Meredith's family show their own variations of support during a traumatic time.
Meredith caught the last train out of the city. She spent the first half of the ride clutching a pole in the middle of the packed train, her back pressed against a man who suffered from an abundance of cologne and a rapidly-declining battle with baldness. She slowly breathed through her mouth and willed her stomach to settle, regretting the bottle of wine she drank. When a seat freed up, Meredith sank into it gratefully.
She wasted no time exiting the train at the Ardsley Island stop, desperate for firm ground. The cool evening air felt good on her skin. She walked out of the station, steeling her nerves for an evening spent with her family.
Meredith was jarred from the long list of excuses she was considering, and rejecting, as she caught sight of her mother sitting ramrod straight in a wicker chair on the front porch, a glass of iced tea perspiring on the small table next to her. Elsie Matthews looked older than her 57 years. It wasn’t just that she looked tired, which she did; but this was different. This was the face of a woman whose load was too much to bear. Her mother’s strict regimen of skin care failed to diminish the wrinkles that furrowed her forehead and around her eyes.
“Nice of you to join us, Meredith,” she announced evenly, still sitting.
“Hello, mother.” Meredith leaned in to kiss her cheek.
Elsie put up her hand, “You smell like a winery and you’re perspiring. Go inside.”
Meredith obeyed and hurried to the upstairs bathroom. She quickly splashed water on her face, smoothed down her hair, and swished mouthwash before heading downstairs again.
“Hello every..,” she trailed off as she took in the sight of her mother, father, and older brother Marcus sitting side by side on the sofa in the silent living room. Her father’s gray hair and widening midsection caught her off guard. Meredith could not remember him ever appearing disheveled before. Marcus, on the other hand, looked as though he belonged on the pages of a magazine with his clean cut looks and athletic build.
“Sit down, Meredith,” her mother ordered.
“Hi, Daddy. Hi, Marcus.” Meredith plopped down onto the loveseat, no longer trying to appease her mother with perfect posture or comportment.
“Hi honey,” her father said ruefully, “You know…”
Elsie cut him off, “Howard…”
“Sorry,” Howard sank back into the sofa.
“Meredith, you may be wondering why we are all here.” Elsie began.
Meredith said nothing.
“Meredith,” Elsie paused, resting her manicured hands on the knees of her pinstriped slacks, “I cannot say that I understand what you are going through, but I can say that it’s been six months. It’s time you pulled yourself together and got over it.”
Meredith studied the face of each person on the couch. Her father looked uncomfortable, She wondered if it was a combination of this conversation and being wedged between his wife and son. Marcus fidgeted, and Meredith wondered if it was out of boredom or fear that his turn would be next. Only Elsie appeared calm, as if the tone and topic of this conversation were as mundane as ordering breakfast in a diner.
“Well?” Elsie asked expectedly.
“Well what, mother?” Meredith asked pointedly, staring at her mother’s placid face.
“Are you over it?”
“Am I over it?” Meredith asked quietly, “Am I over it?” she asked again louder. She rose from the loveseat. “I don’t know, mother, why don’t you tell me since you’re so sure I should be over it already. You tell me what to think and feel because I am clearly unable to decide these things for myself.” Meredith stopped in front of her mother.
“Meredith, your manners.”
“Elsie…” a hoarse masculine voice croaked.
Everyone turned to look at Howard Matthews. A bead of perspiration trickled down his forehead as he wrung his hands.
“Elsie,” he repeated, “Connor died. You may not have approved,” he swallowed hard, “but he was Meredith’s fiance. And now he’s dead. You don’t just get over your fiance dying.”