Expectations

Chapter 10

He sensed a shift in the air, but didn't hear the door open.

"Jimmy?"

He pulled the shower curtain aside so he could hear better. "You okay?" he asked his wife.

"Yeah. I wanted to let you know your mom's here."

Jim groaned, ducking into the water to rinse the shampoo out of his hair. "So you had to get up to answer the door?" he asked.

"I was already up," she said. "I was fixing myself something to eat."

Jim sighed. "I was going to get breakfast for you. You were asleep, so I thought after my shower, I'd—"

"It's fine, Jimmy. Don't worry about it. If I didn't get out of that bed from time to time, I'd go crazy."

"You're not overdoing it?"

"I'm not overdoing it," she assured, and suddenly her voice was quite near. Cold air hit him as he heard the curtain being pulled.

Grinning, he made a grab for it but missed. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," she said, something playful in her voice. "Just getting an eyeful. You're a beautiful beautiful man, James Dunbar."

His eyebrows shot up. "And my mother is in the next room!" he retorted in a fierce whisper. "This is—disturbing."

"I'm just looking."

"What's she doing here so early, anyway?"

"Says she wants to help with the shower."

"She wants to help me shower?"

Christie laughed at Jim's joke. "My shower," she said, and then added in a low voice, "although I wouldn't put anything past her."

He shook his head. "Fine. I'll be out in a few minutes. You should be back in bed."

"That's okay. I'm getting set up in the living room for the day. Don't worry. I'll be lounging around with my feet up."

"Good."

"You gonna be long in here?" she asked. "I'm going to take a bath before it's time for people to start arriving. Normal people. Who come when they're supposed to be here."

He skipped his shave, something he often did on quiet weekends, and dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Had Marty and Tom ever even seen him out of a suit? Only once, he recalled, when he had gone undercover as "Ted the Drug Dealer."

"You're going out in that?" his mother said as Jim entered the kitchen. She sounded like she was sitting at the bar.

"Hi, Ma," Jim said, walking toward her. "You're early today, aren't you?"

"You don't have a nice sweater you can wear out?" she persisted. "It's the middle of November, for God's sake. You'll freeze."

"I'll wear a jacket—and it's not that cold out."

He stood beside his mom and, reaching a hand toward her, found her shoulder and then leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.

"You're all scruffy," she complained. "Where are you going today, anyway?"

"A friend's house. Tom. A detective I work with. He's going to barbeque burgers today."

"He's going to barbeque in November?"

"That's what he said," Jim said, going back into the kitchen so he could find something to eat for breakfast. "I don't really think all our plans hinge on where he actually cooks the burgers or if we have burgers at all. Our day will not be ruined if we end up ordering a pizza instead."

"You're fixing breakfast?" his mother asked.

"Yeah."

"I'd be happy to make you something to eat."

"It's just a bagel and cream cheese, Ma," Jim said, trying to look amused. He wasn't. He had always known his mother was—he preferred to keep it positive by thinking of her as "nurturing"—but this constant need to help him had been wearing especially thin since he had lost his sight. All it did was emphasize to him how helpless others still perceived him to be.

His mother sighed, a sound that brought years of maternal martyrdom to the front of Jim's mind. "I had hoped you would spend some time with Dad today, Jimmy," she said.

Jim lowered his bagel, deciding not to take a huge bite after all. "And do what?" he asked, frowning.

"You never see each other."

Jim laughed, but a bitter sound he didn't like was mixed in. "Tell him not to take offense. I never see anyone."

"That isn't funny," she said. Jim could see her in his mind as she spoke, her lips tight with disapproval, her head wagging back and forth in a disgusted mannerism Jim knew he had picked up from her.

"You have to admit that was a little funny, wasn't it?" Jim asked. "Sometimes you have to laugh at things."

Her sigh was as deep and full of martyrdom as the one before it had been. "I suppose," she admitted. "Some things aren't easy to laugh at, though."

"And that's why you do it," Jim said, taking a bite out of his bagel. "What's more ridiculous than my situation?"

"Honestly, Jimmy. Don't talk with your mouth full."

The laugh came more readily this time and without the bitter note. "See?" he said. "I'm laughing."

Jim was gradually learning about the power of a good healthy laugh. It hadn't come to him all at once and finding the humor in the midst of all the frustration was still a challenge at times, but a well-placed joke at his own expense now and then was magic. He liked teasing Karen whenever she betrayed that she had forgotten he couldn't see. He liked pretending he hadn't known all along that Tom was black. He even liked using the blindness as an icebreaker with people he didn't know, catching them off guard with a self-deprecating joke to get them to open up. Galloway had told him this kind of humor was healthy—as long as Jim wasn't being a smartass. Jim thought it was healthy too, so it was distressing when people too close to the situation, like his mother, couldn't find humor in his blindness when he was blatantly giving permission. Laughter beat pity any day.

He jumped at a knock at the door.

"I'll get it," his mom said, and Jim heard her rubber-soled shoes padding across the hardwood floor.

"Hi, Ruth," Marissa's voice said to Jim's mom. Then more voices joined in and Jim stood where he was, trying to figure out how many people were there. A low affected laugh made it through the chatter. Christie's mother. And was that a disapproving sniff? He hadn't even known Christie's grandmother was coming, but something in his gut told him that three generations of Christie's family had just arrived.

He had hoped to be long gone before the apartment was overrun with women, but it seemed everyone was keen to grab a visit or help set up hours in advance. Jim's thinking hand came up to his face and he found himself running a finger back and forth across the stubble on his chin. Why hadn't he shaved? This didn't feel like a casual Saturday anymore.

A voice cut through this thoughts. "There he is."

His expression set in a smile that felt grim and he faced his mother-in-law. "Rebecca," he greeted, hoping he was properly gauging where her voice had come from.

"I thought you'd be long gone by now," she said, a throaty laugh intertwined with her words.

He felt himself relax at Rebecca's humorous tone. "The shower isn't for another three hours," he pointed out. "I thought I was safe."

Something grabbed at his arm. He tensed, but then realized it was Rebecca. She gave him a squeeze and kissed him on the cheek before breaking into another laugh. "You're not safe at all," she said. "Careful. My mother's headed your way."

No two generations of Christie's family were alike and they seemed to grow scarier the further back they went. Christie's grandmother was a tiny shriveled woman who had looked ninety for as long as Jim had known her. She was acutely aware of her lineage and was a member of both The Mayflower Society and The Daughters of the American Revolution. She was rich and always impeccably clothed and coiffed as befitting a woman of her age and background. This was why Rebecca was such a shock. She had had a wild and scandalous past, marrying and divorcing four times in rapid succession and raising her two daughters on her own. Christie and Marissa had been born to privilege, but their upbringing had been anything but traditional.

Jim heard a series of tap-tap-thuds that signaled the approach of Christie's grandma and her walking stick. "James," she said, drawing out his name. "You're looking healthy, but you've let yourself go, haven't you?"

"Gigi!" Marissa exclaimed, her voice filled with a shock that almost made Jim smile.

"Well, he has," the old lady asserted. "He hasn't shaved, his hair is messy, and he's in a very sloppy outfit."

"I prefer to think of it as comfortable," Jim said, smiling toward the raspy old voice. "Hi, Gigi. It's good to see you again."

Gigi, as everyone called the formidable Mrs. Bradstreet (Jim had called her "Mrs. Bradstreet" for years before being coaxed over to using her nickname), was famous for being outspoken. Jim didn't know if she was naturally unpleasant or if senility had lessened her ability to self edit. Whatever the case, he made it a point to maintain a respectful stance with her, ignoring her biting words.

"I think you look fantastic," Rebecca said. "I wouldn't mind having something like you around the house to look at."

She had always been on the verge of flirty with him. When he and Christie had first started dating, this had made him uncomfortable, but he had developed a sincere fondness for his mother-in-law over the years, possibly because he had so little interaction with her. She traveled a lot. This was only the second time she had seen Jim since he had lost his sight.

"Where is Christine?" Gigi asked.

Jim's mother answered before Jim had a chance to. "She's taking a bath."

There was that disapproving sniff again. "Taking a bath when we came all the way to the city to see her. Typical."

"She didn't know we would be here this early, Gigi," Marissa explained, the patience in her voice wearing thin. "We're here to help set up for the shower. Christie can't be up and around for that anyway."

"I don't see why not," Gigi said. "I was up and about through all four of my pregnancies and I was fine. All this coddling and bed rest. I wouldn't have stood for it."

"She's having twins, Mother," Rebecca said. "It's different."

"Twins," Gigi said with another sniff. "That'll teach her some responsibility, at least. Caring for twins is no picnic—especially as a single parent."

It took a moment for the words to sink it. That couldn't have been what she meant. The silence that spread across the room told Jim that the others were puzzling over Gigi's words too.

"Christie isn't a single parent," Marissa said hesitantly. "She has Jim."

Another of those sniffs. Jim cringed at the sound, no longer able to find it amusing.

"We all know who will be doing all the work," Gigi said. "Having babies with a blind husband. What was she thinking?"

Nothing anyone said would help. The words were out there, perhaps confirming what everyone had secretly been thinking but would never come out and admit. Jim opened his mouth to try and say something, but no words would come. Even breathing seemed suddenly difficult so he turned and walked to the bedroom.

The door was closed, which told him Christie had probably finished her bath and was getting dressed. He entered the room, closing the door behind him.

"What's wrong?" Christie asked, her voice coming from its usual place at her side of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" Jim asked, walking over to her and sitting on the edge of the bed. She was on top of the covers and, as he ran a hand over her, he felt that she was dressed.

"I feel pretty good," she said. "I noticed my family was here so I thought I'd rest for a few minutes before having to face Gigi."

"Smart girl," Jim said, kissing Christie on the forehead.

Someone knocked twice on the bedroom door and then opened it. "Jim?" Marissa said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "Are you okay?"

"What happened?" Christie asked.

Jim sighed and shook his head.

"You didn't tell her?" Marissa asked.

"Wasn't going to," Jim said shortly.

Christie clutched at Jim's hand. "Tell me what?"

"Gigi," Marissa said.

Christie let out a long sigh through her nose. "Oh."

Jim ran his hand absently along Christie's belly. "Don't worry about it. She's old. She doesn't know what she's saying."

Jim felt Marissa sitting beside him on the edge of the bed. "But it was really bad."

"Okay, now you're really going to have to tell me what she said," Christie said.

Jim turned toward Marissa and shrugged, hoping his face was giving her permission to tell Christie what had happened. For some reason, he couldn't convey this wish verbally, nor could he tell Christie himself.

Marissa seemed to understand.

"Gigi pretty much came right out and called you a single parent because Jim's—"

Christie sat up straight with a gasp. "I—why would she—?" She took a deep breath and wrapped her arms around Jim's shoulders and kissed his rough cheek. "I am so sorry she said that."

Jim felt himself flush, but part of the horror of that comment began to recede with Christie's kiss and Marissa's outrage. "Really, it's okay," he said. "I just—I just need to know you don't feel that way."

"How could you even say that?" Christie asked. "You've been working so hard."

"She's right," Marissa said, a smile in her voice. "I'm actually a little jealous. Mark isn't exactly a hand's-on dad, so whenever Christie tells me all that you've been doing to get ready, I can't help but to wish some of that could rub off on my husband."

Jim nodded. "Thanks for saying that."

"It's true, Jimmy," Christie said. Her voice betrayed her. The slight catch, the tremor…

"Don't cry," Jim said, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her as close as he could.

"I'm not," she said with an unconvincing laugh. "I'm just so mad at her. And now I have to go out there and be pleasant all day?"

"Just ignore her," Marissa said.

"I can ignore a lot from her," Christie said, some spirit returning, "but if she starts in on Jimmy like that again…if she makes it sound like he's some deadbeat…"

"Thank you, Christie," Jim said, smiling in spite of himself. There it was again, that feeling that things had entered the realm of the absurd and that all that could be done now was to give in to it and laugh.

"This isn't funny, Jimmy," she said, pulling away slightly, probably so she could get a good look at his face.

"I know," he agreed. "That's why it is funny."