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I'm so taken aback by her sudden change in tone I don’t respond right away.
“Okay, well it sounds like you’ve got it all under control, Dean. It’s nice to hear your voice after all these years, by the way.”
“Um. Okay. Thank you,” I say, unable to respond to this very cordial statement. It’s the last thing I expected from her, and I’m not sure what to make of it.
“Well, I’m sure Milly will call me when she wakes up. But, I’ll call to check on her again tonight,” she says, sounding almost whimsical.
“Okay,” I respond dumbly. She has totally disarmed me, and I don’t know what to make of what she's saying.
“Is that all you’re going to say? What’s the matter with you, son? Are you coming down with something, too?” she asks with a laugh.
“No, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to keep up with this conversation,” I say, deciding total honesty is the only way to go right now.
She laughs delightedly, and I shake my head, but her laughter is infectious and I laugh with her.
“Okay, you guys have a good week. I’ll be back on Friday night. I can’t wait to see you,” she says when she stops laughing and her voice is laced with affection and warmth.
“Okay, Mrs. Hassan,” I say reflexively.
“Oh. No one has called me that in years.” She sounds wistful and happy at the same time. “It’s lovely to hear. Take care of my Milly and Anthony. Bye.” And then without waiting for me to respond she hangs up.
I stand there for a minute, replaying the conversation. She did an about face so quickly I'm not sure what to make of it, but I feel a pang of nostalgia after talking to her.
I spent a good portion of my high school years sitting at her kitchen table, swimming in their pool, lounging on her couch. Their home was a happy one, so different from my own.
My mother’s indifference and my father’s misery created a fog of discomfort I found suffocating. The Hassan’s house became like home to me.
She used to hug me, scold me, and treated me like a son. I find myself looking forward to seeing her when she gets back. If I’m still here. Part of me is sure as soon as Milly wakes up and is strong enough she’ll send me packing.
Pushing the thought aside, I go back to my makeshift desk in her living room and get ready for my call. I only have four hours before I need to get Anthony from school and I'm desperate to go for a run before that.
I glance up the stairs. Last time I checked on Milly was to have her take her pain medication. Knowing she's upstairs and that I'm taking care of her gives me a sense of contentment. I get to work with a smile on my face.
12
* * *
“Is Dean home?” I ask as I stand on the doorstep of the Orleans’ home. It’s raining hard and the wind is whipping the water against my back even though I’m standing under their covered porch.
The woman who answers the door, a tiny woman who looks like most of the other women who answer doors in this neighborhood, peers out at me. Her eyes hold suspicion and annoyance. She says in an unfriendly voice, her accent heavy with her native Spanish, “Can I help you? No soliciting here.”
Clearly, I don’t look like most of the people who ring the bell on the Orleans’ wrought iron and stained glass front door.
They live in the tony River Oaks neighborhood of Houston. It’s an exclusive neighborhood anchored by an even more exclusive country club. It once, famously, denied membership to the city’s mayor because his wife was Jewish.
My father probably out earns Dean’s father exponentially, but we live in the less exclusive neighborhood of Tanglewood.
This is my first time visiting Dean and I already felt conscious when I stepped out of my car, but her greeting makes me want to disappear.
Regardless, I try to keep a polite smile on my face. “I’m not selling anything. Dean is expecting me.”
“Mister Dean? He knows you?” she asks, and I start to feel annoyed. I'm getting soaked by the rain and it is galling to be treated like this by someone who I'm sure knows exactly what it feels like to be treated as less than in this neighborhood.
“Yes. Look, can I step inside, it’s raining really hard.” I try to speak calmly, even though I want to push her out of the way.
She pulls at the door as if to shut it when I hear Dean’s voice from behind her. “Hortensia, who’s at the door?”
I feel relief well up inside me as she steps aside and Dean appears. His eyes widen and he grabs my arm to pull me inside.
