Rom-Com Collection

To my despair, Ian was checking his phone. “I’m sorry, Callie. I have to go. I’m on call at the hospital.”

“He’s on call. Must be an emergency. Drat! We have to go!”

“You don’t have to come,” Ian said.

“Shush!” I hissed. “Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad! Dave, I’ll just call you with my credit card number, okay?” With that, I grabbed my laptop and turned to my parents. “Bye!”

“Why can’t you stay, Calliope? He doesn’t need you,” Mom said, surveying the martini menu.

“Um …” I said, my heart sinking.

“Stay, by all means,” she said in an iron tone.

“I need to go, Callie,” Ian said. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Don’t abandon me!” I hissed. “Take me with you.”

“Callie, I need to leave. See?” He held up his phone, and I caught a glimpse of a text … emergency, dog, car. “It was nice meeting you both,” he said to my parents.

“Great to meet you, son!” Dad cried, looking over his shoulder to see what was taking so long with the booze.

“You’re a cruel man, Ian McFarland,” I muttered, but he was already halfway across the restaurant. Dammit. There went the cavalry, off to heal the wounded. So unfair! With a sigh, I surrendered and slid into the chair between my parents. “So,” I said. “I’m guessing this is round one in the Tour of Whores?”

“Exactly,” Mom said.

“Oh, gosh, that’s a good one!” Dad laughed, glancing around frantically, checking all possible exits.

Mercifully, Brittany, who’d just served Ian and me, bustled over at that moment. “I’ll have a huge dirty martini,” I said. “Very big.”

“Make it two,” Mom seconded. For an instant, something flickered through her eyes, but it was gone before I could tell what it was.

“It’s unanimous,” Dad twinkled desperately. “Three big-ass dirty martinis for our little family gathering.”

“How nice,” Brittany said. “Okey-doke, I’ll be right back with your drinks!”

I took a deep breath, mentally girding my loins. “So how did you get the … what’s her name, Dad?”

He looked at me blankly. “Who?”

“Your—the woman who’s coming today.”

“Oh.” He looked at Mom nervously, but she radiated calm, the same way a lizard does, cool, unblinking. “Her name is—”

“Tanya,” Mom interrupted. “Which I think is a fitting name. Tanya the Whore. It works just as well for a stripper or a drug dealer, don’t you think?”

“Mmm,” I murmured. “So, why did she agree to meet with you and Mom?”

“Oh, she doesn’t know I’ll be here,” Mom said.

“Where are those drinks?” Dad barked.

Ten minutes later, when I’d almost finished my martini and was feeling a bit better, Dad stiffened. Stood up. Glanced at Mom, who gave an imperious nod. “Tanya!” Dad called weakly. “Over here.”

She wasn’t what I expected in a home-wrecking trollop, that was for sure. Weighing in at well over two hundred pounds, her plump cheeks quite red, hair in a long, graying braid, Tanya wore a purple peasant dress that made her look like an extra in some dreadful Woodstock retrospective. She completed her look with Hobbit-esque Birkenstocks and blue-tinted granny glasses.

“Well, well, well,” she said, thumping her way over. “Tobias Grey. You haven’t changed a bit.”

“And you!” Dad said, trying to hit his usual Clooney sparkle. “You … it’s … Hello!”

Tanya leaned in to kiss Dad’s cheek, but he flinched. Her gaze drifted to Mom and me. “Hello,” she said uncertainly.

“Hi,” I muttered, draining my drink.

“Hello,” Mom said, giving her a John Malkovich smile. You know the type. Sure, it’s a smile, but you just know some serious shit is about to rain down.

“Uh, Tanya, have a seat,” my father said, his face a little ashen. “This is my daughter, Calliope, and, um … my ex-wife. Eleanor.”

“Oh,” Tanya said. “Hi.” She gave Dad a dry look.

“Isn’t this nice,” Mom said, and if I’d had testicles, I’m quite sure they would’ve retracted in terror. Dad swallowed. “Tobias, tell Tanya … oh, isn’t that charming? Tobias and Tanya, Tanya and Tobias. So cute. Tobias, tell her why she’s here.”

Dad and Tanya sat down. It was beginning to dawn on Tanya that this was not going to be the evening she’d expected. Run, lady, I mentally urged her. Run fast.

“Well,” Dad said, trying to smile. “My wife here … she … back when we were, ah, married …”

“Who wants bread?” Brittany, our chipper server, plopped down a basket in front of us. Even though I’d just eaten with Ian, I pounced on it, tearing off a hunk of the still-warm sourdough and stuffing it in my mouth. Almost as good as cake batter.

“Would you ladies like some?” Dad asked, wiping the sweat from his brow. He pried the basket out of my hand and offered some to Mom, who shook her head, then to Tanya.

“Who wants to order? Oh, should I bring more menus?” Brittany asked.

“You know, Brittany,” I said, chewing, “we need a little privacy.”

“That’s fine! Call me when you’re ready! My name’s Brittany!”

“We know,” Mom said icily, staring at her nametag. Brittany backed away.

“So what’s going on here, Toby?” Tanya said. Mom’s eyes narrowed even more. “I take it you didn’t want to just catch up.”

“Well, see, Eleanor and I … we … well, we’re thinking about reconciling. But she wants a little … closure, might we call it, El?”

“We might,” Mom said. “You see, Tanya, is it? You were sleeping with my husband when I was pregnant with our third child. Which I found quite … unsettling.”

“You gotta be kidding me,” Tanya muttered, giving Dad an evil look. “You cheated on your pregnant wife? You shit.”

“Very bad of me, I realize that. I’m deeply sorry,” Dad babbled.

“Very bad, I’ll say. I would’ve strung you up by your balls,” Tanya said. Dad’s face drained of its last bit of color.