Page 60 of Hello Darling
“We do not text about athlete’s foot,” says Billy. “You’re just so resistant to change.” He’s gripping his fork and knife so tightly his finger pads turn red and white. “We didn’t want to stress you out and deal with you getting upset until it was necessary.”
“Oh well-played guys—now I’m totally not upset about the fact that you don’t give a shit about me when it comes to the family business that I’ve helped run for years!”
“Everybody gives a shit about the work you do,” says Joe, firmly.
Lauren and I exchange a quick glance between non-family members before she says: “I didn’t know you guys didn’t tell her. I’m so sorry, Stella, I thought you knew about this. You guys should have told her. She’s the manager.”
I see Stella’s body relax a little. She slow-blinks at Lauren and says, “Thank you. I don’t mean to make a big deal about it, I think it sounds great, I just don’t know why I had to be blindsided about this.”
“We apologize, Stella,” says Joe. Something he obviously doesn’t say to anyone very often. “Can we get back to eating and talking about your friend’s movie now?”
Before either of us can respond to that, the intro to a OneLove cover “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” comes on over the speakers and everyone stares at me wide-eyed like they expect me to start crying or flip the table. Billy jumps up, rattling the table, runs over to the old iPod that’s hooked up to the sound system to skip the song.
“For the record,” I say, “I actually do prefer their cover of ‘Jingle Bell Rock.’”
After dinner and dessert, when the Starkey sons are clearing the table and Stella and Lauren are cleaning up in the kitchen, seemingly bonding, Papa Joe leads me over to sit next to him by his old armchair. He is now, conservatively speaking, just under two sheets to the wind. Not maudlin, but certainly more emotional than usual. Stella, meanwhile, is still drinking beer while doing the washing up.
“You’re a good man, Mr. Hunter.”
“Thank you, Mr. Starkey. You are an excellent one.”
“I try. I was a good husband, I know that. I’m a pretty good dad, but I try.”
“Stella thinks the world of you.”
“Yeah well, she’s very forgiving. After Cora died…You know about what happened to their mother?”
“I’ve been told, yes, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. It’s hardest around the holidays. And at dinner every night, really. But we get by. Life goes on. But it changed all of us. I was broken, and I never should have let my kids see me like that, but what can you do. At first I indulged Stella’s caregiver instincts because it seemed to make her happier and more focused. Everyone likes to feel needed and important right? But I was just fooling myself. I liked keeping her close. I don’t think I clipped her wings, but I certainly didn’t encourage her to spread them.”
I say nothing, because I’ve enjoyed more than one conversation with an inebriated older person in my day, and I’m never the one with something interesting to say in these situations.
“She’s happy,” he says, looking towards the kitchen. “I mean, she’s usually content and fine and all, but lately she actually seems happy. Aside from that thing that just happened at dinner because we’re idiots. We’re just not good at dealing with her sometimes. No matter how much we love her.” He looks over at me. “You’re good at dealing with her.”
“I enjoy her company.” Classic English understatement.
He nods and looks disappointed.
Fuck it.“I really like her, Joe. A lot. If it’s alright with you, I’d like to try to be less discreet about…the time we’re spending together.”
His phenomenal eyebrows reach skyward.
“I’m not asking for her hand in marriage—yet—I just meant to say that once it gets out that we’re seeing each other, it could change things.”
“Ah. Sure. Sure sure.”
“I’m not worried for me, it’s more for her and your family business.”
His hands grip the arms of the armchair like he’s bracing himself for something.
“You aren’t expecting, like, media chaos or anything, are you? This place is pretty mellow.”
“God no, nothing like that. And please know that I’ve always been mum about the girls I date, but it always gets out somehow. I’m making too big a deal of this already—forget I said anything.” He’s staring up at the painting of the beach and the ocean. Something tells me it won’t be difficult for him to forget what I said. He really is melancholy about his wife.
Two hours later, after indulging in the enormous cookies that Billy brought, and a very loud and competitive game of Charades, wherein Stella, Lauren and I totally crushed the Starkey men, it’s time for me to head home to respond to dozens of emails from people about the play I’ll be doing next in London and give that play another read-through.
Stella stands on the front porch with me, swaying a bit as she holds both my hands. It’s started to rain rather hard. The air smells of pine-scented chimney smoke and the neighborhood is so very still and quiet aside from the rain.
