We adjourned to the living room with some more wine after dinner. We’d killed two bottles with dinner, and opened ‘one last one’ to maintain the glow. We sent the tykes off to their room with a video before bed, and after Debbie chased everyone out of the kitchen; it was Karen and I on the couch, with Beth sitting quietly on the lounge chair.
We drank in quiet for a while. And then Karen set her drink down and turned to face Beth. I was suddenly afraid. I prayed quietly to myself, and I could see Beth turning red just sitting there.
“Oh this is just stupid.” Karen finally spat out. “Why are you sitting way over there? Come over here and sit with us on the couch.”
“I’m fine,” Beth answered timorously.
“Jesus, I won’t bite.” Karen scooted to the far end of the couch and pulled me towards her, opening up a space on the other side of me. “I figure you’re around here for the long haul, I might as well get to know you. I know you’re just another innocent victim, a moth attracted to the flame as it were. If there’s one stinker among us, we know who HE is. I just wish I could stay mad at him.”
Beth got up from her chair and sat next to me. The two girls already knew a lot about each other, up until recently they were usually central to all the biggest events in my life, and each had heard me talk about the other. Karen knew a lot more about Beth before the house thing started, and of course Beth had been caught up on the state of everything by Debbie.
Karen scooted over to my side, leaning into me and running her fingers through my curly hair. “What the hell do we see in this guy? How is it possible that someone like you, who could have anyone she wanted, is willing to share this bum with someone like Debbie, who is going to cling to him like Saran-wrap, and me, who hasn’t been able to distance myself from him in 500 years? When were you born?”
Beth told Karen her birthday, and Karen immediately perked up.
“The 5th? Are you sure? Oh, never mind. Wait,” I saw her get the faraway look, while she worked out the numbers in her head, “but that makes you a 5 – What’s your full name?”
She got out a pencil and paper and started writing, while Beth spelled her last name out.
“Oh, I see now, this is starting to make a lot of sense. I should have known, it was probably inevitable. It’s so obvious. If I wasn’t so close to it all, I know I would have recognized this at once.” She was rambling in that way that made me laugh inside, but still endeared her to me.
She continued, animated. “I bet you didn’t know that Jack was a 22. I mean a perfect 22. And of course I’m an 11. If that isn’t odd enough, both an 11 and a 22 in the same household then having Debbie here and the way she perfectly balanced our numbers seemed like divine intervention. But when I cross indexed the numbers, you know using the Chaldean system for the names, things got funny. Then I could see where I might have been wrong, and there was a strong tendency in the house for extreme swings and instability, and possibly a total self-centeredness. Possibly even an internal collapse. But wait, how is your name spelled on your birth certificate?”
“Elizabeth?” Beth answered, looking to me. It was the first time she’d been exposed to one of Karen’s spiritual/numerology/psychic rants, and she was obviously completely lost.
“Ah, ha! I thought so. ‘Beth’ just didn’t make sense. Let’s see, carry the two, and add the digits. This explains a lot. Jack needed you, we needed you. He didn’t even know he needed you, but his destiny cried out for you if he was to fulfill even part of his potential. Jack is the potential, the great builder, but he can’t do it alone. He has to build from pieces and we’re his pieces. I’m his intuition and soul. Debbie provides the basic stability and love, but he needs the adventure and chance you bring for completion. I can’t believe these numbers. It’s like each of us is the complete essence of what we bring to the table. Let me check the math again.”
Beth and I looked at each other, and I almost broke out laughing, but if this was what it took for Karen to accept her in the house, so be it.
While Karen was writing up her columns of numbers for the third time, Debbie came in, a new bottle of vino in hand.
“Can I refill your drinks?” she asked, and started pouring even before we acknowledged.
“Debbie! Debbie it fits! I was so worried that I would be totally superfluous, but the numbers all fit. She’s all we need so we don’t slowly spiral away into ourselves locking out the rest of the world. And I’m a catalyst. So I’m not essential, but without me everything will be dimmer, duller, less vibrant, and he’s going to need my intuition, to counter everyone else’s rationality. It all fits!” She gushed, waving at a mystery of numbers.
Standing, I raised my glass in a toast. “I’ll drink to that. Without you, life would be duller, and I wouldn’t be sitting here now with three such beautiful women. Thank you, and here’s to you, Karen.” All the girls leaned forward to clank their glasses.
“Well, I can see we have some toasting etiquette to learn here. Shame on you all!” I admonished them.
“What do you mean? We clinked!” Karen answered.
“Miss Manners would roll over in her grave. Two basic rules of toasting. One, do what the toaster does. Two, never drink to yourself.
“If the toaster stands, stand, if the toaster stays seated sit. And toasting yourself is like clapping for yourself. Don’t you people go to weddings and formal events?”
“Actually, No.” Beth answered with a giggle.
“Nope,” answered Debbie. “Why, is this an offer?”
That brought a guffaw from all of them, and I had to admit she got me on that one.
“Ok, let’s try that again.” I stood up, holding my glass ahead of me. “A toast to Karen.”
Debbie and Beth stood this time, and Karen started to stand up, but Debbie pushed her back down.
I nodded toward Karen, “To the architect of the house that lust built. This palace was your idea, and I’m indebted to you always.”
“To Karen and the house that lust built.” Debbie added.
We all raised our glasses, and I emptied mine. When the girls sipped from theirs I gave them grief again.
“Do what the toaster does! When I finish my glass, it means that to toast again would diminish the toast. Bottoms up.”
The girls finished theirs, and we sat back, while I refilled the glasses but only half way.
Karen stood, with her glass. “Can I make a toast?”
“Of course you can. You don’t have to ask. Just stand, nod to the host, and turn to the target of your toast.”
“But who’s the host?” Karen asked.
“Well, here, nobody. But that’s just what you do in general.” I answered.
“How do you know so much about toasting?” Beth asked.