Best Behavior Read online

  “And Cody.” She rests a hand on the sleeve of his seersucker jacket. “You look so handsome, you could be James Bond.” This last comment definitely begets an eye roll from them both.

  “Last time I checked, Bond was swarthy, Mom. With brown hair,” he points out.

  “No, no, not Pierce Brosnan. The other guy. You know who I mean.” Meredith involuntarily glances to Joel for help, but he’s holding an ice bag on the back of his head, where a football conked him only minutes ago. Thanks to a quick-thinking senior who grabbed the ice, the goose egg doesn’t appear to be too awful. Meredith reassures him that he’ll most definitely live, but she can’t help but feel it serves her husband right—what was he even thinking, playing football with those boys? “Oh, what’s his name? Daniel something. Anyway, it’s so good to see you two! I can’t believe my babies are graduating.”

  “Mom. Stop.” It’s a two-word command, as if Dawn can already anticipate the torrent of emotion that will spill from her mother this weekend unless great strides are taken to prevent it. The master of the deflective move, she turns to hug her grandmother. “Thanks for coming, Nana.”

  Carol’s bony hand grasps hers as they pull apart. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, honeybunch.”

  “Hey, are you going to be okay? Like seriously?” Dawn eyes her stepdad warily.

  “What? This?” Joel points to his mop of hair, soaked through with sweat or water, Meredith can’t be certain. “It’s nothing. Just a little bump. You look amazing, by the way. And, Cody, my man,” Joel continues, “Who knew you could clean up so well? Looking sharp.”

  Dawn grins, while Cody, hands in his pockets, digs the toe of his suede Buck into the dirt as if extinguishing a cigarette. “Thanks, man.”

  Her children are playing it so cool, Meredith wants to scream! Once again, she finds herself wishing she could rewind to the days when they desperately needed her. Such as the time when Cody chipped his front tooth on a slide and only Meredith could calm his cries. How she let him pinch her hand as hard as he wanted when the dentist slid the Novocain needle into his gums, prompting a wave of tears. Or, the day when Dawn got cut from first line in The Nutcracker, the way it stung and how she turned to her mom for comfort and reassurance. Meredith recognizes that, like everything else in life, the twins’ growing up has been a process, baby steps that have led them further and further away from her to this day. It doesn’t preclude her, though, from brushing Cody’s shaggy bangs out of his eyes now.

  “C’mon,” Dawn coaxes, probably sensing her mother is on the verge of having a moment. “We’re already late to the party.”

  They head around back to where a massive white tent is hiding (or more like grandstanding). Joel hikes his ice bag into a trash bin, and Carol grips Meredith’s arm as they navigate the grassy lawn in their heels. When they step inside the tent, Meredith has to blink against the relative darkness. Hundreds of tiny white lights dangle from overhead, and bouquets of blue-and-white balloons drift languidly above the tables.

  “Goodness, it’s like a pep rally and a wedding reception combined,” she whispers and counts approximately ten long rows of tables draped in white. In one corner sits the buffet, covered in trays of steaming food—a regrettable choice, Meredith can’t help but think, for such unseasonably warm weather. In another corner a band with Rastafarian dreadlocks and tie-dyed shirts warms up on the bongo drums and guitars. Off to the left, she spies the makeshift bar and feels nearly as gratified to see an industrial-sized floor fan nearby. Already, little beads of sweat are forming beneath her Spanx girdle.

  “Mom, can I get you a cocktail?”

  “Whatever you’re having, dear,” says Carol. “Think I’ll head to the buffet before all the good food gets taken.”

  “Me, too,” says Dawn, then Cody.

  “Me, three,” chimes in Joel. “Grab me a beer, would you, honey?”

  When Meredith arrives at the drinks table, the huge fan sends a rush of muggy air her way, and she wallows in the tepid breeze, taking a moment to scan the room. Already, graduates and their assorted families crowd the tent. Her mother will be pleased by the robust showing of grandparents here. Parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts—everyone grins and shakes hands as they circulate about. Some of the dads could be former college football players, big-shouldered guys who confidently stroll around with a drink in hand, and several mothers parade by in sleek, bare-backed dresses, revealing early summer tans. Is it just Meredith, or do these women look as if they’re trying too hard to appear ten years younger?

  Then there’s another group, an occasional gray streak in their hair, who’ve clearly checked the I Don’t Care: I’m A Mom box, and who circulate in flowy summer skirts with elasticized waistbands. Meredith, in her heels, covetously eyes their sandals with comfortable, squishy soles.

  Somewhere in between these two groups is where she hopes to fall tonight. Despite being on the Keto diet for the last few weeks, it dawns on her that the five pounds recently shed from her frame makes precious little difference in the scheme of things. Back at the hotel, after she’d changed into her dress, she’d been feeling confident, almost pretty, but now she realizes she’s just another invisible mom, come to watch her children graduate. Maybe when she gets back home she’ll reconsider Botox, something to hoist her back onto the plane of visibility. Her friend Donna tried it and now resembles a twenty-year-old. A twenty-year-old with overly plumped lips and a frozen forehead, but still.

  When it’s Meredith’s turn in line, a young man who bears a striking resemblance to Tom Cruise fetches her two glasses of merlot, and she happily slides a five-dollar bill into his tip jar. Poor Joel will have to fend for himself—two glasses are the most she can carry without spilling all over herself. It’s on the way back to her table when she spots the woman: a few feet away stands a tall blonde wearing the exact same sundress as Meredith, except hers is probably a size two and has a deep slit running up one side. Is it the same dress? Did the woman cut the slit herself to better show off her toned calves? Meredith wonders. She quickly ducks her head, hoping to sneak away unnoticed...

  But it’s too late.

  “Hello, excuse me!” the blonde calls out, and when Meredith glances up, the woman’s elongated fingers flutter in her direction. Before she knows it, the stranger, who might be in her late thirties, early forties at the most (only a few crow’s-feet), is standing beside her. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t resist coming over. What are the odds that two of us are wearing the same dress tonight? Did you get yours at Saks, too? Honey, come here!” She gestures toward a dark-haired man, equally exquisite and apparently her husband. “Come take our picture. This is unbelievable!”

  “I know, so funny, right?” Meredith tries to play along, but it’s evident that if their photos were posted side by side in People’s “Who Wore It Best?” competition, Meredith would get maybe 2 percent of the votes. She smiles half-heartedly into the bright flash of the husband’s cell phone. A quick round of introductions and Meredith discovers that the woman’s name is Penelope, “like Cruz,” she clarifies, and her son, James, will graduate tomorrow.

  Meredith can’t resist a little name-dropping herself. “So nice to meet you. I’m Meredith Parker. Cody’s mom, you know, Bolton’s running back?” This prompts more excited squeals from Penelope.

  “Honey, this is Cody Landau’s mother! Can you believe it? I’m wearing the same dress as Cody Landau’s mom! How cool is that?” A bit of Penelope’s iced margarita splashes onto her dress. “Oopsies! Good thing my dress, I mean, our dress, is purple!” A few more cocktails and Meredith would be willing to bet that Penelope will be tucked into bed in another hour or so. She works to free herself from the woman’s grasp as politely as she can. “Very nice meeting you. See you tomorrow, I hope.”

  “Hope we’re not wearing the same dress at graduation!” Penelope chirps, as if they’re new best friends. Definitely a GAT mom, Mered
ith thinks, the moniker she and her friends used to ascribe to the handful of moms who dressed up for school pickups and drop-offs, their hair and makeup flawless at seven thirty in the morning. Glamorous All the Time.

  When she finds her way back to her family, it appears to include only Joel and her mom.

  “What happened to you?” he asks. “I was worried you’d gotten lost.”

  “Drinks line took forever. Where’d everyone else go?”

  Joel’s head tilts to the left. “Over there. As soon as we got some food, the kids hightailed it to sit with their friends.”

  Meredith frowns. “Is that allowed?” Separating from the family seems to break some unspoken rule of graduation etiquette. “I thought they were supposed to eat with us.”

  “C’mon, honey. Relax. They’re going to be with us all weekend. They want some time to hang with their friends.” He leads her to a table with a handful of empty seats, and Carol follows a few steps behind them.

  “M’ladies.” He sets down a plate he’s prepared in advance for her. The evening’s theme appears to be surf and turf: steak, swordfish, julienne carrots in herb sauce, a roll with a thick slab of butter. It counts as a small godsend because, even though Meredith didn’t ask for a plate, she can bypass the buffet line, which currently snakes all the way to the back of the tent, and she digs in eagerly. The steak is a little tough, but it doesn’t prevent her from trying to trim off the fatty parts with the plastic knife provided. Until it snaps in two. Joel laughs.

  “Honestly, you’d think we’ve spent enough money on tuition to afford real knives at our kids’ graduation, wouldn’t you?” he asks.

  “You’d think,” she says. The swordfish, on the other hand, breaks apart easily into succulent, flaky bits, and the marinade—lime and something else she can’t quite put her finger on, coriander, maybe?—makes for pure ambrosia. “Oh! I almost forgot,” she says between mouthfuls. “Sorry I couldn’t manage a beer for you—my hands were full. I can go back—”

  “No worries,” he says, “I’ve got one right here,” and Meredith sees that, indeed, her husband has already flagged down a waiter who’s conveniently pushing a beer cart their way.

  “Isn’t it kind of strange?” she muses. “I know it’s not a college reunion, but somehow it feels like one. These people are roughly the same age as we are. Heck, some of them were probably in my class at Bolton. Do you know what I mean?” she continues, trying to make Joel understand, but maybe it’s a girl thing. Maybe men don’t get caught up in such silly games. “It’s like there’s this silent judging going on about whose parents have held up the best.” The whole dress incident has unnerved her. This ridiculous self-judging has got to stop, she thinks. Lily isn’t even here!

  “I guess so,” he offers now. “Hadn’t really thought about it.”

  Meredith shrugs at his nonresponse and resumes people-watching. There are fancy folks who strut around as if they’re the school’s biggest donors and others who have already found their way to the dance floor and sway tipsily. She watches parents and soon-to-be graduates filing past the buffet and is struck by how many girls have forgotten—neglected?—to wear slips with their very short, in some cases miniscule, dresses. In the right light, she can spy not only the outline of their underwear but also the strips of their skinny, hardly there thongs. (And if she can see the inverted little V that travels up the girls’ backsides, then she’s fairly certain all the senior boys can detect it, too.) Please, God, she prays, let Dawn have had enough sense to wear a proper slip.

  “Well, color me teal,” her mother says suddenly, interrupting Meredith’s thoughts. Her eyes follow a woman emerging from the buffet line in a turquoise dress and scarf with matching shoes, headband, and bag.

  “Mom, behave yourself.” Nevertheless, a tiny laugh escapes her. Meredith may have just lectured Joel on the foibles of comparison minutes ago, but this woman is a virtual sea of teal, head to shoe. It’s impossible not to notice.

  “I mean, there’s just so much of it,” her mom insists. “And the color isn’t doing her complexion any favors. That’s for sure.”

  “This coming from a woman who judges people by the books they post on Goodreads,” Meredith points out. From time to time, her mother will look up what people in her church group or book club are reading. But Meredith knows as well as Carol that her mom relies on the site as a kind of background check, her own personal Rorschach test. If someone loves the same books that she does, like Elinor Lipman’s Isabel’s Bed, for instance, then they can be instant friends. If, however, they’re inveterate readers of military history, her mother will harbor her doubts until the person rates a book she approves of.

  Carol sniffs, fanning herself with the accordion-like fan she’s fashioned out of a napkin. “You may not be able to judge a book by its cover, but you can most certainly judge a person by their book covers.” It’s a mantra so familiar coming from her mom that it might as well be painted on a wooden sign from HomeGoods and posted above her front door. Sometimes Meredith thinks her mom might be on to something, though: maybe a person is more likely to find his or her match on Goodreads than on any of those dating websites.

  “Could be true,” she offers now. “I mean, what if Goodreads were to dig a bit deeper, ask something like, ‘Do you like horror fiction? If your answer is no, then please proceed to the next question about historical fiction.’ And so forth, until your profile gets paired with someone who shares similar reading tastes. Imagine the money you could save on books alone?”

  “Now you’re thinking.” Carol winks wickedly. “I wonder if any studies have been done on the staying power of relationships when spouses have similar tastes in books. I’ll bet you it’s a bond as strong as love. Maybe even stronger.”

  Meredith laughs and turns to get Joel’s opinion, only to notice that her husband’s face has turned an alarming shade of red. “Are you all right?” He’s rolling a frosty beer bottle across his forehead. She lays a hand on his other arm, which is warm and tacky to the touch. “Is your head bothering you?”

  “Couldn’t be better. Just a little warm.”

  “You look a little—” she pauses “—flushed. Why don’t you go out and get some air before the awards ceremony?”

  He shoves the last piece of medium rare steak into his mouth, then says, “Good idea,” and dabs his face with a “Class of 2020” napkin before standing. “It is getting a little toasty in here, isn’t it? Back in a few.”

  Minutes later, Dawn materializes at their table with a friend, and Meredith remembers now that Dawn’s yellow dress has a built-in slip already. Thank goodness.

  “Nice to see you again, Shauna,” Meredith says. Shauna resembles so many of the other girls here with her long straight hair, lean runner’s legs, and eyelashes so thick they look as if they’ve been glued on—which, according to Dawn, some girls actually pay a small fortune to do these days. Shauna’s white dress hits at midthigh, reminding Meredith of a nightie she wore on her honeymoon. Really? she thinks. This is what passes for graduation attire these days?

  “Hi, Mrs. Parker.”

  “You both look beautiful. Where’s your brother, honey?”

  Dawn glances at Shauna, as if they might be complicit in Cody’s whereabouts, then shrugs. “He’s probably off with Brad and Toby somewhere.”

  “And what about Matt? And Melissa? I haven’t seen either of them around.”

  “They’re both at their own dorm dinner,” Dawn explains. “We’ll see them later. Well, at least, Matt. Not sure about Melissa. You’d have to ask Cody.”

  “Oh, right. That makes sense.” Meredith gets the funny feeling that her daughter is revealing only half-truths at the moment, but she doesn’t dare press, not in front of Shauna in her nightie.

  Soon there’s a clinking of silverware against glass, prompting heads to swivel to the front of the tent. “Please, if I can get your attentio
n,” calls Dean Tillman, the dorm’s headmaster. “Please, everyone, back to your seats,” he urges. “We’re going to start the awards ceremony as soon as everyone gets settled with their families.” Dawn tells Meredith she’ll be right back; she’s walking Shauna to her table. Now if they can just find Cody to join them, Meredith thinks, everything will be perfect.

  She searches the room for the familiar head of corn-silk hair, the easygoing stance that her son seems to inhabit so naturally. Surely, he’ll seek them out now that the dean has asked the graduates to join their families. Near the tent’s entrance, clusters of people are beginning to scatter, returning to their tables. And that’s when she spots him, her stomach performing a somersault. Roger.

  Her ex-husband has come to crash this party, after all.

  Well, I’ll be damned, she thinks. Roger is the last person she expected to see tonight. Not that he shouldn’t be here—he should. But he’d already apologized to her and the kids, saying there was no way he could possibly make it tonight, some big client closing on a huge deal, and so on and so forth. Typical Roger excuses that used to drive her batty back when they were married. These days his excuses skate by her, but she’d worried about how the kids would perceive his absence tonight. Maybe Roger has had a change of heart, Meredith thinks. Maybe he realized that you only get to celebrate your children’s graduation once and you’d best take advantage of it. She hopes that’s the case. Maybe Lily urged him to come, but she doesn’t even see Lily. It’s only Roger, looking slightly adrift, as if waiting for someone to rescue him.

  Well, it won’t be Meredith, that’s for sure.

  * * *

  After they settle in their seats, Joel spies her over at the drinks table before she notices him. Thankfully. It gives him a moment to collect himself, get his bearings, and make certain it really is her. A profound sense of déja vu sweeps over him. There’s the familiar hue of her hair, auburn with a touch of gray, and that intense focus, which, at the moment, centers on the man in front of her. Kat angles her head to one side as if considering something her companion has said, then laughs. Even from afar, it’s the same laugh Joel remembers from high school, husky, earthy. She might have put on a few pounds (welcome to the club, he thinks), but otherwise, she could be the same girl sauntering down the hall of Grafton High toward his locker after fifth period, coming to ask if he wants to grab a milkshake at the Dairy Queen, and making his heart beat a thousand beats per minute.