The Year of Second Chances, page 27
“Okay, then,” I said, my voice lifting over my pulse. “I’ll fuck off.” I pointed to the phone in Theo’s hand. “We’ll start with the phone. Find a way to pay your own bill.”
Theo still glared coldly. But a slight panic rose behind his blue eyes. “That’s not what I meant, Robin,” he said.
I couldn’t believe what I had just said—what I was daring to do—but I couldn’t stand the hypocrisy. The entitlement. “I think I’m gonna go ahead and stop your rent payments for the semester, too.”
“Come on, Robin.” He stood. His defiance had been replaced by pure fear. By hurt. “You’re really going to do this now?”
“Why not now?” I said, though in truth I knew it was a horrible time. My hurt felt bigger than anything else in that moment, bigger than my sympathy, which had finally run dry. “I don’t want to enable an enabler.”
“Excuse me?”
“You want to let Mom die, fine,” I said. “You’re not going to do it on my dime.”
“But what am I supposed to do?” Theo asked me.
“You can stay with Jay or Mom, I guess,” I said. All I’d ever wanted to do was help, but my help wasn’t wanted. So I didn’t really have much use in Theo’s life, did I? That was what the anger was telling me. The anger was loud, and I needed something to hold on to, to tell me what to do. I listened. “Figure something out. It only makes sense, right? I let Mom handle her shit, and I let you handle yours.”
I realized I was still holding Mom’s half-spilled drink in my hand. I threw it in the trash, hoping this time it would stay there. My phone was vibrating in my pocket. Grateful for a distraction, I began to walk out of the room. Where, I didn’t know.
“Robin!” Mom called. “You can’t just leave him out to dry!”
“What is wrong with you?” I heard Theo ask me.
I paused at the door. “You should be asking yourselves that.”
I was determined not to look back at them as I turned down the hall, Theo’s face falling in my periphery. I didn’t want to see how young and scared he looked. I had to stay mad, to take a heated pleasure at my small victory, because any alternative would break me. At the end of the day, I was in the right. Sure, Theo didn’t like my controlling, judgmental hovering—unless, of course, it benefitted him.
But any other time I’d thought about cutting Theo off—or confronting Mom about her drinking—I had wanted to be cool and collected, to have a plan, to be certain. Instead, I’d screamed my head off so loud they couldn’t understand what I’d said. Refused to understand. Now, there was only uncertainty everywhere I turned. An invisible fog that crept out of the dark rooms along the corridor, blanketing my thoughts, disorienting me. And all the while, I couldn’t shake the image of Mom. Mom, frail and alone in her hospital bed. Mom’s tiny hands with the dishwashing wrinkles and the perfect cuticles. And now, the only person here who could help me save her I had just pushed away. Maybe for good.
The missed call was Manuel Arenas, my Bubbl date turned Realtor. This was a surprise. According to the timeline he’d given me, they had only just finished renovations. I hoped nothing had gone wrong.
Outside, under an awning, I slowed my racing heart to the sound of the rain and called him back.
“Hi there,” Manuel picked up in his pleasantly smooth voice. “I have good news.”
“Thank god,” I said. I could use some of that.
An hour later, I rode along the driveway in Manuel’s Jeep, Manuel in his usual crisp dress shirt and pressed pants, me in my still-damp clothes. We could have exchanged the paperwork remotely, Manuel had said on the way over, but he figured I’d want to say goodbye.
But as we pulled up to the house, it seemed that whatever I could say goodbye to might have already left. It was almost unrecognizable. The farmhouse’s faded, chipped white paint had transformed into bluish gray with white trim. New glittering rocks composed the gravel driveway. The front door was now coral. Porch rocking chairs in chartreuse.
Inside, Gabe’s maroon walls had become a quiet sea blue. Track lighting along the ceilings. A bowl of lemons on the kitchen island.
Out back, they’d added a row of firs to the tree line, a living fence that perfumed the air with pine. The barn had been razed, and on the new dirt, they’d added more raised beds and cleaned up the old ones of weeds, attached a rope swing to one of the drooping oak branches, planted colorful patches of wildflowers.
“What do you think?” Manuel asked as we stood side by side, watching the dwindling rain sprinkle the kitchen window.
“I’m speechless,” I said.
“The new owners feel the same way. Two ladies from Grand Marais who just adopted their first child.”
“There’s going to be a kid in here?” For some reason, I had tears in my eyes at the thought.
Manuel put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure they’re going to be really happy.”
I looked back out at the yard. “I’m sure they are.”
“So I have the final purchase agreement here when you’re ready,” Manuel said behind me, laying out the paperwork on the counter. “I believe I mentioned this in the car, but we’re looking at five thousand over asking, all cash, which is really pretty generous.”
“No, that’s great,” I said, turning to join him, wiping my tears. “I don’t know why I’m getting so emotional.”
“I think I do,” Manuel said, his dark eyes sympathetic over his gap-toothed smile. “I google all my clients,” he added with an apologetic wince. “And my dates.”
I had to laugh, which I immediately regretted, since the action seemed to let loose a bevy of snot. Manuel handed me a tissue from a nearby box. I’d never thought to put tissues around the house. Gabe and I had always just used toilet paper.
“So you know this is the former home of everyone’s favorite mayor,” I said, blowing my nose.
“And his widow, apparently a badass makeup artist,” Manuel said, his eyebrows raised, impressed.
“Ha!” I weathered a pang of bittersweetness at the mention of my hobby. Even through everything else going on, I had missed it. My colors, my tools, my fake blood. “Thanks.”
“So,” he said, straightening one of the neat, crisp sheets in the row of documents. “You’ll just sign everywhere you see a sticky tab.”
“Ah, yes. The Assorted Color Sign Here Flag Set. I’m familiar.”
I picked up the pen. But as I poised it over the first dotted line, I couldn’t bring myself to put tip to paper.
Another wave had suddenly reared up but seemed to hold at the crest, choking me. For some reason I was thinking of those December mornings my first year of college after Dad died. I remembered watching Mom as she put on eye shadow before going in to the restaurant. It had been mere days, but she was going back. Was she sure? I had asked. Was she sure she shouldn’t take some time off? Oh, I’ll be all right, Mom had said, brushing blue across her eyelids. Aqua blue. Sea blue. That’s around when she had started carrying the travel mug with her everywhere.
Maybe I had been too harsh. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought up my dad. I’d never spoken to my mother like that before, or to Theo. To anyone, for that matter. Perhaps that was why Gabe and I had said some of the worst things we’d ever said toward the end. There was something about a loved one fighting for their life that made you want to cut to the core of things, no matter what bombs you dropped along the way.
“Everything okay?” Manuel asked, watching me.
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry,” I pushed out, my tears returning as I signed next to the sticky note. Another lie. Every day the same white lie, like breathing. I’m fine. “I’m okay.”
But I wasn’t okay. Nobody had ever taught me how to say it. Only how to bear it and move on.
A gentle hand on my back. Somehow I had let go of the pen.
Somehow I was on the floor, where Gabe had liked to slide around in his socks like a kid. Where I’d sat among the spoiling funeral food that couldn’t fit in the fridge.
I had thought the raw slap of grief still only hurt at certain times of day, certain angles of light, only if I let it. I thought I had put that time away, turning up the TV volume so I couldn’t hear it echoing in my head. Not true. The river of lonely days I had almost drowned in was still inside me. I was still swimming.
Manuel bent, and soon he was fully sitting next to me, cross-legged, our backs against the cabinets of the island.
“You’re going to ruin your beautiful pants,” I said between stuttering sobs.
“Don’t worry about the pants,” he said.
We sat there like that for some time as the crying wracked me.
“I’m sorry,” I said again to Manuel when my breath had mellowed.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” he said, frowning thoughtfully as he found the words. “Your first house with your late husband. It’s a huge thing. I can tell the couple we need more time.”
“No, I’m going to sign,” I told him. “I had a really hard day, and then signing this got me thinking—I have nowhere to go.”
The reality of this hit me in the gut. I was family-less. Boyfriend-less. Purposeless. I couldn’t go back to Jake’s. After today, I didn’t want to go back to my mom’s, where Theo was likely going to stay. A week ago, I would’ve asked Levi if I could crash on his couch, but now our whole history was twisted, alien. I had no one.
The thought of it would set off another wave of tears if I let it. But I didn’t want to cry. I just wanted to sit here for a moment more on the floor. With my Realtor, a kind, sane person who barely knew me.
“You’d mentioned you were staying with your boyfriend?” Manuel said, sounding concerned.
I shook my head. “Not anymore.”
Manuel straightened briefly, returning after a moment with the tissue box. “Well, like I said, you’ve got five thousand over asking.”
“What do you mean?”
“Moving money. Play-around money. Go exploring.” He smiled. “I’m kind of envious, actually.”
“Envious?” I snorted. I lifted my hands, clutching crumpled tissue, drawing his attention to the fact that I was wearing sweats covered in snot, sitting on a kitchen floor that now no longer belonged to me. “Why the hell would you be envious?”
“Because you’re about to have an adventure,” he said easily, lightly. Much more easily and lightly than I would have if I were talking to a deranged woman, gathering her used Kleenexes into a pile.
“Manuel, I have no car. No partner. No family. In the last week, I have screwed up things with everyone—almost everyone—important to me. This is not an adventure I want to be on.”
“Then, what adventure do you want to go on?” he said, hoisting himself up to standing to dispose of the tissues. “Go on that one, instead.”
“I can’t,” I said, folding my knees into my chest. “My mom—”
“She’ll get better,” he said.
“No, but she’s got substance issues, so I need to get her into some sort of program,” I explained, resting my head on my knees. “And her restaurant has been closed for a while now, so we’re not going to be in a good spot. Probably going to have to look into some loans. My brother’s struggling, too. He doesn’t know what he wants to do in life, and I’m trying to help him while he figures it out, but I went about it all the wrong way, and I’m worried I’ve made everything worse.”
My words trailed off into the dark, muffled space between my knees. At the list of my obligations, I felt a headache coming on. The crying, I’m sure, hadn’t helped.
“Ah,” I could hear Manuel say as he moved around me. “You’re a glue guy.”
I looked up from my sweats-lined cave. “A glue who?”
He had found a glass somewhere—probably stored in a cabinet for show, because it definitely wasn’t mine—and now he had his hand under the flow of tap water, waiting for the right temperature. “A glue guy,” he went on. “Or gal or lady or person. Whatever. In soccer—”
“Just a heads-up, I know nothing about soccer.”
“You should change that.”
“You’re sports-shaming me?” I cocked my head. “Is this why you’re still single?”
Manuel rolled his eyes at the joke. “A glue player is talented, but they don’t necessarily get all of the goals and assists and accolades. You don’t see them light up the stats sheet, but they’re super influential on the field. They’re givers, important to the team’s chemistry.”
“Sounds made-up,” I said. “Sounds like an excuse for not scoring points.”
Manuel handed me the glass of water. “It’s not made-up. I could name seven glue players right now. Lindsey Horan, Lyon FC. Richard Dixon, here in the US—”
“All right, all right. So you’re saying I’m a glue person. Which means what, outside of soccer?” I began to gulp as much water down as I could.
“It means that your thing is making sure everyone else does their thing.”
I went to the sink and poured myself another glass. “I think I see what you’re saying. Like, my family are the superstars, but I’m the one running around on the field, kicking them the ball?”
“Bingo,” Manuel said. “But a glue player can also score in a clutch. And you’re not letting yourself score—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I put up a hand as I swallowed my latest gulp of water. “I have had plenty of my own wins,” I explained to Manuel. “I actually had a pretty great year.”
Manuel squinted at me, a skeptical smile rising on his face. “You have? May I remind you that you were just weeping in a ball on the floor?”
I was about to argue, but I found I couldn’t go back to that kind of white lie.
“I mean, does it matter, though?” I said aloud. I thought of Nance’s refrain: That’s just what you do. “Isn’t that what family is for? Taking care of each other? How am I supposed to focus on my own—my own goals when they need my help?”
Manuel sighed, his smile wary. “This is none of my business . . .” he said, hedging.
“No, please,” I said. “Tell me.”
“If your mom’s in the hospital—because of some sort of substance-related thing, you said?” He paused for a moment, in case I didn’t want to go there. I motioned for him to continue. “And your relationship is on the rocks, and your brother’s not doing well, either . . .”
He paused, took a breath, measuring the moment. Trying, it seemed, to be sensitive. It sounded so different, everything terrible collected like that. Connected. But I think I was beginning to see his point.
“You’re saying that whatever I’m doing isn’t working.”
It hit me like a ton of bricks. All of my careful planning. My hours spent at Mom’s side. My money in Theo’s bank account. My new system for the restaurant. I thought I had it figured out, and it was only a matter of them seeing things my way. But my way had us lost. Broken.
“But how do I help them?” I asked Manuel, desperate. “What other way is there?”
“I don’t really know,” Manuel said, his face scrunched in concentration as he removed a spot from the counter. “It’s probably going to be a learning process. But I know that if you live your life for other people, in the end there will be nothing left of you. Trust me.”
“Why, did something like this happen to you?”
“It happened to my family.” He let up on the smudge for a second, retrieving a Kleenex before returning to it with greater vigor. “My sister is a glue player, too. I mean, she would probably hate to hear me call her that, but let’s just say the lesson she had to learn was that love should connect you to people, not chain you to them.” He smiled to himself with satisfaction at the newly clean spot and looked up at me. “If you need a therapist, my family and I had a really good one.”
“Ha. We’re not there yet, but hopefully someday.” I found his eyes, grateful. “Thank you for sharing that. Really.”
He gave a courteous nod and put a hand next to the paperwork. “So. What do we think? Do you still need some time?”
I took a deep breath, picked up the pen, and began to sign away the house, thinking about what he’d said about love. About chains.
With each signature, my limbs felt less heavy. Their lightness would take some getting used to.
“Thank you again, for everything,” I said to Manuel, who was locking up the front door. I opened my arms. “Can I hug you?”
“Please do.”
“Oh, god,” I muttered, my chin on his shoulder.
“What?”
We broke apart. “What the hell am I going to do now?”
At first Manuel shrugged good-naturedly, but as we reached the Jeep, he found an answer. “You know what? If I were you, I’d probably drop everything and go to Chandigarh, India. The pinnacle of a progressive city. Practically the mold for midcentury modern style. But that’s just me.”
I thought of what I would drop everything to do. I thought of a brightly lit row of mirrors and every color from the muddiest brown to alien green to the bloodiest red. I thought of monsters.
As we watched the house disappear behind the line of trees on the winding driveway, I rolled down the window to smell the pines one last time. I had to find a new way to love my people here. To love myself. And unless I wanted to permanently damage my spine on shoved-together hospital chairs, I had to find a new place to sleep tonight.
28
My unusual skills include . . .
Deceptive amounts of upper-body strength. Tying my hair into a knot. Hiding in group photographs.
The next morning, I checked out of my hotel, greeted the nurses at the reception desk, and crept back into Mom’s hospital room. My head felt clear, if a little raw. Like the world had lost a layer. Here, the blinds were drawn and the lights were off, dimming the sunny skies outside.
“Who is that?” Mom muttered.
I was about to answer her when I saw a curly-headed form stretched out on one of the chairs next to her bed. “It’s Robin,” Theo said.
“Hey,” I whispered to Theo. “Can we talk?”
“You don’t have to whisper,” he said in his normal voice. “We’re both awake. She just had a headache.”
