The Return Of Jonah Gray. Heather Cochran
caterer. “Orange is such a nice summery color.”
I knew a fake smile when I saw one, and the caterer’s smile to my mother was just that.
“You didn’t tell me he was going to be here,” I said, trying to get her to focus on something other than cheese. I wasn’t sure whether I was more frustrated that she had invited Gene or that I hadn’t foreseen as much. I should have known; “I didn’t realize you’d mind” was one of her set pieces.
“I wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it.”
“That’s not the point,” I told her. “I told you that we broke up.”
My mother put on her sad face. “So I’m not allowed to see my friend Gene anymore?”
“He’s not your friend—he’s your mailman. And it’s not that you can’t see him. Just, a little warning would have been nice.”
“He’s your mailman now,” my mother reminded me.
It was true, but that was not the point either. Gene had originally worked my parents’ route, which is how my mother had met him. She had found him appealing, in a reliable, rain-sleet-snow sort of way, and over a series of brief conversations, she had ascertained that he was both single and straight. Based solely on these two traits, she had deemed him a perfect life partner for her only daughter.
Gene had transferred to Oakland just before we’d started dating, to a route that included my house. I didn’t consider my neighborhood anything special, but Gene had grown up around there, and he’d been angling to get back to familiar sidewalks from the moment he’d joined the postal service.
I’ll give him credit—for all the ways he’d irked me while we’d dated, I’d never enjoyed such consistent and timely mail delivery. And I knew that it wouldn’t change, even now that we were no longer together. Gene wasn’t vindictive in the least, and he took pride in the quality of his work. In a way, he was perfect. As a mailman.
“Is he going to make you uncomfortable, sweetheart? Do you want me to go out there and ask him to leave?” my mother asked. “I wouldn’t have invited him if I’d known.”
I doubted this, but the fact was it wasn’t my evening to whine.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said.
“That’s exactly what I thought!” My mother smiled brightly before turning back to the caterer. “What about grapes? People like grapes.”
“We could do grapes if you want,” he said. He looked tired.
“Here, Mom,” I said, taking her by the elbow. “Why don’t you let the professionals do that.”
“I’m just trying to help. Scott,” she said, turning to the caterer. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”
“I’m sure Scott agrees that you should be out enjoying your party,” I said. “Did you see that the Maselins were here?”
My mother must have already been on her way to another thought. When she answered, her voice sounded far off. “Oh, really,” she said. “I should say hello.”
“Thanks for that,” Scott said after she left. He gave me a smile that I liked to think looked less forced.
“She means well.” I picked a grape off the platter and popped it into my mouth. “At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.”
I returned to the patio and found Gene by the pool.
“Hey there, stranger,” I said. I’d avoided saying hi to him ever since he’d told me that had been a joke in intermediate school. All the kids coming up, saying “Hi Gene,” thinking they were so clever.
“Why, hello Sasha.” He was always so polite, an otherwise inoffensive trait that had grown to annoy me. It was as if I’d become allergic to everything about him. You break up with someone, and then, maybe to prove to yourself that it was the right thing to do, you find all the ways that the person was wrong for you, wrong for your life or just plain wrong.
“You look as lovely as ever,” Gene said.
“My mother just used the word androgynous.”
“She must have been making a joke.”
“She says sometimes she forgets that she doesn’t have three sons,” I added.
“That Lola is a funny one,” Gene said. He gazed at me with that way of his, the one that made me want to run screaming. He was so gentle. So sweet. So nothing.
“So how’ve you been?” I asked. I hadn’t seen Gene since we’d called it quits. To be precise, I’d called it quits. To be totally precise—Jeff-Hill precise—I had seen him a couple times as he’d delivered my mail, but I’d stayed hidden behind a window shade.
It’s not as if he would have ripped up my catalogs had he seen me, but it seemed easier to avoid eye contact. Maybe I hadn’t quite filed away my feelings for him, even though I didn’t have any use for them anymore.
“I’ve been just fine,” he said. “Work always slows a little in August.”
I nodded. Most things slowed in August. Only the IRS revved up.
“Are you here with anybody?” I asked him.
“No!” he croaked, clearly appalled.
It was a silly question. Bringing a date to my parents’ party was the sort of provocation Gene would never have undertaken.
“You seeing anyone?” I asked. I didn’t want him back, but I still wanted to know.
“No,” he said, with a sad sort of half smile. “One of the other carriers has been trying to set me up with his sister.”
“Are you going to do it?”
“I don’t know. It seems like so much trouble to go to.”
“Have you met her?”
He shook his head, then he shrugged. “I’m not comfortable having this conversation with you,” he said.
I nodded. Why did I still need to know every little detail? I had been the breaker-upper—I didn’t get to know everything anymore. But even now, he made it easy for me.
“So how’s your father?” he asked.
“Fine, I think. His doctor said it looks like a full remission.”
“I saw him when I came in. He’s gained some weight back,” Gene said. “He looks good.”
In my job, I heard a lot of people lie. There’s a tone to it, an airiness, a carefully constructed casualness. I heard the same in Gene’s voice. “But?” “What?” Gene asked.
“It sounded like you were going to say something else.”
He paused. “No,” he finally said. “You know, I never got to know him very well.”
“You got off easy,” I said. “But speaking of the guest of honor, I see him over there. I haven’t said hello yet.”
“You should go,” Gene said, nodding.
I was suddenly grateful that he’d made it so easy, as if he really did want the best for me. I felt my stomach sour a little. Why couldn’t I just be nice to the guy?
“Hey, Dad,” I said.
My father looked up and lumbered a step closer. “So you made it,” he said.
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have missed this.” I was surprised that he thought I might not have come.
He leaned in for a quick hug and then pushed away, throwing me off balance. My father had always hugged abruptly, as if physical proximity were