Christopher Murphy carried two heavy grocery bags up the front steps of his house, a modernistic glass and yellow brick box, unlocked the door and stepped over the threshold.
“You’re home early,” Sarah said.
With his elbow he pushed the door shut against the chilly autumn wind that tried to follow him in.
“I texted you but you didn’t reply. The last patient cancelled, phoned in to say he had the flu. It gave me time to visit the supermarket.”
In the entrance hallway he removed his hat and coat and slipped off his shoes. A small, colourful painting by Wanda Cooper looked down on him. The canvas displayed a blurred yellow skull on a shimmering blue-green background. Above the skull flew a delicate butterfly. He hated the picture but his wife loved it. They bought it and compromised by hanging the painting somewhere he wouldn’t have to see it too often.
“Once you get used to it we’ll put it somewhere people will be able to appreciate it better.”
Sarah was a part-time real estate agent. She worked with a company that staged the homes she sold. The firm’s task was to temporarily replace the house’s furnishings. They hung these types of pictures in all the rooms. Of course theirs were reproductions. The abstract by Cooper in the Murphys’ house was an original and had cost over a thousand dollars.
“Ah, the life of a dentist,” Sarah said and went over and gave him a token kiss on the cheek. They’d been married for over twenty years. She was of average height, had short wavy black hair, light brown eyes and a sincere expression. Time had been kind to her and she looked much younger than her fifty-one years. “My mother called.”
“Oh?”
“You know I told you Nicole is coming to Toronto for that conference next month at U. of T.” Nicole was her cousin. As children they’d played together and attended the same elementary school where they were friends and rivals.
“Yeah.”
“It turns out she’s the keynote speaker. Isn’t that great? Mom says the institute is paying for everything, her flight, hotel, meals.”
He carried the grocery bags into the kitchen and shouted, “Is the University of Toronto going to find Nicole a new husband? Or is that a project your mother has reserved for herself?” He liked his mother-in-law, Donna, but could take only so much of her at any one time.
“That’s not fair,” Sarah said. “You know Carl was a bastard. Nicole should have dumped him years ago.”
“You’re right. Good luck to her.” He placed the bags on the kitchen table and went into the living room. It was his favourite room when he was alone in the house. The furniture was Scandinavian and comfortable, two sofas, two matching wing chairs, birch coffee tables, a large sideboard. An overstuffed leather armchair, his favourite seat, flanked one of the couches. For years his wife had tried to get him to throw the old chair out but he refused.
“It’s an eyesore,” she complained.
“This stays,” he said firmly. “So does the matching ottoman.”
“They’re old and worn. We need to replace them.”
“No.”
“You look silly sitting in that chair. It’s too wide for your skinny bum and doesn’t match anything else in the house.” Chris was a tall, wiry man with an oval face and intense hazel eyes.
“It’s the one thing you and I will have to agree to disagree on.”
“Fine.”
On the north wall above the fireplace, hung a large landscape painting by Robert Armstrong, a forest valley in northern Ontario. Looking at it from his easy chair he could feel his shoulders relax as he imagined himself in that lush setting, far from the world and its troubles.
“Mom says we should have a little party next month, just Nicole, my mother, Ken and us.”
“Will your mother and Ken still be a pair next month?”
“Yes, it looks like it. She hasn’t been this happy since my dad died.”
“Ken’s quite the catch. He has an impressive resume.”
“You’re just…” She abruptly stopped. After a moment she said, “They enjoy each other’s company.”
“I agree but they shouldn’t really have much in common except sex.”
“That’s a mean thing to say.”
“Bad joke, sorry.”
He flipped through the mail on the coffee table, advertisements and a bill.
“Could it be Ken’s deep knowledge of nanotechnology that she finds so charming?” he said. “Anyway I’m glad he’ll be here if we do put on that supper. He’s full of stories, academic politics, meeting Archbishop Leo, Tim Cook, his days in North Africa. We won’t have to worry about awkward silences.”
“Ken should be able to charm Nicole. They’re both scientists. Her expertise is physics so there should be some overlap with nanotechnology.”
“We’ll see,” he said. “It’s sure to be a pleasant evening anyway.”
He glanced over at the baby grand piano sitting in a corner. Before their two daughters went off to attend university in Montreal, the girls would brighten up a dull evening by playing on the piano anything from Chopin’s ‘Piano Sonata No. 2’ to Ed Sheeran’s ‘Shape of You’.
It’s too bad they won’t be here when Nicole, a woman who won the Boltzmann Medal in pure and applied physics, comes calling. Nicole had at one time been an assistant professor at McMaster University but that was years ago and now she was a distinguished professor at the University of Arizona.
“Are you going to ask Amelia to help with the meal?” Amelia was the woman who cleaned their house once a week. She was a good cook and would occasionally help out in the kitchen went the Murphys needed an extra pair of hands. “It’ll make our lives easier and give us more time to talk with Nicole.”
“There’ll only be the five of us,” Sarah said, “but yes, maybe I should? Let me first call Nicole to see if she’s going to be able to visit us when she’s in town.”
“Yes, call her now.”
“My schedule in Toronto is packed,” Nicole said over the phone. “But the conference ends Sunday afternoon. Coming over to your place Sunday evening is the only chance I’ll have to meet with family. Thanks for the invitation. Thank you very much.” Her flight back to Arizona was scheduled for the following morning.
After work on the second Monday in November Sarah sat down with Chris to discuss what they were going to serve their guests for supper on the following Sunday.
“Here are my suggestions,” Sarah said eagerly, “either Beef Wellington or Roast Goose with Blackberry Sauce. We’ve made them before and they’ve both been successful.”
“Gee, that’s a lot of work for a meal for just five people. And a lot of food. Donna doesn’t eat much and I remember Nicole as not being a big person.”
“If there’s food left we’ll eat it during the week. How often do we have two university professors over? One’s an important prize winner and the other is dating my mother.”
“Alright,” he said. “I vote for the goose then. It’ll be different, not the type of thing we usually have.”
“Goose it is.”
When Chris woke up the following Saturday his wife was already out. She was showing a house in the Downsview neighbourhood to a potential customer. He felt badly for her. It wasn’t the nicest of days. The snow that had fallen overnight was melting from the trees, lawns and the lampposts.
The doorbell rang. He put down his coffee cup, pulled the sash of his bathrobe tight and walked over to the peephole, then opened the door. A black woman, her hair in cornrows and wearing a serious expression stood in front of him. In her arms she held a large bundle wrapped in brown butcher’s paper held together with string.
“Mr. Murphy?”
“Yes,” he said looking perplexed.
“Harmann Butcher’s with your goose. You asked for a seven pounder right?”
“I guess so.”
He took the wrapped bird into the kitchen but had difficulty fitting it into the refrigerator. “Who does Sarah think we’re feeding tomorrow night, the navy?” he grumbled.
Chris got dressed, picked up the grocery list from the kitchen counter and headed out the door. Two hours later he was back.
“I’m home,” he called as he stepped into his house.
“Hi, Mr. Murphy,” Amelia said. “Just to let you know I’m cleaning up right now and later I’m preparing the stuffing for the goose so it’s ready for tomorrow.” She was a large woman with short red hair and freckles. In her hand she was holding a lambswool duster.
“I’ll get out of your way after I’ve dealt with the groceries.”
“Mrs. Murphy texted me she’ll be here at about two,” Amelia said. “Isn’t it wonderful how happy she is to have her cousin visit. I looked up the award she got, the Boltzmann Medal. I read it’s just a couple of steps shy of a Nobel Prize.”
“Wow, I didn’t know that.”
Amelia nodded her head and headed into the dining room.
His wife’s excitement around this supper perplexed him. He hoped it would be a great success but as long as it wasn’t a real failure, that should be good enough. Nicole wasn’t someone who had, or would play, much of a role in his life. He’d only met Sarah’s cousin two or three times and walked away thinking, she may be an acclaimed physicist but she’s not much of a conversationalist. When she did say something it usually began with I, I this, I that, which he found both annoying and amusing. She was far from the most colourful character he’d come across.
The following morning, Sunday, Chris, and Sarah woke up at six.
“Oh God, there’s still so much to do,” Sarah said as she rolled out of bed.
“Everything’s under control. Anyway if the worst comes to the worst we’ll order pizza.”
“That’s not funny.”
After a breakfast of cereal and coffee the two began preparing for that night’s meal, cutting vegetables, laying out plates and cutlery, sweeping the front steps of snow.
“Are we going to serve champagne or is that too much?” Sarah said.
“As it is we’re going above and beyond. Serving champagne is going too far. It’s not some kind of special anniversary or birthday is it?”
“Okay. Red wine then,” she said, sounding disappointed.
“That makes more sense.” He headed down to their basement where, from a walnut cabinet, he chose a bottle of merlot and a bottle of pinot noir
When he reappeared upstairs Sarah said, “Where’s Amelia?”
“It’s the weekend. There’s less public transportation. She’ll be here.”
A little after ten Amelia walked in, breathing hard.
“Sorry I’m late. The Yonge subway line wasn’t working, some kind of breakdown, so I had to take a shuttle bus. It took forever.”
“The subway’s always a mess in this city. Never works like it’s supposed to,” Sarah said.
Hours later, when preparations were well along, Chris turned to Sarah and said, “They’re supposed to be here at six but knowing your mother, she and Ken will show up early. Why don’t you shower and get dressed now while Amelia and I take care of the rest?” His voice was soft, calming.
“Yes, I’d better get myself ready. Don’t forget the fruit still needs washing. And the wine should be opened before they come.”
“I’ll open the wine right after the goose comes out of the oven. Everything is under control. Now go shower.”
He was in the kitchen washing the blueberries, raspberries, and peaches. The fan above the stove was purring away. Outside it was cold but in the kitchen he and Amelia were sweating.
“The goose is getting there,” Amelia announced, “but it might take a few extra minutes. You don’t want to eat raw bird.”
The door bell rang and Chris hurried to see who it was.
“Come in, come in,” he said to his seventy-five-year-old mother-in-law, Donna, and her professor boyfriend, Ken.
They handed Chris their winter coats. Donna appeared chic in a floral-print dress, pearl necklace and matching earrings. Gray-haired Ken was wearing a blue blazer and black pants. An Omega watch hung from his wrist.
“I’m not dressed yet,” Chris said, suddenly feeling out of place.
“That’s alright,” Donna said but her voice implied otherwise. “Has the guest of honour shown up?”
“No. It’s not even five-thirty yet so there’s plenty of time,” Chris said.
“I’ll see if I can help Amelia in the kitchen,” Donna said.
“Chess?” Ken said to Chris.
“Sure, a quick game before I go up to change.”
Ken loved playing with the two-hundred-year old ivory chess set Chris had inherited from his great-great-grandfather, a sea captain.
The two men went down into the basement. From an oak bureau Chris carefully removed the chessboard and men.
They’d been playing for a while when Sarah appeared. “Go up Chris. Get dressed. Nicole will soon be here and we can start supper.”
Chris got up from his chair and left.
“Whose move?” Sarah asked.
“It’s Chris’s turn.”
“Here,” she said moving a bishop. “Checkmate.”
“How the devil…” he said, shaking his gray head.
Laughing, the two made their way upstairs to the living room to wait for Nicole.
Six o’clock came and went. A tense silence filled the house. Donna pretended to look through a photo book about the Canadian arctic while Ken flipped through a volume of poetry. Amelia stood grimly at the kitchen entrance then turned back to the stove. No one dared look at Sarah who sat stiffly in one of the wingchairs wringing her hands, staring at the wall.
“It’s six fifteen, I think I should call her,” Sarah said flatly.
“Maybe wait ten more minutes?” Chris said.
“Five.”
“Okay, five.”
The seconds crawled by.
Sarah’s cell rang. “Yes, I understand.” Her face turned red. “Of course, next time. Yes, goodbye.”
Eyes downcast she said, “Nicole cancelled. She’s too tired to join us.” Long doleful silence. “Of course she’s tired, it only makes sense.” Her fingers curled into fists. “This meal was a bad idea to begin with.”
“No, it was a good, generous idea,” Chris said.
“It’s ready,” Amelia announced cheerily from the kitchen, “the goose is ready.”
“You mean the goose is cooked,” Ken mumbled. Chris and Donna shot him disapproving looks.
“We’ve been snubbed,” Sarah said. “No, I’ve been snubbed.”
“Ah, to hell with Nicole,” Chris said as he stood up. “There’s a fine meal ahead of us. Let’s eat.”