Mom opens the door before I can even knock. “Atticus!” she says like I’m returning home from a long deployment or some shit. But I just saw her a few days ago. Still, I crush her with a huge hug. When we separate, her eyes are glowing as she takes in Goldie.
“And you are the most beautiful young woman I’ve ever seen,” she gushes, holding her hands together at the center of her chest like it's our goddamn wedding day. Forty-two-years-old, and my Mom is embarrassing me in front of a girl.
Then the real cringe sets in. Dad’s voice carries over the top of us. “Atti’s got a girl with him? Quick, buy a lotto ticket! It’s our lucky day!”
I shake my head, dropping my hand to Goldie’s lower back to usher her inside. Mom closes the door, dad appears, and the introductions begin.
“Hi,” Goldie smiles so broadly, so beautifully. I don’t think she’s being phony. She looks really happy to meet ‘em, and I really don’t know why it pleases me as much as it does because it shouldn’t. “I’m Goldie Hawn Berry; my parents conceived me watchingOverboard,so that’s where I got my name. I’m Beck’s best friend. You know, Beau’s girlfriend.”
I rake a hand up the back of my head at just how goddamn much I like the way she introduces herself. Didn’t know an introduction could get my lower half stirring, but here we fuckin’ are.
“Oh, I loved that movie! Goldie Hawn is just too funny. And beautiful, too, so it’s quite fitting for you, my dear,” my Mom gushes, not releasing Goldie’s hand. Dad nods from his spot beside Mom.
“Great movie. Goldie Hawn is a helluva gal.”
“Totally,” Goldie chirps. “It’s so nice to meet you, Edith,” she says, breaking the shake to extend her hand to my dad. “And you, too, Harry.”
“Edie,” Mom corrects. “You call me Edie.”
“Edie,” Goldie repeats.
Then the three of them face me.
“What?” I gruff. They know my name. I don’t need any introductions. In fact, despite the warmth and comfort, I’m feeling from the moment I nod to my Dad. “Pilot light first, then the rest, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he grunts.
Goldie leans toward my Mom in faux privacy. “Chip off the old block with the grunting, huh?”
Mom laughs so loudly I consider the idea that she’s been fake laughing for years because I really haven’t heard her take so much joy in anything ‘til that comment. Even at my expense, I like hearing her laugh.
“They’re two peas in a pod.”
“‘Cept I know how to fix shit,” I grumble to myself as I pad through the living room toward the garage door. I got a list of shit to do, and none of it includes being allteeheeheewith a woman I barely know in front of my parents while they dote on her. They probably won’t ever see her again after today, so instead of small talk, I get to fuckin’ work.
* * *
Two hours later,the pilot light is lit, the squeaky recliner is fixed, and a fire is roaring in the fireplace after I chopped some wood outback. Right as I’m fixin’ to tear Goldie away from the kitchen table where she and my Mom are chopping vegetables and chatting, the power goes out.
“Jesus Christ,” my Dad gruffs. “I had a program recorded that I was just about to watch.”
“Matlock is on all the time, hon,” Mom says from the kitchen. Then, without my prior consent or permission, she sets her knife on its side and rests a weathered hand on Goldie’s shoulder. “Stay here tonight. The roads are wet, and it’s cold out, and the power is likely to be out in town, too. You can be alone with the power out or stay here. We’ll have cocoa and play board games.”
“Mom, Goldie’s car died, and I’m just givin’ her a lift home. She’s got…” I’m about to say work, but I know she just had an interview, and as far as anything else goes, I haven’t heard her mention any plans. “Shit to do. She doesn’t want to–”
“I’d love to stay. I mean, I have plenty of time, and I’m really enjoying myself,” she says, her eyes holding mine. There’s truth in them; I can see that. I look at the table and see Goldie’s fingers splayed across the blue nail polish stain. I ain’t a signs guy. I’m not reading my horoscope, smearing oils on my wrists, or charting the full moon. Still, her wide eyes sparkle up at me, happiness dense in the air, and I can’t take that from her. She needs it.
We all do.
I look at the blue nail polish again, then at Goldie.
“Fine.”
* * *
Mom puts allthe prepared ingredients for soup in the fridge, threatening all of us not to open it again so things stay cool until the powers back on. Dad gets his camping stove out and reheats spaghetti while Mom pours us each a snifter of Brandy.
I don’t know if Goldie likes or drinks Brandy, but she takes it from Mom and sips on it like it’s cocoa. We eat, and I just observe. Sit and listen to Mom and Goldie go back and forth about all sorts of shit; why twenty-minute naps are so much better than a full hour, which episode ofMaudeis the best, what brand of hot tea is their favorite, and why body lotion is a racket. I have nothing to add, but more than that, the back of my neck tingles, my chest burns, and all of me is, without my consent, very goddamn pleased at the evening.