8- Sleepless in Scarsdale
They got to Scarsdale a bit after dusk. Mark hardly said anything on the way, and when she asked something, mostly to make sure he was okay, his answers were short and sort of distracted. Eventually she decided to just leave him alone. He was obviously nervous, and she guessed that her repeating inquiries didn't make it any better. So she leaned back in her seat and looked outside the cab's window, watching the rows of picture-perfect houses and well-manicured lawns. It was almost time for dinner, so there weren't many people outside, just some kids on bike that passed by in groups every now and again. It was funny to think of this place as where Mark grew up in, yet at the same time, it was totally believable. Collins' story of Mark's parents crossed her mind. She could suddenly realize their resentment to Mark's decision. It definitely wasn't the place for someone to decide he wanted to go to New York City to make his own films. Oh no. If you were born in Scarsdale, you were probably expected to be the perfect kid who brought home perfect grades and had a perfect girlfriend, to which you would eventually marry and have some perfect kids of your own. Ugh.
She reached over and took Mark's hand in hers. "You okay?"
He didn't even lace his fingers with hers, like she knew he liked to do. "Yeah. I'm fine."
"It's okay to be nervous, you know."
"I'm fine."
Soon the cab stopped in front of one of the houses. It wasn't more unique than the rest of them in any way, just another house in the row. Mark looked out reluctantly, but as he probably realized there was no going back, he paid driver and they stepped out of the cab. She followed him to the front door, suddenly feeling nervous herself. All her doubts and second thoughts from hours before crept back in, worse than ever. What if they wouldn't like her? What if she wasn't dressed properly enough? What if-
A loud clamor rose from the inside. It seemed to be coming from the first floor, which was well-lit. She had no idea how many people were inside, but several days earlier Mark joked about how he wouldn't be surprised if because of their visit, his mother would even call his grandma and aunt in Connecticut. God, she hoped he was kidding. She didn't feel she could handle them all at once.
"It's okay to be nervous, you know." She looked up and realized it was Mark now saying this to her, a cute grin curling on his lips. "Don't worry. Leave that to me." And with that, he reached over for the bell. The sound echoed within the house, followed by some more loud voices which she couldn't make out. A lamp was lit above their heads as a key was turning in the knob, and the door opened.
"Mark! You're finally here! We thought we'd have to start without you!"
He stole a glance at her, and then let out a desperate, almost inaudible sigh. "Hi, mom."
"Hi? You haven't been here for ages and this is what you have to say to your mother? At least give me a kiss so I'll know you missed me, Bubele!"
She stifled a giggle as Mark stepped forward reluctantly to kiss his mom on both cheeks. She watched them from were she was standing, half-hidden by the shadows of the falling evening. There was some resemblance between the two, although it wasn't striking. And it was funny because Mark was so damn skinny, while his mom was… well, she wasn't fat per-say. Healthy-looking was more like it. Mark once admitted that his mom was one hell of a cook, which might explain this. She seemed to have missed her little… Bubele was it? For she was hugging him so tightly as if she'd never let him go.
And this was when she realized she was being watched. She snapped out of it, and her gaze met Mrs. Cohen's. The older woman's smile widened. "Oh. So this is why you've been too busy to call us back lately, isn't it?"
"Mom…" Mark hissed, obviously embarrassed.
His mom ignored him, still observing her. "Come here, dearie, so I can have a better look at you. Don't be shy."
She couldn't believe she was doing this. But then she remembered it was her brilliant idea. Of course. She always managed to get herself into trouble somehow. She swallowed her embarrassment and stepped into the light.
"Mom, this is Maureen Johnson. Maureen, that's my mom, Rachel Cohen."
Mrs. Cohen didn't shake her hand right away. She was looking at her inquiringly. "Johnson… is that Jewish?" she asked slowly, sort of confused. She obviously tried to make it sound indifferent, as if it didn't really matter, but there was definitely a hint of disappointment in her voice, that suggested otherwise. She could see Mark wince from over his mom's shoulder. Oh-uh.
"Uhh… no. It's English, as far as I know," she replied hesitantly, her heart racing. This was not good.
There was a short, almost awkward pause, as if Mrs. Cohen had to have a moment to take this in. For a moment, it felt as if she was waiting for her verdict. The silence seemed to be longer than it really was, which wasn't a good sign as far as she was concerned. But then, to her utter surprise, Mrs. Cohen gave her a radiant smile. "Ah well, no one is perfect!" she stated cheerfully, and shook her hand enthusiastically. Behind her, Mark sighed, looking relieved. "You are a pretty little thing. I hope you're taking a very good care of our Marky while he's away."
"Oh, I am. Don't worry about it," she smiled innocently, throwing Mark a suggestive look that escaped his mother. He blushed.
"Well, everyone is anxious to meet you, dearie, so let's not keep them waiting, shall we? Grandma couldn't come over, Mark, something about her bad hip again. And Sophie couldn't leave college this weekend."
Or didn't want to, she thought, as it was time for summer vacation. Her gaze met Mark's and he smiled, as if he was thinking of the exact same thing. He let his mom lead the way, still chatting cheerfully, and then took her hand and led her inside.
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She looked around once they were inside, trying to focus on what Mrs. Cohen was saying, couple of steps ahead, and get as much of her surroundings as possible at the same time. The house looked pretty much like she expected; cozy and homey with framed family pictures hung on walls or laid against shelves. She smiled. She couldn't wait to find Mark in those photos so she'd be able to tease him afterwards.
"You can leave your bags in your father's study, we'll take them upstairs later," said Mrs. Cohen, nodding towards the room as she spoke. Mark took her backpack from her shoulder and disappeared in there for a moment. When he stepped out, his mother smiled again. "Now go and join everyone in the living-room, I have to check on everything in the kitchen."
"So far so good?" she whispered once they were alone.
Mark glanced around, as if to make sure no one was around, and then leaned forward and kissed her quickly. "So far… yeah."
"Courageous, aren't you?" she smiled teasingly, wrapping her arms around his neck.
He smirked and gently took her hands off his neck. "Not that much."
"Mark? Was that you?" asked a female voice, and soon afterwards a young woman stepped into the hallway. She assumed this was Cindy, Mark's older sister, because she remembered she was supposed to be 7 months pregnant or so by now. She had pretty much the same complexion as Mark, and the glasses she wore looked expensive and very stylish. A wide grin curled on her lips when she noticed them standing there. "Oh, there you are! Silly mom, had you for herself without telling us you're here!" she said, wrapping Mark in a crushing hug. Must have been running in their family.
"What's up, Cindy?" asked Mark. For once, his smile seemed real. He touched his sister's stomach. "You're huge!"
Cindy laughed. "I know. I feel huge. I can't wait to have him already. Nathan is all excited," she giggled. Then she looked up at her. "You must be Maureen!" she said, reaching out her hand. "I'm Cindy. It's so nice to finally meet you."
"You too," she smiled, shaking Cindy's hand.
"Mark told me so much about you-" From behind his sister, Mark was shaking his head in protest. It made her smile. "And he said you were beautiful, but now I know he wasn't making this up."
"Cindy-" Mark said. He was blushing madly, she noticed.
"What, I'm only telling her the truth! Come on, you have to meet the rest of the family!" said Cindy cheerfully.
"The rest? How many are there?" she whispered in Mark's ear as Cindy led the way to the living-room.
Mark laughed softly, taking her hand. "Don't worry. Probably just my dad, Nathan my brother-in-law and Abigail, my niece. She's three." Which explained the noise they heard from the outside. "My mom loves you, so you'll be fine."
Hopefully, she thought silently, following Mark's lead.
Mark's dad turned out to be less threatening than she thought. Sure, he wasn't as warm as his wife, but he also didn't pretend to appear more important than he really was, like her own dad constantly did. He shook her hand and asked her politely how old she was and what did she do, probably more because he was expected to do so than because he was really interested. Nathan, Cindy's husband, was warmer, and always with a smile on his face like his wife, but he was occupied with little Abbey, as they all called her, who wandered around the living-room, looking for attention. Then shortly afterwards Mrs. Cohen walked in and called everyone to the table.
"Dearie, you can sit here beside me," she said, guiding her towards her seat. Mark's head shot up when he heard it. His eyes widened in horror, as if he wasn't expecting his mom to separate them.
"Mom, that's okay, we'll just-"
"Nonsense, Mark! You have all the time in the world to spend with her, and I only have several hours to get to know her better. Go ahead, dear, have a seat. Mark, you can sit over there, Bubele," she continued, pointing at a seat across from her. Mark sighed, but did as he was told.
Dinner started at a peaceful note after the Friday prayers. Well, peaceful except for Abbey who insisted to have her mashed potatoes outside her plate and not in it. Nathan was extremely patient with her, she noticed. She couldn't imagine herself in his place. She never got along with small children. She always thought it would be best if they could just skip that annoying phase between 2 and 6 years of age. This was probably why she hated babysitting so much. She'd rather have a dog than babies when she's a bit older. Dogs were so much easier to handle.
"So Mark tells me you're a year or so older than our Sophie," Mrs. Cohen's voice snapped her back to reality. She looked up to meet the older woman's inquiring eye. "How is it that you're not in college?"
It felt as if silence fell around the table, like they all waited to hear her reply. Mark looked as if he was willing to say something, probably speak in her defense, but she decided she'd have to deal with this alone. She wasn't ashamed in the choices she has made. And if those people wouldn't like it, screw them. It was her life. "I started college, actually, but I've decided to quit it after a while," she said, looking across from her at Mark. This was the truth. She didn't think she should hide or beautify it. She wasn't made for the academic world. Not everyone were.
"Oh," said Mrs. Cohen, in a tone that indicated that she didn't really understand how anyone could drop out of college. "And it was okay with your parents?"
She smiled bitterly as her parents' reaction crossed her mind again. "Not really, no."
"What do they do?"
"Too many questions, mom," Mark's murmur was quite audible. Their eyes met. He had that desperate expression, as if he knew he wouldn't be able to stop his mom's inquiries whatsoever.
"My father is a lawyer, he runs his own firm with my older brother. My mother is an art designer, but she works mostly from home." The expression on both Mark's parents' faces told her that her father's being a lawyer got her some extra credit. Ah well. At least her family background was useful at something.
"You're only two? Your brother and you?"
"Yeah. But it was mostly me. Anthony is much older than me, so he wasn't around much." Which was better, as he was a jerk most of the times, she added silently.
"How is work, Bubele?"
Mark looked up at the mentioning of his nickname, somewhat relieved by the fact his mom addressed him and not her. Yet he didn't seem quite happy with her question. She could imagine why. "I'm… sort of… in between jobs right now, mom," he said slowly.
"This is what happens when someone picks an unsteady profession such as filming," said Mark's dad, frowning.
"Joel, please, not today," Mrs. Cohen cut him off. "It's Friday evening and we have a guest tonight," she added, beaming at her. "What do you do in New York, dearie?"
"Working, mostly. I planned to get into Broadway, but I've decided to leave it for a while and perform with my own stuff."
"Oh, you're an actress?" She had that tone again. From across the table, she could see Mark lower his head. They were so doomed. But then Mrs. Cohen's expression shifted, and gave her that radiant smile again. "If you'll ever get to meet Barbara-"
"I'm pretty sure she doesn't do Broadway, mom," Cindy laughed. "Mom is crazy about Barbara Streisand," she explained.
Mrs. Cohen looked at Cindy resentfully. "Mind you, young lady, she was on Broadway during the 60s. Of course, it was before your time, but she got two Tony nominations." She looked from her daughter to her. "I've seen her in Funny Face back in 1964," she said, sounding extremely proud. Her eyes were glistening, and for a moment she reminded her of herself, on that day when she decided she'd be on those stages someday. Well, maybe Broadway wasn't so negative in Mrs. Cohen's eyes after all.
"Don't Rain on My Parade is one of my favorite Broadway songs," she said. It was true; so often did she feel that the lyrics of the song were directed straight at her.
"Oh, isn't it a great one?" Mrs. Cohen exclaimed, excited like a little girl, and started humming parts of it. She glanced at Mark. He stared at them, awe-stricken, as if he couldn't believe they actually had something in common. She flashed him a victorious smile, which he soon returned. Everything was going well, so far.
"Oh hey, how did you two meet?" Cindy asked.
It felt as if the question was aimed at her, for Mrs. Cohen stopped her singing and nodded, giving her that inquiring look again, so she started. "Well, actually we were-"
"Maureen is a waitress in that café we all hang out at," said Mark, cutting her off. She raised her head in surprise. He never did that. "This is how we met," he added kind of quickly, giving her a desperate look of 'work with me.' Her eyes widened as sudden realization hit her. They didn't know we were living together? Mark looked at her pleadingly. She shook her head, a small smile finding its way to her lips at the sight of his expression. If they wanted to hear the fairy-tale version, let them have it. At least in this one they wouldn't be hungry and frozen, and Collins wouldn't have AIDS.
She listened to Mark as he told them of the supposedly first time they met at the Life, wondering if he had it planned out before. If it wasn't, his improvisation was a brilliant one. The boy had learned a thing or two during those three months, she thought with growing satisfaction. For once, he was definitely more self-confident than when she first came to live with them. He was still a hopeless dresser, no matter how many times she tried to take him shopping, but she didn't really care because it gave him this look that was so Mark. Honestly, she could never imagine him wearing anything else rather than those corduroys and flannel and cotton. This was who he was, and at some point she realized she had no right to change that.
"Well, you make a beautiful couple, don't they, Joel?" asked Mrs. Cohen, beaming at them. Mr. Cohen nodded politely, and although he didn't say anything, a smile was clearly visible in his face. "Any plans for the future?"
"What… exactly do you mean, mom?" Mark asked slowly, sounding a bit terrified.
Mrs. Cohen gave him a conspicuous look. "You know, Bubele. You're not getting younger, any of you. It's time to think about starting a family of your own. And you've got the perfect girl right here!"
She had just sipped her glass of water when Mrs. Cohen said it, and she nearly chocked on her drink when she got the obvious implication of that. She looked up to meet Mark's eyes. He looked as horrified as she felt.
"Mom, we're only together for three months!"
"I'm just saying it's time to start thinking ahead, that's all. Don't you agree, dearie?" she turned to look at her.
"Well, I… I mean, I don't…" she stammered. She could feel herself blushing. Damn it.
"Mom, they're still young, leave them alone. I'm sure they know what's best for them," said Cindy, giving her mother a look. Thank God, it was the last word to be said on this subject.
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The rest of the evening went considerably well, with Mrs. Cohen trying couple of times to go back to the issue of their marriage, and Cindy shushing her in what she probably believed to be the most discreet way. It was kind of amusing actually, after her initial shock has subsided. After dinner they went to sit in the living-room, where she got to have a look at some family albums, and hear embarrassing stories from Mark's childhood.
Then Cindy and her family left, and they stayed in the living-room for a little longer before Mr. Cohen went to bed. Then shortly after, they followed Mrs. Cohen upstairs.
"You can have Sophie's room, dearie. You saw where the kitchen was, so feel free to take whatever you want if you're hungry or something, and the bathroom is right over there. Mark, your room is all ready for you. Have a good night, you two. I'll see you in the morning."
"Night mom." Mark waited until his mom disappeared at the far end of the hall before he gave her a cute, apologetic smile. "Horrified?"
She smiled carefully. She still had to recover from the fact that they had just been put in two separate rooms. "I'm not sure yet."
"Come on," he said, leading her inside his sister's room. Soft light was streaming into the room from a streetlamp until Mark clicked on a lamp on the bedside, and she got a chance to have a better look around. The room looked pink and girly, with some stuffed animals on the king-sized bed and three shelves packed with nicely dressed porcelain dolls. The floral bedspread matched the material of the curtains, she noticed in the semi-darkness.
"I can't believe you didn't tell them we were living together," she said, sitting on the bed.
Mark gave her a terrified look. "Are you kidding? I knew better than having to face the safe sex lecture."
She laughed softly. Now after meeting his mom, she could definitely picture that. "So, what, they're assuming we're not sleeping together, because we're not married?"
"I rather not know what they're assuming. Believe me," he replied, sitting next to her. He took her hand. "I'm sorry about this separate rooms thing. They can be old fashioned when they want."
She figured that by now. "That's okay."
"My room is two doors to your left if you'll need anything, okay?"
"Okay," she smiled, leaning forward to kiss him. "Sweet dreams, Marky," she murmured, slowly pulling away.
He looked reluctant to leave, but eventually he got up, murmured a quick good night, and left the room.
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She tossed and turned for a while, but couldn't fall asleep. She never could when she wasn't in her own bed. She had to have her stuff around to feel comfortable. She sat up with a sigh. She was really tired. It felt as if this evening with the Cohens had drained her energy completely. And besides… she wasn't used to sleep alone. For the past three months, Mark was always there. And now that he wasn't, it suddenly felt strange. Kind of empty.
My room is two doors to your left if you'll need anything. She knew it was an innocent statement. Mark wasn't the type for making suggestive innuendos. It's not as if she was about to barge in uninvited, because he did say that she could, and it's not that it wasn't unjustified because she did need something. And she was sure he wouldn't object. Even if he would, she could be very persuasive. She opened the door. The hallway was dark and deserted. She looked both sides anyway before she stepped out and sneaked into Mark's room.
He was asleep. She could tell by the sound of his breathing. Luckily, his bed looked big enough to contain both of them. She slipped under the covers. He didn't even stir. She snuggled against him and started kissing his neck, gently and persistently, slowly trailing her kisses up to his lips. He kissed her back, his eyes still closed. It was passionate and full of desire and it killed her to know they wouldn't be able to go any further than this since they were in his parents' house.
Then suddenly, Mark's eyes fluttered open. He seemed to realize what they were doing (and, more importantly, where) and he pulled away instantly. "Maureen! What are you doing here?" he hissed, glancing at his door.
She pouted. "I can't sleep."
His features softened in an instant. He became a victim of that pout too sometime along the way. "Try to count sheep. Or cows, I know you like cows better."
She hit his chest. "Mark! I'm serious! I can't sleep and it's fuckin' frustrating. So I was wondering… if I could stay here with you." Her hand was still on his chest, and she was slipping it down slowly.
Mark's response was fast; his hand was shot forward to stop her. "Don't."
She looked at him innocently. "I didn't do anything."
"Maureen, please don't do this here, it's making me nervous."
He did look nervous. She thought it was sweat she saw glistening on his forehead. She slowly pulled her hand away. "Fine, I'm sorry," she said, trying to hide her disappointment. Sure, she understood his resentment, but she really didn't feel like being alone tonight.
"Hey… don't be upset," Mark said, his voice gentle, as he reached out his hand to touch her cheek. "It's just… can you imagine their faces if they'll walk in here tomorrow morning and find you here?"
"I'll be gone before they'll have a chance to find out. I promise." She looked at him earnestly. "We don't have to do anything. Let's just go to sleep, okay?" She could tell she had him by the look on his face. She smiled and kissed his nose. "Thanks, baby."
Mark wrapped his arms around her and she closed her eyes, listening to the silence. It felt much better. Finally she could feel herself slowly slipping into slumber-
"Maureen? You're awake?"
"Hmm…" she murmured. She turned to face Mark. "What?"
"I just… wanted to tell you something."
"Baby, it's 3AM, can't it wait for tomorrow morning?"
"Not really, no."
She sighed. "Okay, I'm listening, tell me."
"Well, I… we've been together for three months now and I just… I mean…"
"Mark, if this is a marriage proposal, I swear I'm gonna kill you." She meant it. She had enough of that at dinner, that's for sure.
Mark laughed, which made her feel relieved because it meant that this wasn't on his mind. "That's not what I was about to say."
"What is it then?"
"It's… kind of hard for me to say it."
"Well, do your best, baby, because it's getting late and I'm really ti-"
"I love you."
She froze mid-sentence, and stared at him in amazement. Now that she wasn't expecting. "W-what?"
Now he looked frustrated. "Did you really miss it the first time, or do you just wanna hear it again?"
She laughed. "I'm not sure you said what I think you just said. So yeah, I kind of want to hear it again."
"I love you," he repeated, looking straight at her. It had that same jaw-dropping affect it had the first time.
"Mark… I don't know what to say," she laughed nervously. He was the first guy who told her that and really meant it, it suddenly dawned on her. And it caught her completely off-guard. Now she was slightly panicked. If she had trouble to fall asleep before, now she doubted if she'd be able to sleep at all. Did she love him too? How was she supposed to know?
"You don't have to say anything."
And then, suddenly, she knew what her reply should be. It felt as if she knew it all along. "No, I think I should say something," she replied softly, propping herself on one elbow so she'd be able to look down at him. "I love you too."
He looked as if he wasn't expecting this, but once the initial shock has passed, a wide grin curled on his lips, lightening his face. "Now I don't know what to say."
She smiled. "You don't have to say anything," she whispered, leaning down to kiss him.
A/N- well, I hope you enjoyed it, guys. Just a small comment, this Bubele thingie is a pet-name in Yiddish which means Darling or Precious (literally it means 'little doll'). I'm sure some of you who are Jewish know it from your grandparents, but I still have doubts about the spelling because I had no idea where to look it up, so I apologize if I misspelled it. It just sounded like something Mark's mom would call him, so I used it. Waiting anxiously for your reviews, as always…