ask an attractive woman it, I just blurted it out. “Why do you want me to take my pants off?”

“Well,” her eyes twitched and she cracked a smile, “I saw every other part of you from that modest photo your mom sent, so why not the rest?”

I laughed, almost choking on my mask.

But Sydney didn’t join in. “Doesn’t your mom have any photos of you? Lucky for Facebook I got to see what you actually look like.”

I felt a mix of relief and confusion, as I pulled the mask down in defeat. Sydney studied my face for a moment.

I asked, “Why did you come over after –”

“After what?”

I almost said after seeing my real picture, but I always said things like that. “No...nothing, never mind.”

“I was totally shocked when you walked into the living room with this thing on.” She picked up the mask and shook her head. Her smile faded. “I couldn’t tell if you were crazy or just childish.”

“I...” The couch felt like it was consuming me as I sunk lower into it. “I don’t know what I was thinking. But why did you lead –”

“Not exactly a good first impression. I almost walked out the door.”

“Yeah.”

“What were you trying to do, scare me?”

“I didn’t –”

“Because you definitely scared my dad, and I don’t know what my mom was thinking.”

“I’m sorry, but –”

“No, don’t,” she raised her hand, “not for that part. The way you stood up to my mom, I loved it. But I still don’t know what you were thinking with the mask. Do you always act like that?”

Sydney watched me. Her lips were straight and her eyes told me nothing. I froze, unable to understand the mixed feelings in her words. How did she want me to react? When I didn’t answer, she turned away. I quickly jammed the mask between the couch cushions, trying to forget I ever put it on. “Yeah, your mom really cornered me. I get kind of defensive when I’m cornered like that.”

“Like you are right now?”

I paused, trying to calm myself. I didn’t have to be here. I didn’t have to answer any of these questions.

Sydney still hadn’t looked up from her lap as she dug her thumb into her palm. I was ready for her to leap up and walk out the door. But she didn’t. She lifted her other foot onto the couch, crossed her legs, and leaned back on the cushion. She wanted to be here. I wanted to be here.

“Can we start over?” I crossed my legs on the couch too. “I mean...can I start over?”

The phone rang. Footsteps moved from the hardwood floor of the living room to the kitchen. On the fourth ring, it stopped.

Sydney placed her hands on her knees and exhaled. “Okay.”

“Okay.” I straightened my back. “I’m Pete. I live down in Rochester. I’m working at Mayo Clinic, but I’m not a doctor or anything, I just work in the records department. Oh, and I just bought a house, my first one. Definitely beats the apartments I lived in before.

“I’m jealous. I’m still in an apartment, living with a couple friends. It’s fun, but sometimes, well, it seems like more and more now, I just want my own place.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling. So where are you staying? What do you do?”

“I’m in Plymouth, but I work at studio in St. Louis Park, teaching dance to little kids, pre-school mostly.”

I cleared my throat. “Do you like it?”

“Lots of exercise and lots of headaches, but I enjoy it...I do. It’s fun to see them jump around, trying to follow my every step.”

I felt relief she was used to childish behavior. “I wish my job was more rewarding like yours.”

She pulled up her sleeves. “I’m sure it’s not that bad?”

I nodded.

Sydney pressed her lips together and lifted her eyebrows. “You must know all the dirty secrets on celebrities?”

“Yeah, but you know, it’s confidential.”

She inched closer to me on the couch. “Come on, Pete, how about just Minnesota ones? I won’t tell, I swear.” She crossed her heart, pressing down on her sweater.

I lost my ability to make ethical decisions. “Okay, name anyone and I’ll tell you what I know.”

“How about Prince?”

“Stopped in a few months back claiming he shrunk two inches. Pleaded with the doctor to give him something to prevent him from dropping into the four feet range.”

“No way! Garrison Keillor?”

“Came in last month for an MRI after he got writer’s block.”

“F. Scott Fitzgerald?”

“He died...I think a century ago?”

“Yeah, I was just kidding…What about the Coen Brothers?”

“Ethan saw a psychiatrist after he developed an inferiority complex from working with Joel.”

“Dylan?”

“Same problem as Prince.”

Her large eyes narrowed. “Is any of this true?”

“No idea.”

“You’re funny.”

“You didn’t realize that when I walked down the stairs in a mas...?” I stopped, regretting I brought it up again.

She made a circling motion with her index finger, following the outline of her ear. “Funny in a crazy way.”

“I thought you were crazy for coming over here.”

Sydney grinned and brushed back her hair with one hand. “Absolutely crazy! My mom’s always nagging me about getting married, comparing me to my younger sis. I always tell her ‘if it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen’. Wow, that drives her crazy. Last week, listen to this, she said, ‘you’re 32, Sydney...and single. I was done having babies by 32.’ That’s crazy, right?”

I nodded, thinking everyone in the house, including us, might be crazy.

“Sorry, I’m saying too much, aren’t I? A lot on my mind today.” Sydney’s cheeks flushed, but I didn’t look away. “Sorry, so yeah, when my mom proposed this idea, this arranged thing, I said no....of course I said no.”

“But you’re here now?”

“Well, yeah, after I told her no, I thought about it more that night. I kept having this image of the last two idiots I met at the bar. Long story. Or I should say short story. Anyway, so that’s when I checked your photo, when I got curious about you that night. I was really surprised to find out you joined the N-A-A-C-B-P Facebook group and...”

“That color-blind group? I joined it as a joke a couple years back.”

“Oh...I just assumed you were color-blind…like me?”

I moved a few inches closer, and studied the pattern of her brown eyes. “You’re color-blind too?”

“Yeah.” She blinked hard. “I know this probably sounds dumb...don’t call me lame, promise? But I thought it would be a nice change to go out with someone who sees the world the same as me.”

“Go out?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve stepping into a church...or a mall chapel, or what was it? Moving to Dundee?”

The room lightened when the basement door opened. “Pete...Pete can you hear me down there or should I come down a few more steps?”

“Yeah, Mom, I can hear you.”

“Would you and Sydney like to come up for some hotdish, and some strawberry Jell-O with bananas?”

I glanced at Sydney as she rested the side of her head on her fist. “We’ll be up in a minute.”

The door squeaked shut and Sydney snapped her head up. “Pete, don’t go up there. My mom has more questions.”

“Our grandkids’ names?”

“Maybe.”

“But we can’t hide down here all day?”

“You’re right...we can’t.” Sydney reached in her pocket. “I’ve learned something from working with kids. Childish behavior unfortunately breeds more childish behavior.”

“Okay?”

“But sometimes it’s fortunate. Like when an adult hides behind a mask, which just happens to scare me into stealing from my mom’s purse.” Sydney opened her hand and dangled a car key.

“You were really going to make a run for it?”

“If I had to. If you really turned out to be crazy. But you changed my mind.”

I leaned toward her and placed my hand on hers. “There’s a window in my old bedroom that we can squeeze out through.”

“You never run out of surprises, do you Pete?”