October Exclusive - "Tone" - Part 1

Brentwood, Long Island NY

Tom eyes his progress from the top of the ladder. A little messy, but good enough. And he can still get back in time for the second half.

“Sticky fingers!”

Michelle's observation is true. The facts are accurate; it’s just the tone that Tom finds jarring. His mother-in-law made the observation, pointing with her slender fingers, with a voce and facial expression usually reserved for puppy dogs and small children.

“Messy job,” Tom replies, brushing off the feeling that Michelle is scolding him like a little boy. He wouldn’t have caulk on his fingers if Dee hadn’t ordered him over here to ‘help Mom with a couple chores.’

“She’s getting older. You can’t expect her to stand on a ladder and clean the gutters.”

Except she…what? Late fifties? Hardly geriatric. And seems, as far as Tom can tell, fit as a fiddle.

Back in Uniondale, back in his own kitchen, hands wrapped around a mug of black coffee, Tom had replied, “I don’t expect your mom to do it herself. I expect her to pay someone.”

The opinion is accurate. Michelle is loaded.

Dee stirred oat milk creamer into her own coffee. “She doesn’t want to pay someone for something that Dad used to do.”

And that line, like anything to do with Dee’s late father, knocks the discussion on the head. And so, Tom finished his coffee and drove the 22 miles along Southern State Parkway, ready to clean the damn gutters and be back in time to watch his alma mater take care of Texas Tech. Instead, Michelle has the longest of honeydew lists, culminating with caulking the outside doors and windows.

No wonder then, that there’s some gunk on his fingers. If Tom had known, he would have brought gloves, or at least stopped at All American Hardware for a pair.

Tom hands the orange caulking gun to Michelle. “All done,” he says. “You should be draft-free. Cut down on the bugs, as well.”

Michelle puts the gun down on the ground. She doesn’t even look at the windows. Her eyes are on Tom. “You must be hungry, all that hard work!” She beams at him. “I’ve heated up soup and made grilled cheese. Good food for a fall day!”

There’s that voice again. There’s that tone.

Truth be told, Tom is hungry. But there’s the game. And there’s not being patronized by his mother-in-law. Michelle has always looked down on him, but this is a new level of obnoxious.

He manages to smile back. “I should get back, Michelle.”

The woman shakes her head. She touches his arm. “Tom. I’ve told you before. Call me ‘mom’.”

Tom shrugs. “Mom. I promised Dee we’d watch the game together.”

Michelle scoffs. “I’m sure my daughter doesn’t care about a silly football game.”

Tom bristles. “It’s not silly, they’re-“

“Besides, you can watch that here.”

Tom opens his mouth to explain that no, he can’t watch a Texas college football game on Michelle’s TV. Or maybe he can if he can remember the damn ESPN log-in, but he doesn’t want-

“I already told Dee not to expect you back until this evening.” Michelle nods. “Come on inside, let’s get you washed up for lunch! You deserve it, after all your hard work. What a good boy you’ve been!”

What a good boy.

It’s here that Tom has finally had enough. He looks towards his Ford Escape in the driveway, feels for his keys. He’s going to have to offend his dear mother-in-law a little. He’s going to get an earful from Dee when he gets home. But the one thing he’s not willing to do is stay here a second longer.

I really have to get going. And for the record, I don’t appreciate your tone. And just out of interest, have you lost your mind?

Perhaps he should have said it out loud. Definitely, he should have spoken first.

Instead, he hesitates. Something about the look in Michelle’s eyes. Something about the feeling in his head; a mix of irritation and confusion. Why is Michelle pouring it on so strong?

It’s Michelle who gets in the next sentence. And what came before is nothing compared to this.

“Messy boy,” says Michelle, her voice sweet as honey, taking his hands and clucking at them. “What a mess you’ve made. Let’s get you all clean, sweetie, and then you can have a lovely lunch, and then you can watch your game.” She smiles sweetly at him. “Silly, messy boy, good thing Mom’s here to take care of you!”

That’s enough. That’s much more than Tom can take. And yet, he feels himself nod. He watches himself, as if watching someone else entirely, smile back. Docile. Giving up control. “Okay,” he says softly. Which is weird. Which is not him at all. And yet is exactly what is happening.

“Okay,” echoes Michelle, stretching out the word. Oh-kay. In a singsong, as if she finds it amusing that Tom is agreeing. As if he ever had a choice. And she takes him by the hand into the house.

To be continued...