The Silver Linings Playbook(11)

“It’s okay,” I say, and smile confidently. “Dr. Patel said wearing this shirt was a good idea.”

“Did he?” my mom says with a laugh, and then she removes an arrangement of flowers and a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator.

“What’s this?”

“Give these to Veronica and tell her I said thanks. Ronnie’s been a good friend to you.” And then Mom looks like she is going to cry again.

I kiss her goodbye, and with my hands full of flowers and wine, I walk down the street and across Knight’s Park to Ronnie’s house.

Ronnie answers the door wearing a shirt and tie, which makes me feel like Dr. Patel was wrong after all and I am underdressed. But Ronnie looks at my new jersey, checks the name on the back—probably to make sure I am not wearing an outdated Freddie Mitchell jersey—and says, “Hank Baskett is the man! Where did you get that jersey this early in the season? It’s great!” which makes me feel so much better.

We follow the meaty aroma through their swanky living room and their swanky dining room to the kitchen, where Veronica is feeding Emily, whom I am surprised to see looking much older than a newborn baby.

“Hank Baskett’s in the house,” Ronnie says.

“Who?” Veronica answers, but she smiles when she sees the flowers and the wine. “Pour moi?”

She stares at my puffy cheek for a second, but doesn’t mention it, which I appreciate. I hand her what my mother has sent, and Veronica kisses me on my un-puffy cheek.

“Welcome home, Pat,” she says, which surprises me because she sounds sincere. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve invited someone else to dinner,” Veronica adds. She winks at me and then lifts the lid off the single pot on the stove, releasing a warm tomato and basil aroma.

“Who?” I ask.

“You’ll see,” she says without looking up from stirring her sauce.

Before I can say more, Ronnie is lifting Emily from her high chair, saying, “Meet Uncle Pat,” which sounds strange until I realize he is talking about me. “Say hello to Uncle Pat, Emily.”

She waves her little hand at me, and then I have Emily in my arms. Her dark eyes examine my face, and she smiles as though she approves. “Pap,” she says, pointing at my nose.

“See how smart my girl is, Uncle Pat,” Ronnie says, petting the silky black hair on Emily’s head. “She already knows your name.”

Emily smells like the mashed carrots that coat her cheeks until Ronnie wipes them clean with a wet napkin. I have to admit that Emily is a cute kid, and I instantly understand why Ronnie has written me so many letters about his daughter—why he loves her so much. I start to think about having children with Nikki someday and I become so happy that I give little Emily a kiss on the forehead, as if she were Nikki’s baby and I was her father. And then I kiss Emily’s forehead again and again, until she giggles.

“Beer?” Ronnie says.

“I’m not really supposed to drink, because I’m on medications and—”

“Beer,” Ronnie says, and then we are drinking beers on his deck as Emily sits in her father’s lap and sucks on a bottle filled with watered-down apple juice.

“It’s good to have a beer with you,” Ronnie says, just before clinking his Yuengling Lager bottle against mine.

“Who’s coming over for dinner?”

“Veronica’s sister, Tiffany.”

“Tiffany and Tommy?” I say, remembering Tiffany’s husband from Ronnie and Veronica’s wedding.

“Just Tiffany.”

“Where’s Tommy?”

Ronnie takes a long swig of his beer, looks up at the setting sun, and says, “Tommy died some time ago.”

“What?” I say, because I hadn’t heard. “God, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Just make sure you don’t bring up Tommy tonight, okay?”

“Sure,” I say, and then drink a few large gulps of my beer. “So how did he die?”

“How did who die?” says a woman’s voice.

“Hi, Tiffany,” Ronnie says, and suddenly she is standing with us on the porch. Tiffany’s wearing a black evening dress, heels, and a diamond necklace, and her makeup and hair look too perfect to me—as if she is trying too hard to look attractive, like old ladies sometimes do. “You remember Pat, right?”

I stand, and as we shake hands, the way Tiffany looks into my eyes makes me feel really funny.

We move back into the house, and after some small talk, Tiffany and I are left alone on opposite ends of the living-room couch as Veronica finishes cooking the meal and Ronnie puts Emily to bed.

“You look very pretty tonight,” I say when the silence grows awkward.

Before apart time began, I never ever complimented Nikki on her looks, and I think this really hurt her self-esteem. I figure I can now practice complimenting women on their looks so it will come naturally to me when Nikki returns, although Tiffany really does look pretty, even if she is trying too hard with the makeup. She is a few years older than me, but has a fit body and long, silky black hair.

“What happened to your cheek?” Tiffany asks without looking at me.

“Weight-lifting accident.”

She just stares at her hands, which are folded in her lap. Her nails have been recently painted a blood red.