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“No, Ma. No, no, no, it’s fine. I understand. Well just because Anita-- I know, Ma. Ma. Ma. Okay, got it. We’ll be there. Yes, we.” Peggy shifts the phone from one ear to the other, crossing her arm across her body. “Goodbye, Ma. Okay. Alright. Bye.” She hangs up the receiver a little harder than is strictly necessary, and it’s all she can do to keep from stamping her foot like when she was a kid.
“Trouble at home, dear?” Stan asks sardonically, raising his eyebrows. Peggy pouts at him sullenly.
“No.”
Stan's got his feet propped up on her desk, leaning back in the chair meant for guests with a doodle-covered pad in his lap. He pitches forward, planting his feet on the floor and leaning his elbows on his knees. He sighs. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing.” She pushes papers around her desk absently.
“Margaret.”
“I hate it when you call me that.”
“I know. Tell me what’s going on and I might not do it again.”
She eyes him, pursing her lips, then relents. “It’s just that Ma’s being… well, herself, really. She’s been bugging me more than usual lately about being unattached.” She uses finger quotes on the last word, spitting it out like it tastes bad in her mouth. “I don’t know why this year matters more than usual, but she’s been insistent that I have someone to bring with me to our family Christmas dinner.”
“Sounds like a real pain in the ass.”
Peggy barks out a laugh. “Yeah. But that’s not really the problem.”
Stan resumes doodling on his pad, skillful sketches that Peggy can’t really make out from the other side of her desk. “Oh yeah?”
“The problem is that somewhere along the line, I may have led her to believe that I did have someone to bring.”
His pen stops, and he meets her eyes, his own crinkling at the corners with laughter he’s barely holding in. “So you lied to ol’ Mama Olson.”
Peggy reaches into her desk drawer for her pack of cigarettes and lights one, annoyed. “So?” she says, taking a drag. “The lie’s not the point.”
“So what is the point?” He resumes his drawing.
“The point,” she says, taking another long drag off her cigarette. “Is that I’m about to be caught in it. Christmas is in three days. Where am I going to find a date in three days? I live here.”
Stan chuckles to himself, then his pen stills once more. He looks up at her, pinning her with an appraising look.
“What?” She’s irritable enough as it is, she thinks. She doesn’t need Stan to tease her about her deplorable taste in men, if that’s what he’s about to start in on.
“I could go with you,” he offers. She rolls her eyes and stubs out the cigarette in her ashtray.
“I need a real plan, Stan. Cut the jokes.”
“I’m serious. I’m great with moms.”
She pauses, narrowing her eyes at him. “You want to go to Christmas with me?”
“I didn’t say I wanted to. I said I would. I know a lost cause when I see one.” He smirks at her. “And anyway, I got no plans. Probably end up working on the Lays creative over a TV dinner. That what you want for your good pal Stan on Christmas?”
Peggy cocks her head to the side, taking in his offer. On the one hand, she can just see him making things worse for her, telling her mother that he’d knocked her up or something as a practical joke. But on the other hand… if a well-timed date with Stan will get her family off her back for another year, maybe she can handle the teasing she knows will come. Her shoulders sag with acceptance. “No, I suppose not.”
“So I’m in?” He looks more hopeful than he has any right or reason to be, if you ask Peggy.
“Sure. Be at my place at 5 sharp. And bring pie.”
“Pie I can do.”
“Pumpkin. With whipped cream.”
“The Olson clan won’t know what hit ‘em. They’ll be beggin’ me to put a ring on that finger of yours.”
Peggy laughs ruefully, then has a sobering thought. “Stan. Under no circumstances are you to fake-propose to me at Christmas dinner.”
“No promises, darlin’. I can’t pass up a moment if the moment’s right.” He sticks his pen behind his ear and places his notepad on her desk, standing to leave.
“Stan.”
“The heart wants what it wants,” he says, backing out of her office.
She tries to fix him with her most withering stare. “Do not.”
“Better start practicing your ‘I do’ face.” He leans on the doorjamb, facing her. “Mrs. Margaret Rizzo has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“Stanley, get out of my office if you want to keep your job.”
“Whatever you say.” He backs out of the door, pulling it shut behind him, but not before one last comment: “After all, I promise to love, honor and obey you.”
“Out.” He closes the door, finally, and she can hear him laughing to himself all the way down the hall.
She drops her head to her desk, thumping it lightly against the cool wood three times. What has she signed herself up for?
“So what’s my name again?”
Peggy looks at him incredulously. “Stan. We’ve been over this. Your name is Stan. You’re not some undercover spy. You’re just you.”
He pouts at her a bit, shifting the pie he holds from his left hand to his right as they wait for her mother to answer the door. “Can’t I be somebody cooler?”
“In your dreams.”
He waggles his eyebrows at her. “Wouldn’t you like to know what goes on in my dreams.”
She’s got a comeback for that, but has to swallow it when the door swings open to reveal her sister, looking frazzled in an apron. “Come in, come in,” Anita says, waving them inside and turning around without sparing Stan so much as a glance.
“Gerry’s out looking for a store that’s open,” she says over her shoulder as she enters the kitchen. “He forgot to get half-and-half for the potatoes, can you believe it?”
“I can’t,” Peggy offers lamely.
“Ma’s in the back bedroom with little Gerry. He was pitching a fit about something or other-- she got him the wrong G.I. Joe I think.” Anita leans down to peer into the oven, tutting at whatever’s inside.
“Anita, is that Peggy?” a voice calls out.
“Yeah, Ma, it’s her!” Anita calls back.
“Anita, this is--” Peggy begins, but she’s cut off by her mother’s voice again.
“Did she bring a pie?”
Anita’s gaze flits to the pie in Stan’s hands, barely registering the man who holds it. “Yeah, Ma! Pumpkin!”
“Pecan would’ve been better!”
“Ugh, Ma, my favorite’s pumpkin!” Peggy can’t help but yell in response. Then, turning back to Anita: “I’d like you to meet--”
“Did she at least bring fresh whipped cream?”
Anita looks disdainfully at the can of Reddi-wip in the crook of Stan’s arm. “No!”
“Figures!”
Peggy grimaces, balling her hands into fists and counting to ten in her head. For his part, Stan just stands beside her, seeming to take the chaos in stride. Her mother appears in the doorway to the kitchen, holding a grumpy Gerry Jr. by the hand.
“There you are. Why didn’t you tell me we had company?” She crosses the kitchen to give Peggy a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “He’s taller than I expected,” she whispers in Peggy’s ear.
“Ma, this is Stan Rizzo. Stan, this-- is my mother.” Stan surprises her when he leans down to kiss her mother on the cheek. She blushes and smiles up at him.
“Call me Katherine.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Katherine.”
“And this is my sister, Anita,” Peggy says, gesturing to Anita, who Stan greets in the same manner. “And that’s her son, Gerry.” Peggy waves awkwardly at Gerry Jr., never quite sure how to interact with him. He just blinks up at her. Stan kneels down in front of him, though, a big grin on his face.
“Hey, buddy. Gimme five?” He holds out one of his large hands, and Gerry excitedly high-fives him with his small one. Peggy doesn’t know why she didn’t expect Stan to have such an easy way with children, but she didn’t. He chuckles, ruffling Gerry’s hair and standing back up beside her.
“So Stan,” begins Katherine. “Peggy’s told me next to nothing about you.”
He laughs. “You know how our Pegs can be.”
“Pegs?” she mutters under her breath. He smirks at her, then turns back to her sister. “Anita, you have a lovely home.”
“Aw, thank you, Stan.” She looks pointedly at Peggy. “We wish this one would move out closer to us, or at least come by more.”
“I come by when I can.” Peggy feels defensive, and this isn’t how she wants the evening to go. “Here. I brought presents.” She places the shopping bag she’s been carrying on the kitchen table and begins to unload the gifts.
“So Stan, tell us how the two of you met.”
He darts his eyes to Peggy. She just shrugs. There’s no reason they can’t tell the true story of how they met. Possibly minus the part where they stripped naked in a hotel out of mutual spite.
“We work together, actually. For a few years now.”
“You mean you’ve been together for years, and Peggy’s only just now getting around to introducing us?” asks Anita incredulously, taking a seat at the kitchen table.
“No, no, we haven’t been together for years. We’ve only been together--” Peggy meets Stan’s eyes, not sure what to tell them.
“About ten months,” he answers smoothly. “Though I gotta admit, I had a little crush on her from the get-go.”
Peggy snorts. “You did not.”
“I did!” Her smile falters a little, but she ignores it as he continues. “But it was never the right time. She always seemed to be taken.”
“By men we also never were introduced to,” Katherine interjects.
“You knew Mark, Ma.”
“Because that one went so well.”
Peggy sighs, looking up at the ceiling. Even when she brings a boyfriend to dinner-- or a “boyfriend,” as it were-- she still can’t escape the nagging.
“So anyway, I’d had a crush on her for a long time, and it was Valentine’s Day, and I just couldn’t wait any longer. I sent her a bouquet of flowers, but she thought they were from someone else. It took awhile to explain that they were actually from me, and by the time she realized her mistake, she was so embarrassed.” She shoots him a look. However he alters the details, that isn't a story she particularly wants to remember.
“So long story short, once she figured out that I was the one behind the Valentine’s flowers, it turned out she’d been nursing a crush on me, too. And the rest is history.”
Both Anita and Katherine gaze at Stan with moony expressions that make Peggy want to roll her eyes. It isn't that romantic of a story, and besides, it isn't even true.
“Flowers, that’s so sweet. I wish Gerry would send me flowers for Valentine’s.”
“Did I hear my name?” Gerry asks, entering the front door with the promised half-and-half. Anita rises to take it from his hands, kissing him on the cheek quickly.
“Good, you’re back. Gerry, this is Stan, Peggy’s beau.” The two men shake hands, nodding at each other.
“Let me just finish up the potatoes, and then we can eat,” says Anita, busying herself at the stove.
“Anita, everything is delicious,” Stan announces, taking a second helping of mashed potatoes from a bowl at the center of the table.
Anita sets down her fork and rests her elbows on the table, folding her hands in front of her. “You’re a sweetheart, Stan. But I do try.”
“So Stan,” Katherine begins. “We want to hear more about you and Peggy. Where’d you take her on your first date?”
Peggy blots her mouth with the napkin from her lap. “Ma, it’s really not all that interesting to hear about.”
“Nonsense. Don’t deprive me of the romantic parts. Between you and these two over here,” Katherine says, gesturing to Anita and Gerry. “They’re few and far between.” Gerry looks like he might disagree, but Anita just shrugs.
“Well, I knew I had to do something special for this one over here.” Stan looks at her fondly, and she averts her gaze to her own plate. “But dinner, dancing… none of it felt quite right.” Peggy peeks up at Anita and Katherine, who look like they’re hanging on Stan’s every word. “I have this rooftop on my building with a killer view of the skyline. So we made a night of it. Champagne, a picnic, candles, the works.”
“What woman could resist that?” coos Anita.
“Not my pookie bear,” says Stan, looking slyly at Peggy out of the corner of his eye. She tries to keep her face neutral, but she’s not sure it works.
“And you’ve been together ever since,” says Katherine, straightening in her chair. Then, to Peggy: “You’d better do whatever you can to hang onto this one.”
“I know, Ma. He’s a keeper.”
“I don’t know how you do it. They love you.” They’ve just left the dinner table and managed to sneak off into the tiny guest bathroom together. She lowers the jade green lid of the toilet and sits down on it, crossing her legs.
“Oh, calm down. They love you too. You’re family.” Stan slides past her to fiddle with the bathroom’s only small window. “This thing open?”
“What?” She looks up at what he’s doing. “Oh. I don’t know. Why?”
“Thought you could use a break.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a lighter and a small joint, grinning at her with mischief in his eyes.
“My hero.”
“That’s more like it, princess. Now get up here and help me open this thing.” She stands, and they manage to pry the window open a few inches. He hands her the joint and lighter, and she lights it up, taking a slow drag, holding it, and letting it out before handing it back to him. As he puts the joint to his lips, she notices a stack of mauve towels on a shelf. She pulls the top one down and stuffs it in the crack beneath the bathroom door.
“They’ll freak if we’re in here too long.”
“Won’t they be freaking that you’re in here alone with me anyway? I might sully your good name.” She takes the joint back from him.
“They don’t think my name was all that good to begin with.” She thinks for a moment. “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you with me tonight. Maybe I should have brought somebody who’d really eat at them.” She takes a quick puff, then passes him the joint. “You’re too nice.”
“Hey, I’m not nice. Girls up and down the Lower East Side can attest to that.”
She rolls her eyes. “You talk a big game, Stan, but face it. You’re nice.”
“I slept with a girl two weekends ago and didn’t even catch her name,” he offers.
“Well. You’re nice to me.” He pins her with a look she can’t identify. Puffs on the joint. Holds the smoke in, then exhales out the window, keeping eye contact with her the whole time.
“Why do you think that is?”
She avoids his eyes, pulling a tissue from the holder with the hand-knitted cover and folding and unfolding it to give her hands something to do. “I don’t know.”
He offers her the last hit of the joint with a silent raise of his eyebrows. She shakes her head slightly. Her mind feels muddled enough already. He shrugs as if to say, suit yourself, and takes the last drag. He’s looking out the window at the night sky when he exhales this time. He stubs it out on the countertop, opening the toilet lid wide enough to flick it in and flush, then turns to face her fully. He’s closer to her than she expected, closer than he had been before.
“Well.” He’s looking down at her, hair falling across his forehead just a little. “If you don’t know, then I don’t know.” He moves for the door, and she shoots out a hand to stop him without thinking about it. She tugs on his forearm, tugs him back to her, and he comes willingly.
“Wait.”
“Okay.”
She just stands there, looking into his eyes, for a long moment. She’s beginning to wish they hadn’t smoked; she feels like she needs to be more clear-headed for whatever’s going on right now. What is going on right now?
“Can’t wait forever, Pegs,” he says softly. Her heart is thumping in her chest and she doesn’t know why.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“No,” he says, eyes tightening. “No, you didn’t.” He nods at her slowly and starts to turn away again, and she reaches out a second time to stop him. “Peggy, you can’t--”
But she blocks any protest he may have been about to make with her mouth on his, soft and urgent. His hands immediately fly to her body, one on her hip and one on her shoulder, and she trails one of her own down his chest. He’s kissing her back in earnest, and this is nothing like the pair of kisses they’ve shared before, both wrong in different ways. She feels a shiver running up her spine as he pins her against the countertop, one of his hands sliding up and into her hair. She lets out a little moan, and he chuckles into her mouth. She nips at his bottom lip in retaliation. She feels wanton and wicked and a little bit on fire and strangely comfortable, like slipping into a warm bathrobe.
“Margaret Olson, what do you think you’re doing in there?”
Peggy jerks her head backward. Looking a bit dazed, Stan’s head follows hers as if out of instinct before he shakes his head and steps backward, almost losing his balance. She giggles as he braces himself by grabbing onto the shower curtain, pulling the rubber end of the curtain rod down a precarious couple of inches.
“Peggy!”
She can’t seem to stop giggling, but she tries her best to get herself together before opening the door. “Sorry, Ma. We were just--”
“I know what you were doing.” Katherine raises a knowing eyebrow, keeping her arms crossed as Peggy and Stan troop out of the bathroom, both trying for apologetic looks. “We’re glad you finally found a man, but can’t you keep it to your own home? There’s a child present.” She shakes her head, turning to leave the room and shooting them a look that indicates that they had better follow.
“Sorry, Ma,” Peggy repeats.
“Yeah, sorry, Ma.” Peggy elbows Stan in the side, giggling again. “Ow.”
“Far be it for me to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, but it seems like you’d want to be a little less careless with your virtue ‘til somebody finally makes an honest woman out of you.”
“I wouldn’t worry about Peggy, Mrs. Olson,” says Stan. “She’s a nice girl.” He smiles at Peggy, and she feels a fluttering in her chest that she didn’t expect. She can’t say she doesn’t like it.
“Yeah. I’m nice,” she mutters, more to herself than to her mother. “And so are you,” she says to Stan.
He nods at her assessment this time. “We’re a nice couple of people.”
“The nicest.” She giggles again. Her mother glares at her.
“Just… just come enjoy dessert with us in the kitchen, alright?”
Stan follows Peggy down the hallway, one hand resting low on her hip, and she’s not sure that pumpkin pie and store-bought whipped cream has ever sounded so good.