The Boys in Suits

Participating in MamaKat’s Writing Workshop again this week! One of the prompts was: Who is at your front door?  For more awesome writing and fun, hop on over to MamaKat!

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“Dammit,” I say to my stepson, as I turn the Collins glass around for the bazillionth time. “I can’t get the angle right. Why can’t I photograph cocktails?”

“Want me to try?” he says.

“Go for it. You can’t suck any harder than I’m doing. Maybe it’s the light? I don’t know.”

He takes the camera, crouches down, and studies.

The doorbell rings.

I look at the clock: 2:30 on an incendiary August day.

“Colin must be doing another lemonade stand thing,” I say. I turn and yell, “Girls! Get the door! It’s Colin! I’m busy.”

The girls thunder down, all tan limbs and bare feet and throw the door open.

Silence.

Then, “Um, Mom?”

Awesome Stepkid R. shoots me an evil grin. “It’s that creepy meat man again.”

“Ugh! That guy needs to bugger off.” I roll my eyes and walk reluctantly to the door, where the girls still stand, staring.

Two very young, very earnest, very uncomfortable-looking boys, clad in ill-fitting suits, stand outside, squinting in the summer sun. I look down. They have books and pamphlets in their hands.

Awww, Jesus. Mormons.

The girls study them curiously. “Why are you dressed so fancy?” Miss M. blurts out, and I cut her a stink eye.

The boys smile, though, and the dark-haired one laughs. “Well, seriously, we wouldn’t be dressed like this if we didn’t have to, especially on a day like today. It’s just sort of part of the job.”

I do not have time for this shit.

They’re sort of cute, though, in their terrible suits, and it’s rotten outside, and even my cold black heart softens at the sight of them.

“Look, I’m going to be honest with you,” I say, hand on my hip. “I’m an agnostic and my husband’s an athiest and you’re not gonna get anywhere with us, and I’m not listening to any spiels, but you are welcome to come in for some lemonade, if you’d like.”

The blond one looks uncertain, but the dark-haired boy smiles and laughs again. “Some lemonade would be awesome. Thank you.”

They immediately remove their shoes at the doorway as they enter, loosening their ties a little.  The girls follow in their wake, sensing something good.

“I’m Peter, by the way,” dark-hair says. “And this is Justin.”  I shake their sweaty hands.

“Dana.”

“And who might you be?” Peter asks the girls, crouching down to eye level.

Oh, this kid is good.

As the boys enter the kitchen, they spy ASR, camera in hand, circling the Collins glass, trying to find an angle. As they sit down on the stools at the counter, they eye him with open curiosity.

“Mommy makes food and stuff and then writes about it,” Miss M says. “She takes pictures too and sometimes it takes forever.”

I laugh and fill two tall glasses with ice and lemonade, sheepish. “Blogger.”

“That’s a cool job–a writer,” Peter says, taking a long draw from his glass. “Oh, gosh, this is great. Thanks for letting us in. We were dying out there.”

I top off their glasses. “How long have you been out there?”

“Like today, or how long have we been on Mission?” Peter says.

I shrug. “Both, I guess.”

“Well, Mission-wise, I’m almost done,” Peter grins. “This is my last month.” He bumps Blondie on the shoulder. “Now Justin here is just starting his; I’m kinda showing him around this week.”

“Are you glad to be almost done?” I ask.

Peter nods. “Yeah. I mean, it’s been good, it’s been a good experience, but I’m looking forward to being done. You miss people.”

Justin bites his lip and looks me in the eye for the first time. “I’m really sorry to ask you this,” he says, “but would it be possible to use your restroom? We’ve been out since morning.”

“Oh, jeez, sure, of course,” I say, somehow feeling guilty for not knowing. I point down the hall and say, “Second door on the right.”

“Thank you.”

Peter studies the mess of construction paper, markers and string on the countertop. “Art project?” he asks the girls.

“Yeah, we’re making masks!” D. says enthusiastically. “I’m making a parrot one and M. is making a rabbit but she’s mad because she can’t get the ears right.”  She cocks her head, gives him a lopsided grin. “Wanna help?”

“D.!” I say, mortified. “I’m sure these guys need to get back…” but as I speak, Peter picks up a pair of scissors and reaches for construction paper.

“Sure,” he says, as Justin exits the bathroom. “To be honest, it gets pretty boring out there. We’re grateful for the break.”

M. sidles up to Justin. “Can you make good ears?”

“You know, it’s been a while, but I am great at ears,” he says, sitting back down at the counter. “What kind do you need?”

Awesome Stepkid R. puts the camera down. “Hey Dana, I think I got your shot.”

“Thanks,” I say, and he vacates, fast as a fox.

I realize I’m in for a bit of a visit. The boys are cutting and there’s glue involved and the girls hover intently.

There’s a half-consumed pan of key lime bars on the sideboard, so I cut the rest of them, put them on a plate, and settle in for the duration.

They’re sweet with the girls, measuring string and asking them what they like to do in the summer, and I quickly dispose of the liquid in the Collins glass.

“What was that in there?” Justin asks, as I rinse it out.

I give a hard bark of laughter, unable to help myself. “Something you definitely cannot have.”

Luckily, they laugh, too. “You have a  nice family,” Justin says.

“I used to teach high school English, in a different part of the state,” I say, filling the sink with dish soap. “There was a large Mormon population there. I always really enjoyed the kids–great manners, really hard workers. I always wondered about the Mission thing, though. It seemed so cruel to me, making these kids leave their families, go from house to house, trying to talk to strangers. I just thought that had to be so hard.”

“You don’t sell stuff, do you?” Miss M. asks. “Mommy isn’t nice to people who come around selling stuff.”

The boys crack up. “No, we don’t have to sell stuff. But sometimes people still aren’t very nice.”

Peter takes a second key lime bar, looks at me. “Sometimes it gets pretty weird. People let us in, and then yell at us, or say stuff like, ‘We feel so sorry for you, being brainwashed by that cult.'”

Justin secures the ears to Miss M.’s mask. “What do you think?”

She puts the mask on, runs to the bathroom mirror. “Good!” she says. “We did good.”

Peter looks at the clock and sighs. “It’s probably time to go back out there. Thanks for the lemonade. And the cookies.”

They bid the girls goodbye, and M. hops up and down. “Come back and do crafts with us soon, okay?”

Shoes back on, pamphlets back in hand, Peter slaps Justin on the shoulder. “Onward.”

**endnote: At the end of the month, Peter returned to our door, finished with his Mission. He just wanted to tell the girls goodbye, and good luck.

Tagged as: awkward visits, mormons, who is at the door