Page 33 of Intermission
“Tanner’s a football player, isn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
Mom perks up. “I think he had a sister on the volleyball team with Gretchen. Tonya, right?” She leans back in her chair and smiles. “Yes. Tonya Davidson. Tiny little thing, but what anexcellentsetter! Remember how she would set that ball just so and... wham!” Mom spikes an invisible volleyball in the air. “Gretchen would get the kill.”
Sure, no singing at the table, but sports pantomime? No prob.
Mom’s gaze moves back to me. “I wish you would have stayed with volleyball, Faith. You were pretty good in middle school.”
“I was horrible, and you know it.” I cut into my now-rubbery but totally brown piece of meat. “It wasn’t my thing, Mom. Besides, I don’t want to live in Gretchen’s shadow any more than I already do.”
“You don’t live in Gretchen’s shadow.”
“Right.”
“You could have been good at sports, if you would have stuckwith them. Put forth a little effort.”
“Dance is a sport.”
“You know what I mean.”
I do. And she’s wrong. But I’ll have a headache later if I don’t relax my jaw.
“You have no reason to be so jealous of your sister. You’re every bit as intelligent as Gretchen, and you’re just as attractive, too. In your own way.”
I jab my fork into my steak. Hard. “What isthatsupposed to mean?”
“Nothing! For goodness sake, Faith! Why does everything always have to be drama, drama, drama with you?”
“Why does everything always have to be Gretchen, Gretchen, Gretchen with you?”
“That’s enough, Faith.” Dad’s sigh is of the longsuffering variety, but his quick glance toward Mom precedes a much more pointed one toward me.
I swallow. Does he see how white Mom’s knuckles are around her knife and fork?
Dad is oblivious most of the time, but I’m glad he’s here right now. I know he’s probably going to chew me out—something I’d gladly take in place of one of Mom’s ice-outs or volume-enhancedlet-me-set-you-straightlectures—and I also know he’ll never stand up for me against her and risk having that mega freeze ray directed at him. But he’s usually a pretty good buffer and skilled at calming her down when necessary, too.
It’s been necessary a lot since Gretchen went off to college, leaving only the “artsy” kid at home.
“Your mother simply meant that you’re a brunette, and Gretchen’s a blonde. You have brown eyes, she has blue. Right, Janet?”
After an exaggerated huff, Mom opens her mouth, but Dad clears his throat, beating her to the punch. “So, Faith. Tell us more about this caroling thing.”
I shift in my seat. “What’s to tell? About twenty people are going to the nursing home to sing Christmas carols and hand out gifts to the old people.”
“The elderly, Faith,” Mom corrects, her voice tight. “Or residents. Nobody wants to be called old.”
“Okay,residents,” I amend. “After we hand out the gifts and sing to theresidents, we’ll head back to the church to play games and have cocoa and cookies and stuff.”
“I don’t remember seeing anything about that in the church newsletter.”
“That’s because it’s not First Church doing it. I’m going with a group from Fellowship Community.”
Mom wrinkles her nose. “How did you get hooked up with that bunch?”
“Pass the mashed potatoes, would you, Faith?” Dad’s request spares me from answering Mom’s question. “Fellowship Community,” he muses as he takes the bowl and scoops out a big helping. “Amanda MacIntosh said something about Fellowship Community when I saw her in the cafeteria the other day.”
I brighten at the familiar name, suddenly making a connection I hadn’t before. “Does Dr. MacIntosh’s husband own MacIntosh Contracting?”
