“So,” I said, turning to Chris. “How should we do this?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, his eyes on the road.
“I mean, how should we tell them?” I rolled my eyes at his cluelessness. How did boys manage to stay so even keeled about everything?
“Um, we say, hey mom and dad, we decided to get engaged.”
I slapped his arm lightly. “That’s no fun! Come on, don’t you want to make a big deal about it? It’s pretty huge news, you know.”
“I know,” he said, reaching over to take my hand. He held it against his leg, cradled in his. “Which is why we don’t need to dress it up with some silly announcement plan. Isn’t telling them enough?”
I sighed a little and slumped back in my seat. “I guess you’re right,” I muttered.
Chris was silent for a little bit, but I felt his eyes flick in my direction more than once. Finally he let out a soft chuckle. “Fine, how do you want to tell them?”
I sat up straight again, brightening. “Let’s see…we could…hmm, maybe I should have thought about this earlier. It needs to be exciting.” I pulled out my phone, prepared to search for “creative engagement announcements” on Google.
“How about I ask to say a toast at dinner,” Chris said, interrupting my search. “I could toast to our happy marriage. And then you can show them the ring.”
“I like it,” I said, beaming. “It’s to the point but still gives them that surprise factor I like.”
“And it’s not too cheesy,” Chris said laughing. “Though I know you think the cheesier the better.”
I made a face at him but he only laughed.
As it turned out, Chris never got a chance to give a toast. As soon as we pulled up in the driveway at my parents’ house, I had a feeling things weren’t going to go the way that we had planned. My earlier sense of unease returned, magnified by several degrees. My mom’s car wasn’t in its usual spot in the drive.
“I thought they’d both be home,” I muttered.
“Maybe her car’s in the garage?” Chris offered.
I shook my head. “Neither of them parks there. You know, all my dad’s stuff is there. She’s always bugging him about clearing it out so they can use it.” My dad was an avid woodworker, a hobby he had picked up in the last three years, ever since my younger sister Amy had moved away for college and my parents had become empty nesters.
“Well, maybe she ran out to get something for dinner.”
But she hadn’t just run out. And she had forgotten all about dinner. I knew it as soon as my dad answered the door. Before he even opened his mouth, I knew something was wrong. There was a look on his face I had never seen before. His skin looked pale, waxy almost, and an air of exhaustion seemed to emanate from him. He was dressed as he normally was, in work slacks and a sweater, but his clothes looked rumpled. Was that a shirttail untucked beneath his sweater? Something was very wrong.
“Daddy?” I reached out for his hand. “What’s the matter?”
“Ashley?” he asked, staring at me as if he was confused. “What are you doing here?”
I looked at Chris, worried.
“We’re here for dinner, Dad,” I said. “We arranged it before you left for your trip, remember?”
His face seemed to clear slightly, and he made room for us to come in. “Of course, of course,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, baby, it must have slipped my mind. Come in, come in.”
I followed him into the house, my concern ratcheting up a notch. My mother’s house, normally spotless, looked almost messy. When was the last time she had dusted? Shoes were cluttered near the front door, there were glasses scattered on the coffee table in the living room, and from the foyer, I thought I could see a full sink in the kitchen.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked, noticing immediately the way that my dad flinched at the sound of her name. I felt something cold creep into my stomach. What was going on?
“She, ah, she went out, sweetie. I’m sorry, we both must have forgotten about dinner. It’s so awful of us. Why don’t you take off your coats? Uh,” he looked around the living room as if noticing the mess for the first time. “On the other hand, why don’t we go out? Just the three of us?”
“Dad, what’s going on?” When he just looked at me, helplessly, I reached out and took his hand again. “You look terrible. Come sit down.”
He sighed and walked into the living room, sinking down on the couch. I watched, horrified, as he buried his head in his hands.
“Daddy?” I whispered.
“She’s gone, Ash,” he said, his voice a low rasp that sent shivers down my arms.
“What do you mean?” I asked, not understanding. I sat on the couch next to him, wishing he would look up at me. “Who’s gone?”
“Your mother,” he whispered. Then he raised his head, and I realized it had been better, much better when I couldn’t see his eyes. “Your mother left me.”
* * *
Half an hour later, my father was sitting in his recliner, a large brandy in his hand, staring lifelessly at the hockey game on TV while Chris and I huddled over the sink in the kitchen.
“I can’t believe this,” I said, for at least the tenth time. “I just can’t believe it.”
Chris looked about as shocked as I felt. “Didn’t you see her last week? You didn’t have any idea?”
“Of course not,” I snapped, then immediately felt bad. Chris had been amazing since my dad told us the news. To my horror, my dad had started sobbing, something I hadn’t seen him do ever in my life, not even when I was a teenager and my grandmother, his mom, had died. I could do nothing but stare at him in horror, too shocked and disbelieving to even hug him. Chris had totally taken charge, coming to sit on my dad’s other side on the couch, rubbing his arm and offering tissues, urging my father to relax. He poured him a drink, got him settled in his favorite chair with some sports for distraction, and then got me to help him start cleaning up. We were nearly finished with the dishes now.
“Sorry,” I said, looking down at the soapy water. “I don’t mean to snap…”
“Ash, it’s fine,” he said firmly. “You don’t need to worry about being polite right now, okay?”
I managed a weak smile. “Thanks.”
Chris took the last glass from my hands and dried it, setting it carefully in its spot in my mother’s top-of-the-line, glass-fronted cabinets. She had just had the kitchen remodeled that summer. I had sat through countless phone calls where all she wanted to talk about were her granite choices and the pros and cons of a stainless steel gas range. Now her perfect kitchen looked cold, somehow, and impersonal.
I leaned into the counter. “I just don’t understand how this could have happened. I thought they were happy.”
“You should probably go talk to him,” Chris said, glancing down the hall. “He seems to have calmed down now. Maybe he can tell you what happened.”
I dried my hands on the dishtowel he offered and headed back out to the living room, perching on the couch across from my dad. He looked up at me and gave me a weak smile. “Sorry, Ash, to lose it like that,” he said. He looked much more like himself now, though still pale. The desolate look was still in his eyes, but not quite so pronounced as it had been. “I’m just so worried, I guess. And shocked.”
“It’s okay, Daddy,” I told him. “Do you think you feel up to telling me what happened now?”
He sighed and set his glass on the end table beside his recliner. “When I got home from my trip Friday, she had a suitcase by the door. She told me she was tired of her life, of our life, and she needed some space.” He flinched as he said it, and I felt a rush of sympathy for him.
“She didn’t give you any other reason?”
He shook his head. “She wouldn’t even talk to me. She won’t answer my calls. She hasn’t been back. I just…I just don’t know what to do.”
“I’ll call her,” I said. “I’ll call her right now.”
“Will you?” he
asked, his face lighting up in a way that broke my heart. “I’m sure she’ll answer the phone for you.”
I got up and walked over to the entryway where I had dropped my purse, rooting around in it until I found my cell phone. My mother’s cell was the first one on my speed dial. She picked up on the third ring. “Ashley,” she said, sounding happy, normal. “Sweetie, how are you?”
I felt a flash of anger at her. How could she sound like this, like nothing was wrong? It wasn’t fair, not with my dad sitting in the next room, completely crushed.
“I’m with Daddy,” I said, my voice icy. I heard her draw in a sharp intake of air.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said. “You poor thing. I should have called you. I was going to call you, I just wanted to give it a little time.”
“A little time?” I snapped. “You left days ago. You thought it was better for him to be all alone this whole time?”
“Your father is a grown man,” she said, her voice taking on an edge. “He doesn’t need you to look after him.”
“He needs someone here,” I shot back, my heart beating faster. “He should be with someone who loves him, considering his wife walked out on him.”
“I can see that you can’t be reasonable about this when you’re in that house,” she said, her voice nearly as icy as my own now. “Why don’t you call me tomorrow? We can get lunch.”
“I will not call you tomorrow! You own me an explanation.”
“I don’t, actually. I’m your mother, Ashley, regardless of what is happening in my personal life. I won’t listen to my daughter talk to me like that.”
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my voice. “I just want to know what’s going on,” I finally said, squeezing my eyes shut. “Chris and I showed up here for dinner tonight and Daddy was a mess. I had no idea anything was even wrong.”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry,” she said, her voice sounding more relaxed now, though not quite apologetic. “I completely forgot you were coming for dinner. How rude of me. Will you apologize to Chris for us?”
I stared at the wall across from me, incredulous, as if I could find answers within the pale yellow paint. She had just left my father without a second thought, but now she was worried about being rude to me?
“Mom, what happened?” I repeated.
“Sweetheart, your father’s and my marriage may not have been quite what you always assumed,” she said gently, her use of the past tense sending a rush of fear through me. “It’s very complicated, and very personal. I would rather speak to you about it in person, after I’ve had time to think. And I don’t think it’s right for us to be talking while you’re still there with Daddy.”
“He’s very worried about you,” I said, wanting to make her feel guilty, wanting her to understand how awful it was, what she had done. “He said you wouldn’t answer his calls, that he doesn’t even know where you are.”
She sighed. “I’m staying in a very nice hotel. I’m very safe and taking care of myself. I haven’t answered his calls because I don’t have anything new to tell him. I need some time.”
“Fine.” I felt weary, too tired to be angry anymore. “I’ll tell him you’re okay.”
“Sweetheart, try not to worry. Your father will be fine. He’s perfectly capable of feeding himself and getting himself to work every day. I’ll call you in a few days and we can talk, all right?”
“My concern isn’t really with him getting to work, Mom,” I said. “He’s a mess, okay?”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” Her voice was brisk; she didn’t sound sorry in the slightest. “But that’s really not your problem.”
“Of course it is! He’s my father!”
“I’m finished with this discussion, Ashley. We’ll talk later in the week. Goodbye.”
“Mom—”
But she was gone. I stared at the phone. My mother had never hung up on me before, or, to my knowledge, anyone else. She put civility and politeness before all else. What on earth had gotten into her?
I turned to go back to the living room, but froze at the sight of our family portrait hanging there in the hall. We’d had it taken three years ago, right before Amy went away to school. The three of us girls sat in a row, smiling, our parents standing lovingly behind us. My sisters, Amy and Allison, looked so much alike with their blonde hair and green eyes. I was the only odd girl out, having gotten my brown hair from my father; my mother could have passed for one of the sisters, with her slender figure and blonde hair. She was so young looking, so pretty. I squinted at her in the photo, trying to imagine the beautiful, happy woman smiling back at me leaving her husband.
I walked back to the living room, my heart twisting at the hopeful look on my dad’s face. “She said she’s fine.” I tried to make my voice bright. “She’s safe at a hotel. I think she just needs to think about things, Daddy. She said she’d call me later in the week.”
“What could she need to think about?” he asked, throwing up his arms. “And why can’t she do it here in her own house?”
I felt helpless. “I don’t know, Dad. I’m sure she just needs space. Everyone gets cooped up sometimes, you know? You feel like you just have to get away. I’m sure that’s all this is.”
He didn’t look convinced. “Do you really think so?”
“Of course,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure, not at all. “I bet she’ll be back in no time.”
His face brightened a bit, and I felt a stab of guilt for lying to him. But what else could I do? I had to believe that she’d come to her senses and come back. What was she going to do, live in a hotel forever? For starters, there was no way she could afford that; my mother had never worked for a paycheck for a day in her life. She’d been taking care of my father, her children, and this house since the day they were married.
“Daddy, you need to eat,” I said finally, needing to distract myself. Thinking about practical things was a start. “Have you been eating at all?” Most of the dishes in the sink had been glasses.
“A little,” he said. “Microwave stuff, mostly.”
“Let me make you some food,” I said, standing. “What do you feel like?”
“Let’s just get pizza,” he said. “You don’t need to go to all that trouble.”
“It’s no trouble,” I assured him. The truth was, I had no idea when he’d have a home-cooked meal again. My dad probably hadn’t had microwaved food more than half a dozen times in all the years he’d been married.
Chris was waiting for me in the kitchen. I had a feeling he had been listening to my exchange with my father from there, probably not wanting to intrude. “How’re you doing?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Numb, I think.”
“What’d she say?”
“She sounded so unconcerned.” I shivered a little. “Like she didn’t even care that he was hurting.”
Chris reached for me, but I stepped away from his arms. “I should get some food going,” I said. “Will you go sit with him?”
“Sure,” he said, looking at me with something close to pity in his eyes before he turned to head back to the living room.
It wasn’t until I started pulling dishes from the cupboard that I remembered the purpose of our visit. As I reached up to grab plates from a high shelf, the overhead light caught my ring, making the diamonds wink at me. I released the plates, bringing my hand up before my eyes to stare at the ring. Its beauty had not been diminished in the slightest by the revelations of the evening.
It was hard to believe it had only been an hour ago that Chris and I had joked and laughed about sharing our news, that it had only been a few days ago that we had gotten engaged, and that I had woken up that morning feeling so completely overwhelmed with joy and excitement at the prospect of telling my parents.
How had everything changed so quickly?
Chapter Eight
Chris and I didn’t talk much the entire way home. I hadn’t wanted to leave my father; I’d been tempted, in fact, to stay over and call into
work the next day. But my dad had insisted that what he needed above all else was to get back into a routine. “It will probably help to take care of my own cooking and cleaning,” he had assured me. “It will distract me, you know? If you’re here doting on me I’ll have nothing better to do than feel sorry for myself.” He had smiled when he said it, and tweaked my cheek the way he had when I was little, but I still felt terrible about leaving him alone. The thought of him there, in their big old house, all alone, was heartbreaking.
I was relieved to find that Emily was not home when we got back to my apartment. I didn’t think I could bear to tell her what had happened. Like all of my other friends, Emily had always seemed to look up to my mom. It was hard not to; she was so pretty, so stylish and together. Yet she still had that cozy mom air down pat, feeding everyone who came into her house, and doting on my friends like they were her own kids, particularly Emily, whose own mom had died when she was a teenager. What would Emily think of her now?
“Are you staying?” I asked Chris wearily as I took off my beautiful new white coat.
“I’d like to, but only if you want me to.”
I sighed. “It’s up to you.”
He was across the room and pulling me into my arms before I had a chance to finish taking off my coat. “I’m sorry, Ashley,” he said. “I’m so sorry. It’s going to be oaky, you know?”
I clutched him back, feeling scared and confused. And, more than anything else, betrayed. I had thought my mom and I were so close. “How could she do this to him?” I whispered. “He doesn’t deserve this.”
“I know,” Chris said, running his hands up and down my back. He pulled away slightly so he could look down at me. “I want to stay with you tonight, Ash. I don’t want you to be alone. Let me help you, okay?”
I nodded, and Chris smiled before leaning down to kiss me. “You want wine or something?” he asked, still holding my arms. “Or are you tired?”
“I just want to go to bed,” I said, my voice dull.
“Okay. Whatever you want.”
We got ready for bed, neither of us talking much. Once we were under the covers, Chris wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. I stared over his shoulder in the darkness, an empty feeling threatening to overwhelm me.
An (Almost) Perfect Love Story (Love Story Book Three) Page 6
