Читать книгу Rom-Com Collection - Kristan Higgins - Страница 22

“BRONTE, TELL YOUR aunt why you got sent to the principal’s office,” Hester said on Wednesday. Hes and I were being summoned to Elements … third and final stop on the Tour of Whores … and I’d offered to pick my sister up, since she hated to drive at night.

Bronte sighed and slumped in her chair. “I told Shannon Dell I was Barack Obama’s love child. And when she didn’t believe me, I told her the Secret Service had, like, already tapped her lines and knew she was a snot who should totally mind her own business.” She glanced up at me. “I also swore.”

Hester raised an eyebrow at me.

“You could do a lot worse than the President,” I said to my niece, putting my hands on her shoulders. “Though I was fond of the Morgan Freeman version myself.”

“Callie!” Hester barked.

“It’s very wrong to lie,” I hastily amended. “Tsk, tsk, Bronte.” She grinned up at me. From upstairs came the sound of Josephine singing another age-inappropriate song … Shakira’s wholesome little ditty, “She-Wolf.” “Shouldn’t we censor Josephine’s songs?” I suggested.

“I figure she’ll outgrow it,” Hester said. “All that Baby Einstein’s gotta kick in sometime. God knows I spent thousands of dollars on those fricking DVDs.”

“So are you two meeting one of Poppy’s girlfriends?” Bronte asked, casually studying her nails. Hester, who’d just taken a sip of water, sputtered.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“I eavesdrop and spy,” she answered.

“My admiration continues to grow,” I murmured. “Yes, we are. Speaking of that, let’s get going, Hester. I’ll need a drink first.” I glanced at my niece. “Just one glass of wine, as I would never drive while intoxicated. Ever. And nor would you.”

“I’m thirteen years old, Callie,” she said patiently. “Try to, like, pace yourself on the lecture circuit, okay?” She favored me with a kiss, then hollered up the stairs to see if Josephine wanted to eat ice cream and watch SpongeBob.

“She’s the greatest kid,” I told my sister as we drove over to Elements.

“That she is,” Hester agreed. “But this father thing at school … not the first time. Last month it was Denzel Washington.”

I laughed. “Well, she has excellent taste.”

“So. I have a date,” Hester boomed.

“Oh, fun! Who is it?”

“Louis.”

I sucked in a breath of pain. Granted, I’d kind of orchestrated that by sending Louis over, but it still wasn’t a pretty mental picture. “Good luck.”

“Ayuh.” She didn’t comment further, so I changed the subject.

“What do you think about the, uh, Tour of Whores?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Seems like a lot of scab picking to me. You want to turn up here,” she said, pointing at a street sign.

“Yes, Hester, I know. I live a quarter of a mile away. Have lived in this town most of my life. Eat at this very restaurant twice a week or so.”

“Go left at the firehouse. So why did you agree to come tonight?”

“I’m afraid of Mom and don’t want to disobey her.”

“Mom’s such a pussycat,” Hester said. “You have this skewed image of her … I don’t know. Always making her the bad guy.”

“Well, what about your image of Dad?” I asked, in that sibling way one never outgrows. No, I didn’t. You did!

“Dad’s a shit,” she said calmly. “Mom, pregnant. Dad, fucking around. Do the math, Callie.”

“I know,” I muttered. “I do know. But twenty-two years is a long time to atone.”

We walked into the restaurant, where Dave greeted me in his usual way. “Callie! You look incredible tonight.” He took my hands in his strong grasp and kissed my cheek, then turned to my sister. “Hester. Always a pleasure.” She glared at him … Dave might be gay, but he was still male, and that was enough to make Hester suspicious.

“Have you talked to Damien lately?” I asked Dave.

“No, but I did get a very mysterious and romantic card yesterday,” Dave said, smiling a little, looking (sigh) like Clive Owen. So unfair … the good ones were always gay or married. Then his expression changed. “Listen, ladies.” His voice dropped. “They’re here. Your parents and the … other woman.” He looked at me seriously. “Prepare yourselves.”

He walked us to the table, and before we even got there, my steps slowed.

My parents were both in their early sixties … Fred was a surprise baby, born a week before Mom’s fortieth birthday. But even turning back the hands of time twenty years … even so … Dad’s, er, special friend here had to have been … oh gosh … older than God’s dog. Honestly, she didn’t even look alive.

A tiny, shriveled woman sat—in a wheelchair—between my parents. Mom was wiping the lady’s chin with a napkin, and Dad was patting her liver-spotted hand. Her wispy hair stirred in a draft as we approached.

“No fucking way,” Hester said in her version of a whisper, which was slightly louder than a shout. “Oh, my God, I have to go to the bathroom.” She bolted, deserting me.

“Callie. Do join us,” Mom said, pinning me with her laser look.

My mouth snapped shut. Surely there was a mistake. “Ah … I … well! Hello there!” I said, ever my father’s girl when it came to putting on a good front. “Mom! Dad! Hi!” I turned to the stranger, who was indeed alive. “I’m Calliope Grey, Tobias’s daughter.” I held out my hand to shake hers. She raised her arm weakly, then let it fall back to the table, unable to find the energy to do more.

“Is this … are you …?” I whispered to my parents.

“What did she say?” the little old lady asked, her voice creaky and thin.

This was the other woman? Holy Lord!

“Callie’s my daughter,” Dad said loudly. “Callie, this is Mae Gardner.”

“Very nice to meet you,” I lied.

“Oh. I’m fine, dear.” She smiled—no teeth, I noted, and I bit my lip. I glanced at my mother. She gave me a cool look in return, her thoughts unreadable.

“I was so happy to hear from you,” Mae said, turning her head with some effort toward my father. “To be honest, I don’t remember you, but I thought it would be nice to get out. Most of my friends are dead, after all! My great-grandson drove me. He just got his license! He did very well on the way over here. No accidents!”

“That’s great,” I said after a beat, because Mom and Dad were staring at each other and Hester was apparently never coming back to our table. Sure enough, she was waving and gesturing to her phone, pretending a patient needed her. “Is he here?”

“Is who here, dear?”

“Your great-grandson.”

“He’s in the car. He has the most cunning little gadget, it’s a talking camera or a radio or some such thing. He can take pictures with it! And type on it! Isn’t that remarkable?”

“Oh … yes,” I said. “Modern technology … amazing. So, um … how old are you, Mae, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I’m eighty-five,” she said. “And I knew your father here—he’s your father, you said?” I nodded. “We knew each other, oh, quite some time ago! We had some fun, didn’t we, Lenny?”

“It’s Tobias,” my father said kindly.

“Is it? I don’t know why I said Lenny. Well, I had a cousin Lenny, of course. He served in World War II, in the Pacific, and I used to send him cookies!”

With that, Mae fell asleep, her bony little chin resting on her collarbone. None of us said anything for a second. Mae gave a slight snore, assuring us that she was still in the land of the living.

“I cannot believe you cheated on me with an old woman,” my mother hissed.

“She wasn’t that old back then,” Dad said weakly.

“Children present, no fighting, please,” I interjected quietly, not wanting to wake our companion.

“Mind your own business, Callie,” Mom said.

“You made me come! And where’s our waiter? Could I please get some alcohol? You know, I could be home watching Say Yes to the Dr—”

“Hush, Callie. Tobias. Explain yourself! First that hippie widow—and I mean hippie in every sense of the word—then a blind woman … now … now … Bette Davis here! What the hell am I supposed to think?”

“At least they needed me!” Dad said, leaning forward abruptly. “Unlike you, Eleanor!”

“Oh, right. So it’s my fault now,” my mother said, disdain dripping from her voice.

Mae twitched in her sleep. “It’s in the left drawer,” she said, then resettled herself and gave another gentle snore.

“No, it’s not your fault. Of course not,” Dad replied in a softer voice. “I did a horrible thing, Eleanor. I broke our marriage vows, and I hurt you.” His voice became firmer. “I’ve admitted that, and I’ve been apologizing for decades now, and I’ve told you again and again that I’d do anything to make it up to you … which I think I’ve proved by dragging these women back into our lives.”

Mom didn’t answer, just gripped the stem of her wineglass. Her shoulders were tense, the only indication that she was listening.

“But maybe you should take some responsibility, too, Ellie,” Dad went on, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “The minute we moved to Georgebury, it was like I was just … some … appendage or something. You had the family business, you had the girls, you had your work, and on the nights when I was home, I was just someone who messed up your routine. You couldn’t wait for me to go back on the road again!”

“Oh, Dad, nobody felt like that,” I attempted. “We loved when you were home.”

“Hush, Callie,” he said.

“Why don’t I just go to the bar and have a nice drink?” I suggested.

“Stay where you are,” Mom ordered. “We might need you if she wakes up.” She gave Dad an icy look. “And it wasn’t like that at all, Tobias.”

“Wasn’t it?” he asked fiercely. “Callie, did you ever feel neglected or overlooked because your mother was so obsessed with her dead people and creating the perfect send-off and comforting and coddling everyone but her husband and kids? Did you, honey?”

“I’d like to invoke the fifth amendment,” I said, waving to Dave. “Can I get a drink over here, Dave? Something large?” Dave pulled a face, rightfully wary of approaching.

“She did, Eleanor,” my father said. “And so did Hester, and I’m sure Freddie has as well. And as for me, Ellie—” here my father’s voice cracked “—you barely remembered who I was.” His eyes were wet.

“I remembered enough to get pregnant with your child,” Mom said, but her voice was not quite as certain as before.

“Yeah. The first time we’d had sex in a year and a half.” I closed my eyes. Would that aliens would abduct me right about now. “And I was so happy about a new baby,” Dad continued. “But you weren’t, were you? This was just a great inconvenience.”

Mom blinked. “I was thirty-nine years old, Toby.”

She hadn’t called him that in a long, long time.

“It was a baby, Ellie. Our baby. But every time I brought up the subject, what should we name him, should we take another vacation before he came, you just gave me a dirty look and left the room.”

“I love Freddie,” Mom said, opening her hands up in an appeal.

“I know. But you stopped loving me. I don’t know when, but you did, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make you love me again, and yes, I had three one-night stands, and I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, and I’m so damn tired of being sorry.” My father’s face crumpled. “I wanted to be needed. I wanted to be appreciated, and I was an idiot, and I’d take it back if I could, I’d cut out my heart if it would make you forgive me, but for Christ’s sake, Eleanor, it didn’t happen in a vacuum.”

My mother was silent, her mouth slightly open, eyes wide.

My father stood up. “I’m sorry, Poodle,” he said to me, wiping his eyes.

At that moment, a young man came over to our table. “Hey. You guys done with Goggy?” he asked.

Neither of my parents answered. “Um … yes! We are! She’s lovely,” I said, cringing as the words left my mouth. “Do you need help getting her into the car?”

“I’m all set. Thanks for inviting her out! She’s usually in bed by seven. Big night for her.”

He backed his sleeping ancestor away from the table and left. Without another word, my father followed. I watched him go, his shoulders slumped, then turned to my mother. “You okay, Mom?” I whispered.

My mother blinked and closed her mouth. “Yes. I’m fine, Callie.”

If “fine” looked like “slapped,” then I guess she was fine. Not knowing what to say, I took her hand. She squeezed back gratefully.

“Where’d she go? Where’s Dad?” Hester boomed. “Sorry about the phone call. Did I miss everything?”

“Not now, Hes,” I said. “Come on, Mom. We’ll take you home.”

“I didn’t even get to eat,” Hester protested.

“So order a pizza,” I hissed. “Now is not the time.”

I DROPPED HESTER BACK AT her house, promising to call her later, then took Mom back home. Fred, who’d just popped open a beer, set it down when we walked into the foyer.

“Mom, you okay?” he asked, his dark eyes, so like our dad’s, filled with concern.

“Rough night,” Mom murmured, patting his shoulder absently. She wandered into the Tranquility Room and sat in the back row.

“What happened, Callie?” he asked, and I briefed him in low tones.

“Poor Dad,” he said when I was done, then glanced toward our mom. “And Christly, poor Mom.”

“Tell me about it,” I murmured. “She looked like he slapped her. And Daddy … Fred, he was crying.” My own eyes filled up.

“Now don’t you start,” Freddie said, sounding a lot like Noah. “Twenty-two years divorced, and they’re still making the kids miserable. Come on.” He gave me a quick hug. “Ma! You want a grilled cheese?”

“Sure,” Mom said after a minute.

“Go,” my brother said to me. “I’ll get this one.”

“Thanks, buddy,” I said, kissing his stubbly cheek. Strange to have my brother needing to shave. Stranger still to have him acting like an adult.

I drove over to my dad’s, but his little house was dark, and he didn’t answer the door when I knocked. I sat on the porch for a minute or two. This was the same place he’d been renting all these years since he first moved out—he could well afford to buy it, but he never did. An owl called from a nearby tree, and the air was cool with the promise of some late-night rain. Cozy under other circumstances. Lonely under these. With a sigh, I got up and returned to my car.

A half hour later, I was rocking in my chair, waiting for the magic, listlessly eating some Betty Crocker Supermoist Cherry Chip batter. Come on, chair, I thought. Do your thing. I remembered those ads from my youth … Calgon, take me away! the beleaguered housewife would cry, and seconds later, she’d be ensconced in bubbles up to her ears, reclining in some gorgeous bathtub. Funny that I had such a tub but rarely used it. No, it was the chair for me. My happily-ever-after chair. But happily-ever-afters seemed in short supply these days.

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the smooth maple. Sometimes it seemed like my life was spent shoveling fog … trying so hard to be that adorable hedgehog everyone liked. Some days, optimism was an ill-fitting wool coat, heavy and uncomfortable.

Bowie whined from the floor, then raised his head and licked my ankle. “Thanks, Bowie,” I whispered. “You’re the best.”

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make you love me again.

The last time I’d seen my father cry was just before my eighth birthday when he moved out. Hester was in her room, furious; she hadn’t spoken to him for weeks, and Mom was in the basement, losing herself in preparing the dead, so I was the only one to see my father off.

“I’ll see you Wednesday, Bunny,” he called up the stairs to my sister. His voice cracked.

“Don’t you fucking call me that ever again!” Hester shrieked, her voice clearly audible through the closed door.

Dad flinched, then turned to me. “It won’t be so different, Poodle,” he lied, standing in the hallway, surrounded by suitcases. “I’ll just be a few streets over.” He smiled, a horrible smile because it wasn’t a smile at all, just a contortion meant to fool his child.

“Oh, I know, Daddy. I love your new house,” I lied right back.

“Go play now,” he said, and I knew he didn’t want me to watch him go. He hugged me so hard it hurt, then gave me a gentle push toward the stairs.

I couldn’t help it. I stood at my bedroom window, a Hello Kitty throw pillow pressed against my mouth as I sobbed, watching my father bent in sorrow, openly crying as he pulled his suitcases to his car, the trunk yawning, swallowing up his things. Then he looked up at the house, and I dropped the pillow and pressed my hand against the window. And I forced myself to smile, a pretty smile, a real smile, so my father wouldn’t have to drive away with that image in his heart, the remembrance of his little girl crying.

But after that day, he’d been the George Clooney type … determined to have fun when we were with him, no matter what Hester’s mood or, later, Freddie’s fussiness. He’d taken on that sheepish bad-dog personality around my mother, who responded with icy disdain. All those years passed, and I figured my father was just fine. I never realized he still carried so much grief. So much loneliness.

I reached over the side of the chair and fumbled in my purse for my phone, then hit Dad’s name. His voice mail picked up immediately. “Hi, Daddy,” I said after the beep. “I just wanted to say I love you. And you’re a great dad. Also, I’m free for bowling tomorrow night, okay? I love you.”

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make you love me again.

The words certainly struck a chord. Apparently my father and I had more in common than sparkly brown eyes and dimples. After all, wasn’t that what I’d been doing with Mark? I’d tried so hard to get him to notice me, and when he finally did, tried so hard to be perfect. Even after he’d put our relationship on pause, I’d tried so hard. Tried be cheerful, tried be upbeat, tried not to let my feelings show, not to blame him, not to mind when day after day, week after week, his nonchalance eroded my heart.

Sometimes, being an optimist was quite the fucking effort.

For a second, I had the urge to call Ian, because something told me he’d understand. Then I remembered that he had his own heartache to deal with. With a sigh, I set the bowl of cherry chip batter on the floor for Bowie to finish off. He wagged vigorously as he finished up my snack. Then, because I couldn’t think of anything better to do, I washed up and went to bed, petting my dog’s thick fur until we both fell asleep.