by Lori L. Otto
On the second day of the year, Mom and I start our morning at St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Both of us dressed in black, we kneel in pews in the back of the empty church, saying our own prayers.
Nate’s funeral had been here, although Mom had been in the hospital after their wreck, and missed it. Granna’s funeral was also here, and she was buried in the same cemetery with her first husband and only son.
Mom starts sniffling, her head in her hands. I look over, feeling my own eyes tear up as I see my mother crying. “Mom,” I whisper, leaning my head on her shoulder. We both settle back in the pew, embracing one another in a tight hug.
“I miss him so much some days,” she says. “And I miss Donna, too. The only saving grace is that they have each other.”
“I miss her too, Mom,” I cry.
“Without her here, I don’t get to talk about him,” she confides in me. “We would talk about him. In a way, it kept him alive,” she says, the tears flowing now. “I have no one to reminisce with me.”
“Chris?” I ask.
“I don’t want to put him in that position,” she says. “That’s the only drawback to your uncle being your dad’s best friend. I can’t talk to him about Nate. I don’t want it to get back to your father.”
“You can talk to me, Mom.” She looks at me with sorrow, shaking her head.
“No, sweetie, I can’t. I promised Dad I wouldn’t.”
“He can’t keep you from talking about him.”
“He doesn’t. He didn’t ask me not to. I just told him I wouldn’t. I don’t want to do anything to put your relationship with him in jeopardy.”
“Mom, I’m over that–”
“I know, I know.” She holds me close as she composes herself, wiping her nose with a tissue and concentrating on her breathing. “You know what I also know?”
“What?”
“I know Granna is up there fuming mad at us for being sad today. That is not what she would want. Ever.”
I chuckle a little, knowing she’s right. “Sushi?” I ask Mom. There was one restaurant that Mom and Granna would always meet at. It was only a block from our house. They took me there for the first time two years ago. I only ate California rolls that time, but since then, Granna had gotten me to try nearly everything on the menu. Mom had mentioned once that Nate was the one who introduced her to sushi. Since Granna died, neither Mom nor I had been back here.
“Mrs. and Miss Holland, it’s great of you to join us,” the hostess greets us. “We have the booth you requested ready for you.”
“Thank you,” Mom says. They take our coats, then lead us to the table. The waitress immediately brings us water and hot washcloths. Mom orders a glass of wine and a soda for me. We look over the menu together, finding things that we can share. When we order, we realize it’s a lot more food than either of us can eat.
“I guess we’ll eat for Donna,” Mom says. “We couldn’t not get the rainbow rolls and the dragon rolls,” she adds. “Or the sashimi. Those were her favorites,” she justifies our order.
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Were you closer to Donna than to your own parents?” I ask. I knew that I was closer to her than any of my grandparents, but that could be attributed to the fact that she lived in the city nearby.
My mother nods. “I love my mom and dad,” she says, “and I even love my step-parents, so much. But there was something special about my relationship with Donna that isn’t there with Grandma and Grandpa. Her attention was always on Nate. And when I came along, she could see how much he cared about me. I spent a lot of time at their house in high school. She understood creativity more than my parents. She encouraged it wholeheartedly, and just had this vast understanding of art–of course, you know this.”
“Yeah.”
“My parents thought it was a silly pursuit. They wanted a doctor, or a lawyer. I guess all three of us let them down,” she laughs. “You know, by the time I met Donna, my mom had left my dad... I was feeling a bit betrayed, and they were both very much preoccupied. Donna never was. Even with James, Nate was always her first priority. He came before everything. And when he died, I assumed the role of that only child. She needed someone. So did I,” she remembers.
“Did your parents care?”
“They understood the role she played in my life, especially after Nate was gone,” she says. “But Grandma and Grandpa both felt really sad–for you–when she passed. They don’t have the relationship with you they’d like. I think they blame some of that on me. All the grandparents have mentioned it, actually. Even Grandma and Grandpa Holland.”
“They know I love them,” I say. “Right?”
“Of course, honey.” She puts her hand on mine. “When you’re with them, you’re always so affectionate and sweet, and you don’t talk to them like there’s a full generation between you. I find it utterly respectful and beautiful. I never was that way... but I think we can thank Donna for that. You know, she had a lot of influence in raising you, too. I’m grateful that she was in our lives.”
“Do you think Dad is?”
“I know he is, Liv. He loved her, too. They had so much admiration for one another... and yet, they could have some fantastic debates. Both so smart, and connected. I never really knew whose side to be on, but at the end of the night, they’d hug and never hold a grudge.
“But your father always had a bit of a wall up with her. He never wanted to step into that ‘son’ role. He never wanted her to think he was trying to. Or me. He wanted to make it clear from day one that he was not here to take Nate’s place.”
“How did Dad get to be the way he is?” I ask.
“I don’t know, Livvy, but I don’t question it. I just thank God every night for sending me Jacks. And I follow that up by thanking Him for you. I’ve been so blessed.”
“My prayers are pretty similar,” I admit. “Sometimes I pray to Granna, though. Do you think she can see us from up there?” I ask.
“I know she can. Some days, when I’m having a bad day, I swear the sun will shine a little brighter the second I step outside. I’m convinced she moves the clouds away. I think she does everything to keep the sad memories at bay.”
“I think so, too,” I tell her. Three different waiters deliver our plates, and we both scan the dishes in front of us, clearly overwhelmed with all of the food.
“I think we’re going to need help with this,” Mom says, looking over at me curiously.
If anyone can cheer up my mom, it’s Dad. “Dad likes sushi, right?”
Her smile grows quickly. “This is our girl’s day,” she says.
“I’d like for Dad to spend the day with us,” I tell her.
“I’d really like that, too.” She picks up her phone and calls Dad, inviting him and Trey to join us for lunch. She tells him our plans for the rest of the day: a trip to the florist, another to the cemetery, and then a stop at one of the hospitals Granna worked closely with. They’d recently dedicated an indoor garden area to her, and we were going to spend some time planting things with friends of Donna’s and other volunteers.
“He’s going to pack a lunch for your brother. They should be here in eleven minutes, he says.”
“And not a minute later,” I say, knowing how prompt my dad always is.
“Nope. Jacks is always where he’s needed, when he’s needed,” she agrees. “I kind of need him today,” she admits.
“I kind of do, too.” We ask the waiter for two more plates and sodas, and start to pick out different dishes to sample, making sure we save plenty for my dad.
I consider confronting him about the way he’s been toward Jon, but I decide that today isn’t the day. Maybe Dad just needs more time. Today, I have to overlook that, and appreciate Dad for the strong provider that he is for me and my family. I do love him.
CHAPTER 16
At the end of January, I make it through full days at school without anyone jeering at me or making snide comments about the picture. Although
no one really believes it wasn’t me–no matter what I tell them–other scandals have taken the place of mine.
It’s a relief to my parents, to say the least. My dad had been truly concerned that it would affect my acceptance into Yale. He didn’t want to be questioned because he didn’t want to lie for me. That wasn’t his way, and I wouldn’t have asked him to, anyway. Fortunately, he’d had multiple conversations with the dean and someone on the admissions board, and no one had even brought it up. He’s finally starting to relax again.
At dinner one Wednesday, Trey is telling us about a role he got in the school play. For the production, Matty has volunteered to help with sets, which will undoubtedly make this the most talked-about performance in the history of my brother’s school. My uncle doesn’t do anything in moderation.
We had started to eat without Jon. Sometimes he was late, but he’d always let me know beforehand. Today, he didn’t and he hasn’t answered my calls. Engaging my brother in conversation distracts me for awhile.
“So you play a cat?” I ask him once more. He’d stuttered through his explanation of his role to us, and I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Señor Don Gato!” he yells at me again. “He sat on a roof.”
“So that’s it? Do you have any lines?”
“Meow meow meow,” he says.
“If you need help learning your lines...” I tease him.
“For your information,” Matty says, “I saw the script, and despite the lack of dialogue, he is the star of the show. And a real ladies’ man... or cat... I’m not sure...”
“Of course he is the star of the show,” Mom says. “He’s his father’s son.”
“I know,” I concede, messing up my brother’s hair. “I can’t wait to come to the show.”
“There are three shows,” he corrects me, holding up three fingers.
“I’ll be at every one of them. On the front row,” I assure him. He smiles and spears a potato slice with his fork, stuffing it into his mouth.
“Jackson, please,” Dad talks softly to him. “Cut your food first, remember?”
“Ok, Dad,” he mumbles with his mouth full.
“And don’t talk with your mouth full.” There’s a little frustration in Dad’s voice, but he’s smiling adoringly at Trey.
A frantic knock at the front door interrupts us all. “That’s not Jon’s knock,” I say, a little apprehensive. I put my silverware aside, but Matty stops me.
“I’ll get it,” he says, standing up. We’re all quiet, trying to hear who it is. Jon’s face is pale as he comes into the kitchen. His eyes are red, as if he’s been crying. He stands in front of the table, ready to address my family, but he never delivers any words.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him, standing quickly to guide him over to a barstool by the kitchen island. He turns his back away from my parents and puts his head in his hands. He grips tightly at tufts of hair. “What is it?” I whisper. “Your mom?”
His single nod is all I need to see to understand. She’d left the rehab facility on her own two days ago, saying she was “fixed.” She had moved back into her apartment, ignoring the suggestion of the doctors that she find someone else to live with for awhile. Jon had spent the first night with her in an effort to gauge her state of mind. He’d been disappointed that she didn’t even call his brothers for a full twenty-four hours after she’d gotten home.
Will told Jon the eventual call had been brief–and that their mother had sounded weird.
“Jon, what’s wrong?” Mom says, coming to him and putting her hand on his back.
He doesn’t look up as he speaks. “She went to the bar last night to get her job back, she says. But she’s passed out drunk at home now... with some man I’ve never seen before. He says he was one of her regulars, whatever that’s supposed to mean.” My mom looks at me with concern. I shrug my shoulders.
“Addiction is one of the hardest things to overcome, Jon,” she tells him. “If she’s not ready to accept her treatment, she’s not going to get better.”
“I know,” he whispers softly. Mom embraces him tightly, and Jon looks pained to accept her sympathy, but he does.
“Have you eaten anything tonight?” my dad asks, starting to clear plates from the table. We were almost finished.
“I’m sorry, I’m late... I should have called,” Jon says, getting up and acting like he’s going to leave.
“It’s okay,” Matty says assuredly.
Dad smiles at Jon. “Let me fix you a plate.”
“I’m not hungry,” Jon mumbles. “But thank you.” His gratitude is genuine, and it makes me a little relieved to see my dad like this. Jon’s cell phone vibrates in his pocket before he pulls it out and answers it.
“Hey, Patty. Yeah, thanks for calling me back.” Jon walks into our front living room and sits down on the couch. I follow him, taking the seat next to him and holding his hand. He recounts the day’s events to his aunt after inquiring about his brothers. As his frustration level rises, both of my parents come into the room, taking chairs opposite us. Their presence doesn’t seem to bother Jon at all. In fact, he seems to relax more with them nearby.
“You know, I worry about when I’ll ever see Will and Max again,” he says. “Like, are they ever going to get to move back here? Or is this what it’s going to be like from now on? Because I hate it. I hate that they have to be away from home, away from me–”
He listens intently to his aunt, his expression one of resignation. He’d expected his brothers to come home when his mom had completed her treatment. That time frame was being pushed further back, and at this moment seems unattainable with his mom’s behavior.
“I know. And I feel horrible that you wasted so much money on that facility, Patty. It will take us forever to pay you back, but–” He pauses as his aunt talks. Animated, he continues, “No! I won’t let you waste your life savings on her! I would have warned you not to do it... I didn’t think she was ready.” He looks hurt, and lost. “I’m paying you back, Patty! You can’t argue. I think you invested too much in–”
He sits quietly as my parents stare at one another uncomfortably. Mom looks at the floor and Dad looks at me as he takes a deep breath. I brace myself.
“What do you mean?” Jon asks, lifting his head and staring across the room at my father. He releases my hand, his motion deliberate and obvious. He stands up, and just when I think he’s taking his phone conversation to another room, he hangs up on his aunt and sets the phone down–hard–on the table by the door.
His angry gaze shifts to me. “I have told you over and over, Livvy, that I don’t want your charity.”
“I–” I don’t even know what to say.
“I did this, Jon,” my dad says, getting visibly upset at the tone Jon’s taken with me.
“But you knew...” He looks at me pointedly. I nod subtly. There’s no point in lying.
“She didn’t know the details until after the decision was made. It was the right thing to do–”
“Really?” Jon asks. “Spending thousands of dollars on an addict who left her two young kids home alone for two nights was the right thing to do?”
“She’s your mother, Jon,” my mom says. “Of course we want her to get better for them, and for you. We want to help.”
“I don’t want your help,” he asserts. “I never wanted it. I never would have asked.”
“No one needed to ask,” Dad continues. “I knew of a place, and I talked to your aunt. Yes, it’s expensive but it’s the best program in New England–”
“Yeah, I researched it. I’m well aware of the cost. It will take us forever to pay you back.”
“I wouldn’t accept that, Jon. I don’t expect that from you or her–whether she eventually succeeds or if she never gets better. What matters is that we do whatever we can to help.”
“And we can do a lot,” I speak up softly, trying to calm him down. He narrows his eyes at me, and I can tell I’ve said the wrong thing. He picks up his phone and wa
lks out the door, shutting it hard behind him.
“I’ll handle this,” Dad says as he grabs his keys off the same table by the door and walks out. I stand in the doorway, watching Jon walk down the street while my father calls after him. Eventually, Jon stops and turns around, meeting Dad in front of the house two doors down. After a few minutes, they walk to Dad’s car together, get in, and drive away. Neither acknowledges that I’m even there.
I shut the door quietly and look over to my mom. “He’ll handle it,” she assures me. I nod and go downstairs to the basement.
“Wanna play some pool, Little Liv?” Matty asks.
“No thanks. I’ve got to finish getting ready for tomorrow’s show with Abram, anyway. I don’t have time to worry about this.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know what there is to talk about,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. I’m tired of Jon getting mad about this sort of thing. “At some point, he’s going to have to accept me for who I am and what I have. This is the life I know, and it’s the life I have, and I’m not giving it up. I’m not sure he can continue living his own completely autonomous life without me ever doing anything to help–”
“If it was just you, Livvy, it may be different. It’s your parents, though, and I’m sure he just doesn’t want to be a burden to them.”
“They’d never think of him that way!” I argue.
“I know that,” my uncle says, “but Jon’s only been a part of this family for a year. You’ve had all your life to know how to deal with what you have. Give him some time. He’ll come around.”
“I’m sick of feeling bad for having what I do,” I admit. “I mean, it’s as much a part of me as... I don’t know, as my artwork. He needs to accept it or...” I simply sigh, not wanting to finish the sentence.
“Let Jacks talk some sense into him. You know he has a way with words.”
“I know.” Smiling weakly, I head back into my room and stare at the paintings that are propped up along the wall of my studio. Abram had asked me to put together a collection of six pieces that felt ‘calming’ to me. A spa owner was looking for new artwork for her lobby and waiting areas. She had contacted Abram after seeing a painting at a friend’s house and wanted a private meeting. Glancing around, I realize one piece–arguably my favorite of the collection and the one I thought would probably sell first–is not here. We had taken it to the loft for decoration.
