by Orly Konig
* * *
“Maya, darling, what a surprise.” Mom steps aside to let me pass, our air kisses needing passports to reach each other.
I’m expected to emit some pleasantry or another, but my brain is in a university dorm in England.
“Why did you let me think all those years that Simon never came looking for me?”
“What are you talking about? That was a lifetime ago. Come in, it’s hot.” She turns and strides to the kitchen. I follow, fighting the mounting annoyance of a child who’s being unceremoniously dismissed.
“Why did you send me to England?” I’m that petulant child not willing to be dismissed. Poke, poke.
She sighs dramatically and indicates for me to sit on one of the shiny black-leather counter chairs. She pours two glasses of iced tea and places a coaster and a glass in front of me. The glass is, of course, precisely centered on the coaster.
“England was the perfect next step for your education. Look at your career, darling. You wouldn’t be here today if you hadn’t spent that year studying abroad and making connections.”
I can’t stop staring at her. This is the first time she’s ever used the word career to describe what I do. Okay, that’s not exactly true. She’d been very supportive about my career working in a world-renowned museum. When my career took a turn to a converted garage—well, that word was left in the bowels of the museum.
“So, you sent me away for the good of my career?” I cringe inwardly at the tone of my voice, the petulant child suddenly aware she’s tripped the fuse.
“I didn’t send you away as you’re implying. You wanted that opportunity, Maya. Don’t twist memories to suit your need for a fight.”
“I don’t want a fight. I want the truth.” I wince at the irony. I still haven’t told her about Hank.
“What truth?” She takes a drink from her iced tea. The glass remains sparkling clean around the rim, not a hint of her crimson lipstick. She’s the only person I know who wears lipstick in her own home. “The truth that you needed to expand your education? The truth that you needed to experience life? The truth that you were too young to settle down?”
“Those weren’t your decisions to make.”
“They were. You didn’t have the maturity.”
“I had the maturity to know I wasn’t ready to get married when Simon asked. I had the maturity to get on that plane for London.”
“But you lacked the maturity to know why you said no to Simon. And you didn’t have the strength to live with your decision,” she says, cutting me off. “Maya, you were miserable those first months. Both of you were. But darling, you both needed to find your own way. If Simon had found you, you would never have stayed there. And then what?”
“We would have gotten back together.” I want to sound sure, defiant. I don’t. Not even to myself.
“You would have missed out on so many things.”
“Like you did?” It’s a low blow, and I regret the words before they’ve had the chance to hit their mark.
Her shoulders drop a centimeter, just barely enough for the visible eye but enough to register on the Richter scale. “Like me.”
She takes a sip from her tea, fussing with the coaster before continuing. “I married my first love. Don’t look so shocked. Your grandma tried to talk sense into me. She said her mom had forbidden her to marry her first love, and while she’d hated her for it at first, she came to realize it was the right thing. She loved your grandfather.”
I chew the inside of my cheek. As much as I want to blurt out that she may not have married her first love but she did have his baby, my brain pulls rank over my temper.
Mom takes another minisip. “She had a good life with him. You have a good life with Vale. He may not have been your first love, but I think he’s your forever, like Grandpa was for your grandma.”
She holds up a hand to stop me from arguing, and my mouth snaps shut, back teeth grinding in protest.
“You have enough of my stubbornness. If Simon had found you, you would have shut your brain down and listened to your heart. You would have done it because it was the opposite of what I would have encouraged you to do. I didn’t listen to my mom or my brain and here I am.” She sweeps her hands, indicating the grand house around her. “I, my dear daughter, have everything but love, despite marrying my first love. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen. There are plenty of people who marry young and live happily ever after. I wasn’t one of them, and I wanted to protect you.”
“If you’re so unhappy, why didn’t you leave?”
“Because I couldn’t. I didn’t know how. What would I be if I wasn’t married to your father?”
“You’d become whatever you wanted. And maybe you’d finally be happy.”
She moves the glass of tea half an inch to the left. “I may have been defiant, but I was never strong. And I still love your father.”
The woman in front of me holds no resemblance to the perfectly pressed mother I barged in on. And the fire I brought in with me has shriveled to smoldering embers.
The overwhelming loss sputters deep inside, and a desire I haven’t felt—haven’t allowed—in years, stirs. “But you are. I wish I had a smidgen of your strength.” I wait, hoping she’ll step from behind the counter, walk to me, and give me a hug. A big, soothing, maternal hug.
“You are far stronger than you give yourself permission to be.” She doesn’t walk around, doesn’t give me a hug, but she does open a door that’s been all but sealed shut.
“I don’t feel strong. I feel lost.”
“You have been. And that’s understandable. But it’s time for you to accept support from the people around you. That doesn’t make you weak.”
“What if Vale and I can’t get past this?”
“Do you want to get past it?”
I nod.
“Then do.” She waves away the unacceptable alternative.
Then do. If only it were that easy.
Thirty-one
Except to eat, sleep, and shower, I haven’t left the studio since the discussion with my mom.
Yesterday I’d called the hospital and talked to the nurse. Hank was being moved out of ICU, and she expected him back at Tower Oaks by the end of the weekend.
I want the horse done when I bring Hank to see his merry-go-round. That’s when I’ll tell him. That’s when I’ll be able to open my own door
“Okay, you need to sit quietly now and let those dry,” I say to the horse, nodding at his hooves. As if I’ve just completed a pedicure on him. As if he were going anywhere. “I need fresh air. I’m going for a run. You behave while I’m gone.”
I change clothes and send Sam a text to meet at the Sugary Spoon. That should give me plenty of time.
Sam is already there, sitting at an outdoor café table, a box at her feet.
“Hey, how are you feeling? Ohhh, did you bring me goodies from the boutique?” I kiss her cheek and paw at the box as I sit in the empty chair.
The box yelps, sending me backward, the iron chair screeching in response.
“Not exactly.” Sam leans forward and flips the top of the box open. Inside is a blanket piled up on the sides and, curled among the folds, is a tiny mass of quivering puppy. “Someone left him like this in front of the boutique. Can you imagine? I’m pretty sure he’s a basset.” She looks up, a mixture of sadness and anger flashing in her sea-blue eyes.
I reach into the box and pull out the puppy. He lets out a little harrumph, then, apparently deciding I’m okay, curls up in my arms and buries his head in the crook of my elbow.
His paws and ears are the biggest things on him. His long back is a patchwork of black and brown with freckled white folds at his neck. A squiggly stream of white from his forehead to his nose gives him a perplexed look.
“Oh my god, Sam. He’s so sweet.” I stroke his soft puppy fur.
“I’m glad you think so,” she says, eyeing the two of us. “I can’t keep him. I have my hands full these days between th
e boutique and Taylor and, pretty soon, the baby.”
I look from the sleeping bundle in my arms to my friend. “Ahh, Sam…?”
“Please, please, Maya? He’s so darn cute. And you said you wanted a dog.” She flashes a you-can’t-deny-me grin.
The puppy squirms in my arms and snorts in what must be quite some doggie dream. “I don’t know.”
“You want a puppy?”
“Yes. No. Yes.”
“Geez, Maya, wishy-washy much? I’m going to get us drinks while you two get to know each other better.”
Before I can protest, she disappears into the café.
I rearrange the puppy on my lap. He grunts, opens his eyes, and blinks at me. A yawn takes over his scrunched little face, and with another grunt, he balls in my lap, asleep. His trust in my ability to protect him warms me at the same time it scares me cold.
Sam returns with our drinks. She sighs into her paper cup, takes a sip, and pulls a disgusted face. “How did you stand this stuff?” She sucks in a gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, Maya, I’m sorry. That was stupid.”
I wave away the apology. The burning acid at the mention of my pregnancy has eased into a gnawing ache. With Sam pregnant, I’m going to have to get over myself. Finally.
“Stop apologizing.” I keep my eyes on the puppy. I don’t want Sam to see that it’s not okay. It will be, it just isn’t yet. And I can’t will it into being.
Except that sometimes it’s almost okay. Sometimes I almost forget that there’d been a person inside me, that I’d almost been totally, completely responsible for a tiny human being. Other times the terror of having been responsible for the tiny human inside me and my utter failure at protecting that human takes hold and leaves me gutted.
“I can’t, Sam.” I try to maneuver my arms from under the bundle of fur and wrinkles.
“You can.”
Tears burn my eyes. “What if I fail again?”
“You won’t fail now. You didn’t fail then.”
I blink at her. “Then what would you call what happened?”
“An accident.” She doesn’t back down.
“I should have known better. I did know better. What if I don’t do better with him?”
“What if you do?”
The mound in my lap repositions, and I realize I’ve cupped my hands around him protectively.
What if I do?
“What are you smirking at?” I mock glare at Sam.
Her grin spreads. “You.”
I lean forward and give the velvety head a kiss.
“What are you going to name him?”
“I still haven’t decided if I’m keeping him,” I respond, defiant with little conviction.
What if I can take care of him? After all, I’d been the one lobbying Vale that we should have a puppy, that it would be the perfect way to ease me back into the right mind-set.
“Fred.”
“Fred.”
Fred harrumphs.
On the way home, I stop at the pet store and spend a small fortune in puppy provisions. I’m congratulated by the clerks who help me, and by a lady with a Chihuahua in her handbag. I take a picture of Fred and text it to Vale.
“It’s a boy. Can we keep him?”
Although, technically, I really should have sent that text before spending all that money on doggie beds and toys and poop bags and a sampling of puppy food.
The reply comes surprisingly fast. “He’s cute. Looks like it’s a done deal. Don’t buy everything in the store.”
I look around, anxiety beating at my chest. How does he know I’m in a pet store? I fumble to type an answer and catch the bottom of the photo I sent. I mentally kick myself. I posed him on the child seat of the shopping cart. The words Pet Hut visible on the plastic seat back. “So Mommy isn’t very smart sometimes,” I confess to Fred, who barks and licks my nose.
Now that we’ve adopted a puppy, the future swirls in my vision. I want to ask Vale when he’ll be home, if he’s even coming home, if we’re going to be okay. I want to tell him about the horse and Hank, that I want to be strong. I want to ask if we’re staying or moving and is that why he said not to buy too much for the puppy? “How’s it going?” I type instead.
“Good. I’ll be back Friday.”
Fred leaps up and barks at a Weimaraner, who wags his stumpy butt in return. I recognize Max and his owner. We wave and he points at Fred, then gives me a thumbs-up. They disappear down the aisle of dried dog food, and I wheel the cart of puppy supplies to the car.
Thirty-two
Fred hears the car before I do and unleashes a high-pitched puppy alarm. His little butt quivers in an amusing contradiction to what he no doubt assumes are ferocious growls.
“Wow, Maya, you got yourself a guard dog. How cute.” Thomas high steps over the puppy, who’s yelping in excitement and jumping as high as his pudgy little legs can propel him.
“Isn’t he adorable? Can you believe someone dumped him in front of Sam’s boutique?” I scoop Fred up and cradle him like a baby in my arms. His little legs flop sideways, revealing a round baby belly.
I rub, and he grunts his approval.
“What?” I challenge Thomas, who’s watching me with an odd expression.
“I like this side of you. And yes, he is cute. The kids will go nuts over him.” Thomas scratches the puppy’s belly, which makes Fred squirm and grunt in ecstasy.
“So, brother dear, what brings you here?” Thomas pulls a pretend pout. “Oh stop.”
“I’m here to corral you for a family dinner. Since Vale is out of town, we thought it was the perfect opportunity.”
“We?”
“Come on, Maya, We haven’t had dinner, the four of us, in ages. We could use some family time.” Thomas jiggles the keys in his right hand and shifts his weight from left to right.
“What about Bree and the kids?”
“Nope, just us. Mom said she wants to talk to us about something important.”
Mom never calls for important family discussions. It was always Dad who blew the family-discussion bugle. Granted, Mom did most of the talking, but he was the ringmaster.
“Any idea what it’s about?” Our eyes meet in a rare sibling something’s-up moment. “Did Mom tell you I was there Wednesday?”
“She did.”
“Did she tell you what we talked about?”
He gives a nod-shake. “Why dredge up the past?” He sits by the worktable, picks up a handful of brushes, and swirls them against his palm.
I set Fred down and fold to sit on the floor next to the dog bed, where my new puppy has dropped in exhaustion. Being loved is hard work.
“I’m not dredging anything. The past found me.”
“Lame.”
I shoot him a look that’s about as fierce as Fred’s bark. “Don’t you ever wonder why things turned out the way they did?”
“No. We make our choices and we move on from there. Looking back won’t change the outcome.”
“But we can learn from the past.”
“True,” he concedes without budging. “But what do you expect to learn from Grandma’s past? Mom’s past? Even your own that will help you move forward?”
“How to be strong enough to let go of the past.”
“It’s in you, not in them. I don’t know what the story is with Grandma and Hank, but I do know that it doesn’t matter.”
“How can you say that?” Fred lifts his head and lets out a halfhearted bark.
“Because it doesn’t. Whatever was between them ended. Why and when is their story. Our story starts when she married Grandpa.”
He’s not wrong, except that our story and their story are connected. Their story started ours.
“Bree wasn’t your first girlfriend, but was she your first real love?”
He gives me an incredulous look. “Like true-love’s first kiss? With the woodland animals frolicking around us?”
“Don’t be a jerk.” Although I’m not surprised by his snark
. Heart-to-hearts were never our thing.
He sighs. “No, she wasn’t. I didn’t even want to date her at first. My college roommate was seeing her roommate. They kept trying to set us up. She was dating some theater dweeb who I’m sure was gay. And I was having entirely too much fun. Plus, she had a massive stick up her ass.”
I practically give myself whiplash looking up at him. “So how did you finally end up together?”
“Remember Thanksgiving my junior year, when Stu and I went skiing in Utah instead of coming home?” I nod. “The girls went with us. Stu and Amanda broke up two days into the trip and left. Guess without a reason to blow her off, I actually started enjoying Bree’s company. At least until we were on the plane going back to campus and she announced that we’d be getting married. Talk about ruining a fun weekend.”
I gawk.
“Snap it shut, Sis. It took until the month before summer break before I agreed to go out with her again.”
“Before you agreed?”
“Yup. She’d ask every couple of weeks.”
“Oh my god, really?” The idea of prissy, perfect Bree pursuing my brother doesn’t mesh my perception of the woman he’s married to.
“Really.”
“Why did you finally agree then?”
Thomas shrugs.
“How did I never know this?” I still can’t wrap my head around this alternate Bree.
“It’s not like this is a topic you and I talk about regularly. Touchy-feely isn’t what we do.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you’re a girl.” He breaks the last word into two syllables, sounding comically like Lumière from Beauty and the Beast.
“Be serious.”
“Beeee yourself.” He mimics Genie from Aladdin.
“You’re impossible.” But I can’t help laughing.
“Come on, we should get going. I may be the favorite heir, but she scares me.”
“Fine. But I’m bringing Fred.” I rub the soft belly and the puppy lets out a happy wriggle.
Thomas laughs. “I just hope for your sake he doesn’t piddle on Mom’s Persian rugs.”
“Good point. She’ll disown me.” I pretend to ponder this horror for a minute then pick Fred up so we’re nose-to-nose. “Hear that little one? I suggest the rug in the family room. It’s the largest and will be the hardest to send out for cleaning. It’ll make her extra cranky.”
