by Harper Bliss
7
Zoe
“We hung the painting together, Mom,” Brooklyn says. “You don’t have to spell everything out for me. I’m not stupid.”
“I know, mija, but I just wanted to take the pressure off of you. This lunch isn’t about you and Jaden. It’s Anna’s mother’s way of getting to know me better, as in the woman dating her daughter.”
“I’m not worried about any of that.” Brooklyn’s had a persistent, sullen look on her face since returning from the city.
“You miss your friends?”
“Not just my friends,” Brooklyn says.
“Your other mom?” Eve hasn’t entered my thoughts in a while.
“She’s just… not in touch as much as I thought she would be. What’s that about? She has a new life in Shanghai now and it’s convenient to forget about her daughter?”
“I’m sure she hasn’t forgotten about you, sweetie. She’s very busy with work, and with the time difference…” I don’t sound very convincing, even to myself, and make a mental note to email Eve about being more present for her daughter.
Brooklyn shrugs, tugs at her sleeve, then looks me square in the eye. “Jaden told me something about his Aunt Anna.”
“What’s that?” I called Anna earlier to tell her I wouldn’t be coming over. Not only because I wanted to spend time with Brooklyn, but also because I sensed that she needed some time on her own. I’ve been making my way through the book she recommended and I’ve learned that quiet, alone time is a big thing for people like Anna.
“She has Autism,” Brooklyn says.
I didn’t expect that Anna’s nephew would know. She told me that her family knows, but I wasn’t sure that included the youngest members of the Gunn clan. But I am certain that Anna would not be okay with Jaden sharing this private information about her with Brooklyn. Because if he told her, who else has he told?
“You didn’t know?” Brooklyn asks.
“I did know,” I say. “Anna told me. But—” I’m not sure if I can admonish my daughter for this, and it isn’t my place to tell off her boyfriend, but this is all very uncomfortable. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you just told me you’re dating her.”
“While I appreciate the sentiment, it isn’t for you to tell me that, Brooklyn.”
“You’re my mom. Of course I’m going to tell you.”
Fair enough. “Just, please don’t tell anyone else, okay? Anna’s very discreet about it. Jaden shouldn’t have told you.”
“I guess he only told me because he likes me.”
“The reason doesn’t matter, Brooklyn Adriana Perez.” I hardly ever use my daughter’s name in full—only when I’m upset. And I’m upset for Anna.
“His grandpa has it too,” Brooklyn half-whispers. “I thought you’d want to at least know that before we have lunch with him.”
“This is all very personal information, sweetie.”
“Family’s a big thing here,” she says. “I’m sure Jaden didn’t mean any harm by telling me. His family’s not like ours, where one parent just leaves the country and you and I end up in this town, away from everyone we’ve ever known. He’s very close to his family. He didn’t say it to gossip.” Her voice shoots up.
“Okay.” I meet her gaze. “I understand why he told you.” I’m so glad Anna found the courage to open up to me because this is not something I would have wanted to learn from my daughter.
“It’s, um, not a problem for you that she’s autistic?” Brooklyn asks.
“No.” Of course, it puzzles me, and I have many questions, a good portion of which I know I can’t ask Anna yet.
“Could you tell? I mean, Jaden says his grandpa is a bit weird, but he’s also pretty awesome. He taught him to make things like this.” She fishes into her jeans pocket and digs out a heart-shaped key ring made out of wood.
“Does that mean you’ll never forget your keys again?”
“Mom.” Brooklyn rolls her eyes at me. “I’m trying to have a conversation with you about something important to me.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry, honey. Show me.”
She hands me the key ring. “Jaden said his grandpa didn’t want to help him make anything heart-shaped at first, but he put his anti-Valentine’s Day principles aside just to please his grandson.”
“This is beautiful.” I run a finger over the smooth surface of the wood. Because I’m now a business owner, the thought that I should stock these for next year’s Valentine’s Day crosses my mind. But I also know that, if Anna and her dad are so alike—and I sense that they are—there’s no way he’ll ever agree to make them for commercial purposes. “A handmade gift. He must really like you then.”
“I like him too,” Brooklyn says, her voice suddenly sugary sweet.
“I hadn’t noticed.” I smile at her.
“Isn’t is a bit weird that you’re seeing his aunt?”
“Anna’s not his mother. That would be weird.”
Brooklyn shakes her head. “Ew,” is all she says.
“I’m looking forward to spending time with Jaden and his family,” I say. “I think it’ll be good for us.”
The only people who don’t appear nervous are Jamie and his wife Janet. Now that I see them all in action side-by-side, it’s obvious that Jamie takes after his mother in the personality department. It’s hard to read Sam, Anna’s dad. Sherry’s her usual buoyant self and she’s clearly in her matriarchal element today.
The table we’re gathered around is large, but having two extra people squished in does make us sit rather cozily close. Brooklyn’s on my left side, Jaden on hers. Anna’s on my right and it’s as though I can sense the nerves that are racing through her body.
This occasion is a breeding ground for awkwardness, I guess, but only if you let it—that’s always how I’ve felt about these things. But I’m not Anna.
Between them, Sherry and Jamie are quite skilled at keeping the conversation flowing. When a short silence falls, Janet jumps in, and asks, “I’m very intrigued, Zoe. You used to work for Amazon, yet you’ve taken over a struggling bookstore in the sticks?”
“Donovan Grove is hardly the sticks, babe,” Jamie says.
“I like to believe that a lot of people still prefer the personal touch of a store as opposed to just clicking for things online,” I say, not caring how naive that makes me sound.
“Hear, hear,” Sherry says.
“But buying a book on Amazon is almost always cheaper,” Janet says.
“Is it really cheaper, though? There’s the cost of delivery, not to mention the cost to the planet.”
“Yeah, but most people don’t care about that,” Janet says. “They just care about paying as little as possible.”
“I dare to disagree. I think there’s a shift happening at the moment, where more and more people are becoming aware of the environmental cost of how we’ve grown accustomed to live. Visiting an independent bookstore fits into that trend perfectly.”
“Did you leave Amazon on good terms?” Janet asks.
“Sure. I just wanted to do something else with my life, you know.”
“Oh, maybe this is your second mountain,” Janet says.
“My what?” I take in her face, with its wide-open eyes and easy smile.
“She’s obsessed with this book, which she got on Amazon, I might add,” Jamie says.
“I bought it months ago, before there was any talk of Bookends reopening,” Janet says. “But I only recently started reading it. The idea is that the first mountain you climb in life is when you achieve all the conventional, expected stuff, like getting a degree, getting married, having children, paying off your mortgage. Until you reach the top of the first mountain and the only way is down. Then you start falling and falling into the valley between the first and the second mountain.”
Janet reminds me so much of Marsha, whom I miss on a daily basis.
“I think you’ll find this is also called a midlife crisis,�
�� Anna says, casually.
“Well, sure, it can have many names,” Janet says, “but the point is that figuring out how you can be helpful to the community, or to other people, or doing something that isn’t centered solely around yourself, is the only thing that will allow you to climb your second mountain.”
Jaden expels a deep sigh. Jeremy, Jamie’s youngest, who has the face of an angel but the most mischievous glance in his eyes, chuckles in response.
“The boys have been hearing about mountains all week,” Jamie says.
“It can’t always be all about them,” Janet says.
“Are you having your midlife crisis, Mom?” Jeremy asks. “Is that why you can’t shut up about those mountains?”
“Maybe, sweetie. Maybe.” She smiles at her son with a warmth in her glance that I recognize from feeling it myself when I look at Brooklyn, at the person I’ve created. This person who would never even have existed if it hadn’t been for me. “Anyway, Zoe, my point is that opening a bookstore in Donovan Grove might be your way out of the valley.”
“Well, if you put it like that—maybe. I hadn’t really thought about it in terms of a midlife crisis.”
“Muse on it,” Janet says. “We can talk about this among ourselves some other time if you like, away from this crowd who don’t appreciate our spiritual quest.”
“That would be lovely, Janet.”
“I’m surprised she hasn’t emptied the self-help section yet at the store,” Jamie says.
“It’s the new religion,” Sam suddenly says. It’s the first time he has spoken since we’ve sat down to lunch. “People always need something to believe in. It used to be a higher power. Now they just believe in themselves.”
“And they need a lot of help doing so,” Anna says. I watch her exchange a glance with her father, and I see Sam’s eyes light up.
“So far, the cookbook section and the children’s book sections are proving to be the most popular, but self-help isn’t far behind,” I say. “Although some people might not want to buy a self-help book in a small store in their hometown.”
“You should set up a web shop,” Jamie says. “I’m surprised Sean hasn’t tried to sell you on the idea yet.”
“They haven’t really spent a lot of time together, Jamie,” Anna says, as though she has to defend both me and Sean.
“But that would defeat the whole environmental purpose,” Janet says.
“There must be some way to buy anonymously and in an environmentally friendly way,” Brooklyn chimes in. She has been very quiet, but I guess that’s to be expected at the first meal with her boyfriend’s family.
I sneak another peek at Jaden. He’s a head taller than Brooklyn and he hasn’t grown into his long limbs yet, but he has kind, long-lashed eyes and a pretty dazzling smile.
“That’s for your generation to figure out,” Sherry adds, while spooning some more potatoes onto my plate, even though I’m already more than full.
Uh-oh, I think. I hope Brooklyn doesn’t take the bait. If I were to say something like that to her in a private conversation, I wouldn’t hear the end of it. But she seems to be biting her tongue and refrains from offending our host, for which I’m grateful. I raised her well, after all.
8
Anna
I’m glad that, after lunch, Brooklyn went home with Jaden to Jamie and Janet’s house, so Zoe and I—and Hemingway, of course—get to walk back alone.
“We do this every Sunday,” I say. “That’s enough of Jamie and Janet together for me. He’s always so much more hyper when he’s around her.”
“I like her,” Zoe says. “She’s feisty.”
“I like her too. I just don’t need to see her more than once a week.”
Zoe slows her walk and turns to look at me.
“What?” I ask.
“That’s a bit harsh,” she says.
“I didn’t mean for it to be harsh. I just told you that I like her, and I know she and Jamie are very happy together, despite her pending midlife crisis, which, if you ask me, only exists in her imagination. Or because she’s read a book about it.”
“Hm, definitely harsh,” Zoe says.
“Really?” I stop in my tracks entirely now.
“You wouldn’t say that to her face, would you?” Zoe asks.
“No.”
“Or to Jamie?”
“No, because there’s really nothing to say. What are you getting at?” I must be missing the point here—again.
“I’m just trying to understand,” Zoe says.
“I assure you that I have nothing against my sister-in-law. She’s just a bit much for me. I wouldn’t seek out her company deliberately. When she just moved here, she asked to go for a drink. I tried to bond with her, I really did. But that’s just not something that comes naturally to me.”
“I might have drinks with her,” Zoe says.
“Okay.” I can see how that would make sense.
“Why is it so hard for you?” Zoe asks.
“Because…” How to find the words to explain this. “I’m not that sort of woman. The kind that goes for cocktails with her girlfriends and talks about shades of lipstick or the latest spiritual guide I’ve read. That’s, like, the opposite of me.” I like to be alone, I add inside my head. I like not to have another person’s eyes on me, their expectations of me visible in them.
“I think I’ve figured out by now you’re not much of a lipstick girl.” Zoe starts walking again and I follow. Hemingway is waiting for us at the end of the street.
“Excellent powers of deduction.” We walk in silence for a while, for which I’m grateful. What I have been able to deduce is that Zoe Perez is not the quiet type, which is, if I’m honest, one of the reasons I’m so attracted to her. Even though I have trouble with it at times, I like her forwardness. I know I can use it to force myself out of my shell more.
When Zoe still hasn’t said anything by the time we reach my house, I’m starting to worry, however.
“Something bothering you?” I ask, once we’re inside. We seem to have automatically drifted to the kitchen, where Zoe has crashed into my armchair as though it’s her private chair.
Zoe finds my gaze. “Brooklyn told me that Jaden told her that you have Autism. So Brooklyn knows. And she and Jaden have been discussing it.”
I don’t know why other people knowing causes such a rush of panic inside me every single time, but it does. My stomach seizes up while a number of doomsday scenarios are relentlessly projected in my mind. I don’t want to say anything, so I just shut up and sit there, frozen.
“I told Brooklyn it wasn’t Jaden’s place to tell her, but, you know, they’re kids. They talk. Your nephew is dating my daughter and things come up in conversation.”
“I just… I don’t know. I don’t want Brooklyn’s opinion of me to be based on me having ASD. I try so hard to not let it define me…”
“Why, though? It’s such a big part of you. In a way, it’s who you are.”
“It’s not who I am.” My voice shoots up of its own accord and I look away.
“You sound as though you’re ashamed of who you are when you talk about your Autism, Anna,” Zoe says.
I don’t know how she’s looking at me right now, but I imagine it’s with pity, which is not how I want to be looked at by someone I’m dating.
“I’m not ashamed; I just don’t want everyone to know.”
“Why not?” Zoe asks.
“It’s not like coming out as gay, you know. It’s coming out as disabled. There’s a big difference.”
“I’ve been reading the book you recommended.” Zoe does not let up. “And I’ve been researching online, because I want to understand what it’s like for you. But when you say things like that, the way I understand it, is that you believe yourself to be less than… less than neurotypical people, while you’re just different from them, but by no means less. Diversity is—”
I hold up my hand to stop Zoe from continuing. “This is going to sou
nd really rude, even though it’s not meant to be.” I can barely get the words past my throat. “I’m about to go into a meltdown and I don’t want to do that in front of you.”
I see Zoe get up and then I put my hands in front of my eyes. I hate how a meltdown can still just sneak up on me like this, so completely unexpectedly. I have Sunday lunch with my family every single week. But of course, Zoe and Brooklyn aren’t there every week. And I haven’t done enough painting to ground me, and I’d barely recovered from Friday night. I can only hope that Zoe has already reached the chapters in the book about sensory overload and meltdowns, because I’m in no state to be doing any explaining right now.
Why isn’t she leaving? Why haven’t I heard the front door close. Usually Hemingway comes to lie next to me when I’m like this.
“Anna,” Zoe whispers. “I’m here for you.”
Oh, great. She wants to save me from the meltdown, while my only priority is for her to not witness me having one.
“I really need you to go,” I plead.
“Call me later. Please.” I briefly feel her hand on my shoulder and then I hear the tap-tap of her heels in the hallway and then the front door bangs shut. She’s gone and the relief of that washes over me.
“Too much,” I whisper to myself. “Too much.” And I try not to let myself wonder why anyone would ever want to be with the likes of me, if they have to deal with this. Why draw the short end of the relationship stick if, like Zoe, you could have anyone you wanted? Everything about her—every exquisite little detail—screams that she’s a long-end-of-the-stick kind of woman. I wonder how I stack up next to her ex-wife. I bet she’s not disabled.
Most of all, I try not to hate myself while I wait for the whirlwind of emotions inside me to die down or at least quieten to a tolerable level, so I can function again.
I wrongly believed my feelings for Zoe would have carried me through the rest of the weekend. Or maybe it’s my very strong feelings for her causing this episode. But there’s no point in trying to figure out anything now, while my brain is in the grip of extreme anxiety mixed with self-loathing and—always worst of all—self-pity.
