“Mom, I think he means the wind,” Gwen said, standing up to close the sliding door to the small backyard.
“Oh,” their mother said. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay, Trudy.”
Duncan looked between his parents. This separation was doing wonders for their communication.
“I know it’s hard for you to turn off the nagging after thirty-two years,” he continued.
Cutlery clanged as Duncan and his sister simultaneously let them fall against their plates.
Their mother laughed humorlessly. “And as always I wouldn’t have to nag if you regularly did the right thing.”
“Well, I’m sorry I can’t give you perfection.”
“I never wanted perfection. Just effort,” his mother said.
There was a beat of silence where his parents stared at each other. The calm before the storm, if you will. When the outright bickering commenced, Duncan sighed and sat back in his seat.
The chosen topic for this particular argument was anything remotely annoying the other person did in the past three decades. They didn’t seem deterred by the fact they literally didn’t have to do this anymore. They were separated. Soon to be divorced. Were they not tired?
There’d been periods of relative harmony in their marriage, but it wouldn’t last more than three months. As a kid, Duncan had tried to prolong that time of peace by exaggerating events that had happened at school. His sister, on the other hand, chose to appeal to their teacher parents by presenting good grades and even better behavior.
Having company over also helped reduce the likelihood of a fight. But as soon as he got his driver’s license and a crappy car, he didn’t have to dread the end of the three month peace period because he could simply leave when things got loud.
Duncan threw back the remainder of his orange juice and got up from the table with his half-eaten food. “Excuse me.”
His parents immediately halted their fighting to look at him.
“Wait, wait,” his mother said. She looked across the table to her soon-to-be ex-husband. “We shouldn’t be fighting.”
His dad nodded and even reached for the dish of scrambled eggs to serve himself another ladle full.
“Also, we have something to ask you two,” his mom said, without breaking eye contact with her estranged husband.
He stopped and braced himself.
“Your dad and I would like for you both to say a few words at the divorce party.”
Duncan huffed. He’d somehow blocked out that impending event. It had been his mother’s idea. She’d seen a segment about the trend on a morning talk show. Surprisingly, their father had gone along with it. It might’ve been the first time they’d agreed.
“Say something?” Gwen asked.
“Yeah, like a speech,” their father replied. “Nothing too long.”
Duncan rubbed the bridge of his nose. He’d barely committed to showing up to the contrived party. “What would we even say?”
Their father lifted his heavy shoulders in a shrug. “Whatever you want. Keep it celebratory. Keep it light.”
Celebratory and light. They were still trying to perform a lie.
His mother touched his arm. “Think about it.”
He’d managed as much as he could of this brunch, and there were a dozen things left to do for the day. “I should get going.”
Retta had re-downloaded a meditation app, and it was working. Despite her canceled date being in rescheduling purgatory, she was taking it in stride. Her water heater still sounded like the percussion section of a junior high jazz band, but she was unfazed.
Even the pending engagement party and wedding day elicited renewed energy to actually find someone to go with instead of anxiety.
