Ski Lodge

6// Dinner with Becker

Sunday

Well... now what I wore to dinner actually mattered. Or maybe it didn't. I shouldn't care. I mean he was probably just being nice or using his charms on me. Who's to say he even thinks I am pretty; maybe he was saying he used to, but he doesn't now.

I stood in my towel, wool tights, and undergarments staring at the three nice dresses I'd packed. They were in three different styles. One was elegant, black, tight, and backless; that one was disqualified on account of both being an eating-bloat risk and a church-scandal risk. That left the other two: one was high-low, blue with long, lace sleeves and embroidery around the collar, waist line, and pockets; it was my favorite. The other was a knit burgundy dress that didn't twirl and was a little more comfortable; it also had pockets, though they drooped whenever items were placed in them, and the dress overall had no shape. I decided on the burgundy one; I had no reason to look my best. Nope, none at all.

I applied more makeup than usual, but still not a whole lot because I am NOT going to wear make up for a man, and put my wavy hair, though not perfectly, into a bun and walked down the stairs. Everyone else was waiting for me. The Mrs Drs looked very nice in their solid colored dresses with heavy coats pulled around their shoulders. The Mr Drs looked dashing in dress pants and snow boots, wool coats, and mittens. The children looked perfectly; Laura's bow sat pert on top of her head while Weston's relaxed around his neck. And Becker... well he looked very nice too. He smiled at me nervously; there was a new look in his eyes. He was unsure, unconfident. I hadn't seen that before, and it comforted me. I felt as if maybe he was truthful on the stairs about two hours ago. I smiled back at him: a slim smile that didn't give away the new questions I had.

The ladies all exclaimed how beautiful I looked and pointedly asked their husbands if they'd ever seen such a pretty look about me. I smiled and thanked them and made my way into the center of the little crowd. Family is obligated to say things like that.

"Ready Freddy?" Dr Greene called out to the group of us before leading the train down the sidewalk on the snowy mid-afternoon. At first, we appeared silly, the lot of us in our nice clothing walking around a ski lodge. But as we got closer to the restaurant, our attire started blending in better to the crowd around us. And when we reached the front door of the two story building, our clothing style was no longer the outcast but the norm.

"Table for ten," Dr Greene told the waiter at the front podium.

The waiter's eyes widened slightly and peered behind Dr Greene to get a better view of the lot of us.

"We aren't busy. It's only 4 o'clock. Would you like to make a reservation for later?"

"We are here and ready now, if you'd care to seat us," Dr Eric Becker called out from the middle of the crowd.

The waiter apologized profusely and led us to a long table that sat near the back of the building, parallel to a long window that looked out onto the deck that overlooked the cliff side.

"Can I start you off with something to drink?" The waiter asked once we'd all been seated. The adults all sat at one end, then me across from Becker, and then Laura and Weston across from each other at the end.

"What's Pin ot?" Weston asked me as he pointed to the wine selection menu.

"Oh, that's not for you," I leaned over to grab the kids menu. Pointing to the chocolate milk and apple juice selections I said, "these are for you."

"Oh, okay," he grinned up at me.

I felt Becker's eyes flicking between his menu and me, but I kept my head down.

The conversation at my end of the table was dominated by Laura and Weston. I learned a great deal about whales and fire trucks from them as they played a puzzle game in between bites of chicken tenders and fettuccine alfredo. The other end of the table shifted between world topics, which I was happy to join in on, and Doctor stuff, which I sat out of. It was in one of these talks on doctor stuff that Dr Patrick Greene, who was sitting next to Becker, started asking me about my degree. He was curious if I'd be working with buildings, and I told him perhaps but most likely not often. He started talking to me about an internship opportunity at his firm, for he practiced as well as taught architecture, and he focused on sustainability measures and energy use.

I told him that energy particularly interested me, and he promised to keep a spot open in the internship for me next summer. I felt like a nepo baby, but I was also excited at the opportunity. Plus, it doesn't count as nepotism if it's your parents' friends, right?

The food was amazing, the bits and pieces of conversation lively, and the atmosphere soft. I said not a word to Emmett Becker, nor did he say one to me. He looked as if he were about to on multiple occasions, but he seemed to think I should've been the one to start the conversation. I did not, however, and soon the adults payed the check, and it was time to head to church.

"Well, I think we're all ready then," my father said as he held out one of his arms for me and the other for my mother. I started to take it, but my mother shooed me away when she noticed Becker staring at me.

"Emmett, dear," I heard Dr Erica Becker whisper to her son," offer your arm to Trisha. Be a gentleman, like I raised you."

He never took his eyes off of me as he nodded to his mother and moved over to me. He held out his arm. I took it, and we walked out into the slippery snow.

It was quiet for awhile as the group of us strolled down the street. The Sun was setting and the lights in windows started fluttering on as we walked. Streetlights flickered to a start and passerby's seemed to grow quieter and slower. The afternoon was over and the evening begun, and with this in mind, I started a conversation. Or, at least I tried to... I opened and closed my mouth like a fish, sometimes glancing at Becker, sometimes staring blankly ahead. He noticed, of course. The man selling memorabilia across the street noticed! I'd never felt so awkward or cowardly.

"The weather is nice," I started.

Becker chuckled. "Trisha," he began at a whisper, "it seems fitting that we are making our way towards a church because I have to confess something."

My heart skipped a beat, and my foot skipped a step with it. I would've fallen if not for Becker's arm which I clung to not-so-gracefully.

"Is this going to become a pattern?" he laughed while helping me up.

I noticed Dr Erica Becker glance back at us, and I blushed.

"Hopefully, not," I smiled back weakly.

He grew more quiet and solemn.

He then started at a whisper again, "I was a mean kid. Horrible, really. A nuisance."

I gaped at him. "I agree." He looked a little pained.

"And I apologize," he nudged me.

"Well," I whispered back, "that doesn't make any sense."

He looked at me questioning, begging me with his eyes to explain more.

I started again, "I've spent the last thirteen years thinking you thought I was ugly, annoying, and a burden. You've looked annoyed while you babysat. I didn't need a babysitter at that age, by the way. And..." I faltered. I didn't know how far to go.

"Trisha," he looked at me intensely, "I've never thought you ugly, annoying, or a burden. If I was annoyed when I babysat you, it's because I knew I shouldn't be getting paid to practically hangout with someone nearly my age. I was annoyed at your mother for pushing us together at a young age and assuming that I would have to be paid to like you. I was insulted on your behalf. I just didn't know how to express it because I was so young."

"Oh. I guess that does make me feel slightly better," I softly smiled up at him.

"Slightly?" He asked.

"Yes, slightly," I didn't have the courage to bring up the school dance. For that he had no excuse. He didn't talk to my mother directly, nor did he know she or I could hear him over the phone. I didn't want him to explain that away so easily as some of the other instances. I wanted to be mad at him. "It's not just my mother who pushed us together, you know? It was... it is yours too."

"You must admit, not as much, though," he replied. The anger started biting again; he just insulted my mother. Sure she could be vain and pushy, and sometimes too overbearing, but that doesn't mean you insult her in front of her own child.

"Well, I hope I win your good opinion eventually," he smiled back at me. And I had the triumph to think to myself 'not likely.' One apology about an event in elementary school does not a friendship make.