Debi Moseley

Beth smoothed her slacks, nervous sweat making her palms clammy. Michael squeezed one of her hands to reassure her.

"Relax; it's just a family dinner."

"Famous last words," Beth mumbled to him as he opened the door. "You're lucky my parents live in Atlanta." She followed him into the house and into the center of the hurricane.

"Michael's home, and he brought his girlfriend!!!" The shout echoed through the house, getting lost in the general din of a large family. The herald, a girl of about 13, scooted ahead of Michael's threatening hand and slid around the corner. Beth and Michael followed in her wake.

"Mike, catch!" A baseball, hurled from the top of the stairs, smacked into his hand. Cursing, he dropped the ball and fanned his hand about, trying to cool the livid red mark now blooming on the palm.

"Daniel, what have I told you about throwing baseballs in the house?" A resigned voice floated from the direction that the girl had disappeared.

"Always throw to home when the bases are loaded?" Daniel came downstairs, shoving his blond hair back out of his eyes. Michael caught his brother in a bear hug and noogied him mercilessly.

"When are you gonna get a haircut--"

"And get a real job?" came the response from under the hair in question. "About the time Mom stops nagging you about your divorce." Michael released him and Daniel looked up at Beth, who eyed him apprehensively. She was really beginning to wonder about the dubious wisdom in coming here.

"Hi, welcome to the nuthouse," Daniel said.

"Thanks, I think."

He grinned and shook her hand. " 'Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.' Come on, dinner's ready." Daniel preceded them into the dining room, taking a place at the table.

Michael snuck up behind a middle aged woman and threw his arms around her, picking her up off the ground. She screamed and laughed, then grabbed him in a hug.

"The Prodigal Son has returned!"

"Ma, I live in the next town--"

"And you should visit your mother more often."

"Every weekend isn't enough?" He held his hand out to Beth. "Ma, this is Beth. Beth, this is my mother, Angela Riordan."

The two women shook hands and then they found their places around the big table in the dining room. Beth sat across the table from Michael. She fought down a sense of panic at being separated from him in hostile territory, but managed to smile appreciatively. Beth actually felt more like an explorer, sitting down to a meal with some exotic tribe from a far-off land, unsure of the customs and protocol.

The food was passed from hand to hand and all present fell to like starving wolves, with the exception of Beth and Mrs. Riordan. The former was too nervous and the latter better behaved than her brood. Conversation and taunts, threats and retributions flew around the table, and the occasional roll or balled-up napkin was hurled by and at another person at the table.

Mrs. Riordan sat in the melee like the eye of a storm: calm and unruffled. Only when the noise threatened to deafen them all did she protest and one time demonstrated where her sons had inherited their dexterity by intercepting a roll in mid-flight.

Beth was terrified. She had seen blows exchanged, death threats made, and even what appeared to be a plot in progress between two of the siblings against another. This was something completely unlike anything she was used to. Her family was sedate and calm at dinner and most other times as well. This seething confusion of voices and actions left her confused and exhausted. Even though she had been introduced to the members of the family, she was unsure if there were eight or eighty people at the table. Gradually she realized that Mrs. Riordan was talking to her.

"Pardon?"

"What do you do, dear?" The 'dear' sound patronizing, as if the woman were trying to include her merely to be polite.

"I'm a veterinarian, in my own practice." As a matter of fact, this scene reminded her of nothing more than a flock of parrots converging on a tasty treat, fighting and quarrelling among themselves.

"Couldn't you get into medical school? Michael's Sharon was a doctor."

Michael looked up at his mother in shock and embarrassment. "Ma, you promised." he warned.

"I simply asked a question. Was medical school too hard?" Her limpid, studied innocence returned to Beth, who was determined to keep this civil, as badly as she wanted to retort.

"No ma'am. I wanted to go to vet school."

"Ma, it's harder to get into vet school than it is med school." Beth thought, 'At least he's trying to defend me.'

"Sharon is a dermatologist. She's just gotten on at the university as an intern. I just spoke to her last week." Turning to her son, she said, "Isn't that wonderful?"
"Great Ma," he replied without enthusiasm. "Let it drop. Now." The warning was no longer implied; it was blatant.

The atmosphere at the table had become decidedly chilly. All other conversations had halted; everyone else now stared at the three adults raptly, waiting to see what would happen next. Beth felt like a prizefighter watching the crowd, seeing unabashed grins of delight, expressions of shock and admiration.

Mrs. Riordan stood abruptly and asked Beth, "Would you help me carry this into the kitchen?" She indicated a large platter. Wordlessly, Beth rose, shooting a sharp glance at Michael. He merely shrugged, spreading his hands.

In the kitchen, the two women stopped at the sink. Mrs. Riordan turned to Beth.

"I suppose I should just say this." Beth waited apprehensively. "Sharon is my daughter-in-law. She always will be. Michael simply hasn't figured out that she's coming back to him. He was stupid to divorce her and it was a mistake for him to bring you here."

Beth was aghast, but she took little time in replying. She had been spoiling for this since the first comment.

"You believe whatever you want to believe, since you are obviously altering reality to suit yourself." She tried not to grin in triumph as she heard a little gasp from her hostess. Heartened by her accurate jab, Beth continued. "She divorced Michael, not the other way around. Plus, I'm the one he is seeing now, not her, so you will show me some respect, out of kindness to your own son, if nothing else. And finally, vet school is MUCH harder than med school." She shoved the platter in the sink and grabbed a dishcloth to wipe her hands. She felt strangely soiled, as if a thin layer of oil had been sprayed on her.

Mrs. Riordan gave her an even look. "You may think you are the woman for Michael, but you'll have to do a lot better than just that."
"What?" Beth asked. "What do you mean? Is this some kind of test, see who you can drive off? Good luck lady; you've met your match. I love Michael and have no intention of letting you drive me away because you don't approve of me. You don't have to. The only person's opinion that matters here is Michael's. You have no say in the matter. I love him and will continue to do so, even if his mother is an interfering busybody." Beth stopped herself before she degenerated into profanity. It was coming though, if this woman didn't back off.

"You really do love my son?" The question was almost wistful.

Beth nodded decisively. She was almost positive she could hear several people breathing from the other side of the kitchen door. "Yes I do."

"Good," Mrs. Riordan told her. "I like a person that can stand up for themselves, even if it is against me." She motioned to a covered cake dish. "Michael always did like a girl with spirit. Come on," she beckoned, "let's serve dessert."