Perfect Timing

I smoothed my mother’s cream-colored tablecloth over the kitchen table, ironing out the creases with my palm. The material felt silky and smooth against my skin, triggering memories I’d once stowed away for safekeeping. The purple flowers she’d hand-stitched around the hem brought a smile to my face. She was so proud of herself when she presented the tablecloth to us after spending hours perfecting each stitch. Her joy was infectious, and my sister and I couldn’t help getting swept up in her energy.

Alongside the happy memories, of Christmas feasts and celebratory dinners, were a sprinkling of bad ones. My least favorite was when she sat Melissa and me down to tell us that she and Dad were separating. That same tablecloth was spread over our dining room table, ready for the Thanksgiving family dinner the following evening. It had marred the piece of fabric for me, and for years, I hated the sight of it.

A part of me had never forgiven them both for the disastrous way they handled their divorce—little nine-year-old Hailey was not impressed—but after Mom’s passing, I felt nothing but guilt for holding onto that one moment my whole life. That was why, when packing up Mom’s house, I took the tablecloth out of the Goodwill box my sister had tossed it into and brought it home with me. I needed a reminder of the good times we’d had around the table and something more personal than the jewelry I’d been bequeathed.

Tonight was the first time I’d pulled it out of the closet since bringing it home, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me tear up a little. While there have been notable celebrations since then—like graduating college and getting my first “real” job—those victories felt like carbon copies in comparison to being able to share the excitement with my parents. But tonight wasn’t about them. It was about us—my boyfriend and I—as we commemorated our first anniversary. I definitely think Mom would’ve approved of it as a celebratory occasion, though she most likely would be bossing me around right now if she were here, advising me on how to dress the table. I almost wished she would, at least in spirit, just to have her with me again.

I didn’t have any candles to set the mood or a Michael Bublé CD to put on. However, I did have Mom’s finest china, but that might be overkill for takeout. I wasn’t much of a romantic, and I feared that it would show tonight. I tried to tell myself that he wouldn’t care, but my sweaty palms persisted.

Everything would be perfect as is. He didn’t fall in love with you because you were a replica of a 1950s housewife. Lord knows I can’t cook like one.

I hear Sam open the front door and drop his keys onto the entryway table with a clang. “Honey, I’m home!” he said in a corny way that made me inwardly cringe. With him, he carried a brown paper bag and a bottle of my favorite red wine. “I come bearing gifts for milady.”

He offered me the bottle of wine, and I took it. I didn’t know why he was putting on a show tonight, but a part of me thought it was rather sweet. Maybe he felt as nervous as I did.

“Thank you, kind sir,” I said with equal enthusiasm and opened the drawer in search of the corkscrew.

“I see it’s a tablecloth kind of evening. Fancy.”

“Well, it is our anniversary. I thought I’d better make some kind of effort before you leave me for another woman.” I dug the cork out of the bottle, and it came out with a pop.

He snorted, setting the bag on the counter. I didn’t have to see his face to know that he’d rolled his eyes.

“You are absurd,” he said lightly. “There’s no one else I’d rather be with, Hails.”

As I poured two liberal glasses of wine, I felt warmth color my cheeks. How did I get so lucky to end up with someone like him? I almost talked myself into thinking that I didn’t deserve a man like Sam but stopped myself. After all the ups and downs and sideways moments in my life, I deserved to be happy.

I left the open bottle on the table and went over to him. He was unpacking takeout containers. The scent of beef and satay sauce reached my nose, and I moaned in anticipation. “Yum.”

“They were out of the steamed barbecue pork buns,” he admitted sadly.

“Aww.” I pouted at the news, and he chuckled softly, inclining his head to kiss my downturned lips. They were our favorite side dish.

“I got double pork dumplings instead.”

“Yesss!” I hissed, pumping my fist with satisfaction—my second favorite. I went over to the cupboard and selected two dinner plates as he continued to unpack the food haul.

When everything was laid out on the table, and the lids were flicked off, we sat down to happily pile our plates with food.

My fork was halfway to my mouth when a loud knock on the door startled me, making me lose some of the noodles I had twirled onto it.

“Are you expecting company?” Sam asked, his brow furrowed as he chewed.

No, I wasn’t, and I hoped that they would go away if we stayed quiet.

The knock came again.

I set my fork down with my stomach groaning in dissatisfaction and marched over to the door. I stood on my toes to peer out of the security peephole before silently cursing the person on the other side. It was my father again, with the worst timing in the world. I threw an apologetic glance over my shoulder at Sam before opening the door and stepping out into the hallway, closing the door behind me. My sudden appearance startled him; he’d probably thought he’d be talking to the door again like last time.

“Hey, Hailey.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but he continued before I could say anything.

“Look—I know you don’t want to see me, and that’s fine. But I just wanted to bring you this.” He lifted his black and white backpack and pulled out a framed photograph. He handed it to me. “I found it in the back of my closet this morning, and well, I thought you might want it.”

I looked at the picture in the gold decorative frame. Immediately, tears started to well in my eyes. It was one of Mom and Dad’s wedding photos on Makena Cove Beach in Maui. Mom had her head thrown back, caught in the middle of a laugh while dad was smiling goofily at the camera. They looked so youthful and carefree, and because of that, it had always been my favorite one.

“I didn’t know if you had any copies of it,” he said.

“Thank you.” I sniffled. “I think she might have burned them, honestly. We didn’t find them when we were packing up her stuff.” A droplet landed on the glass. I wiped it off.

“I am sorry that I wasn’t there for you and Mel then. It’s been about five years now, hasn’t it?”

I nodded, eyes locked on my mother’s face. “Yeah. It was really hard for us.”

Silence bloomed between us, and I shifted my gaze further down as awkwardness and raw emotion co-mingled.

“Anyway. I better let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

I nodded, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. “Thanks for the photo. I’ll call you.” I surprised myself as much as him when I tacked that on at the end. Did I mean it? Would I actually call him if I had his number?

“Oh, yeah. Sure. That would be great. Um.” He fumbled, searching through his pockets until he found what he was looking for. He pulled a small flat plastic box from his jacket and popped off the lid, taking out one of his business cards. “Here,” he said as he passed it to me. “You can call me any time.”

His number was printed on the back. I turned the card over. On the front side, in big blocky letters, it read: STEVEN NICHOLS. DEVELOPER OF NotADrop APP. A SERVICE FOR RECOVERING ALCOHOLICS.

I looked up at him, eyes widening. “You’re an app developer now?”

“Yeah. I’m finally putting my degree to use. I haven’t had a drink in three years, honey.”

I studied his face, looking for signs that he was lying to me; there were none. A part of me couldn’t believe it. Had he really turned his life around? Was his motive for reappearing in my life to simply reconnect? “Wow. It sounds like you’re trying to make a change.” I found it impressive, considering all the damage he did to our lives. Though I wasn’t exactly feeling happy for him—more like happy-adjacent—it was the closest to a positive feeling I’d had towards him in years. And I could live with that.

“I am,” he said. “I’m really trying here, kiddo.”

I heard my name being called from inside the apartment and sighed. The food was likely getting cold; I recoiled at the thought of having to nuke it in the microwave. “I’d better go. I’ve got someone waiting for me and a meal that I’d like to eat while warm-ish.”

“Okay. I’ll hear from you soon?”

“Yes.” I smiled at him before turning to go. As I opened the door, he said, “Take care.”

“You, too,” I replied. And I actually meant it. No sarcasm involved. How weird is that?

I closed the door behind me and saw that Sam was on his way across the room.

“I was just coming to get you,” he said. “Your food’s getting cold. Who was at the door?”

“My dad.”

“Your—” He scratched his head. “I thought he was dead?”

“He was, to me.”

“Oh.”

My mood took a sharp dive for the worst. “I’m sorry,” I said, unable to look Sam in the eye. “I just wanted to avoid the ‘my father’s an asshole’ conversation. Are you mad?”

He breathed out slowly. “Depends.”

“On?”

“If there’s anything else you’re hiding from me.”

“Well, I suppose it’s time you found out that I’m actually a secret government agent here to spy on you. For the CIA.”

He snorted a laugh. “Sorry, princess, but I’d have an easier time believing that you were from the Culinary Institute of America. And even that would be a stretch.”

“All right, ya got me.”

The gold frame in my hands caught his attention. “So what’s this you’ve got?”

“It’s my parent’s wedding picture.” I lifted it so he could see.

His eyes skated over the image. “Oh. Interesting. Does your father carry his wedding pictures around often, or…?” He glanced from me to the picture and back, waiting for an answer.

“No. He brought it over for me; I loved this photo of them.” I paused, looking at my mother’s face. She’d always had a way of bringing the family back together, and I wondered if the photograph was her push to resolve the estrangement with my father. “Things always seem to turn up when you need them most, eh?”

“They look happy,” Sam said. He wrapped me in his arms before continuing, “I hope when we get married one day that we’ll be as happy as they were.”

I smiled, feeling warmth in my cheeks for a second time that night. “We’ll be happier,” I assured him as I wound my arms around his waist, taking full advantage of how close his mouth was.

Sam pulled away slightly after a moment. “C’mon. Let’s go eat before we have to nuke it.” And he led me back to the table.