I Liked My Life

by Abby Fabiaschi

  I think John thought if we tortured each other a little longer we’d eventually end up back to normal. Or maybe he assumed he could bring me back to life, even though I wasn’t interested in being revived. Either way, he was wrong and he knows it. If his father hadn’t forbidden him to date me, he would’ve ended it already. Are there any parents out there who learned anything from Romeo and Juliet? Hello? Pay attention. Shakespeare knew his shit.

  Every night starts the same freaking way. John says, “Do you want to go to the party at so-and-so’s?” Tonight everyone is at Doug’s.

  I say, “No, but you can. We can get together tomorrow or whatever.”

  He turns on a pathetic voice. “I’m not going without you.”

  It’s like dating a rash. “So I guess you’re not gonna go, but I really don’t mind if you do.”

  Eventually I pick him up at whatever friend’s house is his cover story. My long wait in the driveway makes it obvious the short stint before I arrive is the highlight of his night. When he finally shows, I endure a full gossip rundown, as if I care. Tonight Jake dumping Kara is the headline.

  “She’s been showing up already wasted and ends every night bawling or puking. It’s nasty.”

  “Oh.”

  “I don’t blame Jake for being over her, but he was a dick about it. He’s telling everyone if he wanted to date a lightweight he’d find a freshman.”

  “Oh.”

  “Kara’s been a shit show, but she’s obviously going through something.”

  I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”

  There’s nothing Kara could possibly be going through that trumps what I’m going through. John is silenced by my indifference. I can’t tell if he gets it or thinks I’ve turned into a raging bitch, but I know he’s miserable, and I don’t have space in my head or heart to care.

  I wait until the movie ends and the TV is off to say, “I guess we should stop pretending this is working.”

  “Yeah.” For the amount of emotion in the room I might as well have said, “Pass the Doritos.”

  “I know things changed when your mom died, but it doesn’t have to stay different forever,” he says after a minute.

  I bite my lip. “I don’t miss it the way you think I do. I’m not, like, sinking into depression. I just have different priorities.”

  “I wish I was one of them.”

  “Me too.”

  In some ways I mean it. There are times when I would return to my old self-absorbed existence if I could. It was easier being clueless. But I don’t think a person can go back like that. Now that I see a bigger picture, how can I possibly hang out and stare at the little one?

  John stands to leave and I remember I’m his ride. I’ve always sucked at timing. We drive with the radio loud to cover up the fact that there’s nothing left to say. After getting out of the car, John hangs over the open door. “You know she loved you, right?” It takes me a second to process the pronoun—she not I. I can’t speak without crying so I just sit there, looking straight ahead. “It wasn’t your fault,” he says before shutting the door.

  I hold my breath until he turns toward his house, then I bawl. I might not be the reason she jumped, but I wasn’t enough to keep her here. I was an afterthought to her, when she was my everything.

  * * *

  The bell dings for the third time of the day, marking the end of the last camp session.

  It’s weird to put words to, but I’m grateful the accident happened because it brought me to this place, where five hours a day I focused on other people’s problems instead of my own. I’m probably the first person on the planet who’ll miss mandatory community service.

  Robin calls everyone to the parking lot to share a camp highlight. I make my way to Kathleen so we can walk together. “I smell you coming, Eve,” she says.

  “If anyone else said that, I’d take it as an insult.” She laughs.

  “Okey dokey,” Robin says, once the wheelchairs and children have been maneuvered into a misshapen circle. “Who wants to kick things off?”

  Kathleen’s arm shoots in the air as she shouts, “Eve was the best part of camp this year!” A bunch of other kids nod and clap. My heart flutters. Maybe I’ll be a teacher. I can almost picture it—reaching out to kids who are struggling, like Rory has to me. The thought freezes me: It’s the first time I’ve considered a future without my mom in it.

  The circle moves clockwise from Kathleen. The other four delinquents pass on sharing to Robin’s visible relief. When it comes back around to me, I pause, thinking of all the things I wish I’d said to my mom when I had the chance. I don’t want to keep living a life where I pass.

  “I came here hoping I could be of help,” I say, “but you all ended up helping me.”

  “What a perfect reflection to end our two weeks together,” Robin says. “Time for a group hug.”

  That first day I would’ve been distracted by the kids’ disabilities and assumed a group hug impossible, but now I link arms with Kathleen, and we fan out to the people on either side, me scooching down to Hanna’s wheelchair, careful not to catch the ventilator tubes, and Kathleen linking arms with a boy using a walking brace.

  The energy in the circle is indescribable—there is power in the act of us all leaning on each other. I can feel it.

  An impatient parent beeps the horn, ending the moment. I herd the kids where they need to be, amazed that I know every parent by name.

  Once the campers are gone, Robin jogs to me in the parking lot with her huge smile and famous clipboard. “Any interest in signing up for next year?”

  “Sure thing.” I write my name on the top line of an otherwise blank list.

  “You surprised us all, Eve. The first day everyone was skeptical, but a voice in my head told me to stick it out, and you grew into it. Camp Ray needed help and you delivered.”

  “I needed Camp Ray too,” I admit for a second time.

  She puts her sacred clipboard on the ground and wraps an arm around my shoulder in a half hug. “I had a pretty crappy hand dealt to me too,” she says. “Nothing cures a chip on the shoulder like giving back goodness.”

  I’ve wondered all summer if Robin knew my story; I guess that answers my question. We hug right there in the middle of the parking lot.

  Brady

  I can’t stop thinking about my mother. If she loved Phillip so much, why didn’t they marry? What happened to those kids? Why did she love them as her own when they weren’t? Why couldn’t she love me when I was? Her secrecy compels me to learn more about the story.

  I let Eve in on it, forking over the journal entry about her grandmother’s mysterious life. Maddy used to say the key to earning respect is vulnerability. “It’s easier to admire people who put themselves out there,” she explained. I didn’t challenge her at the time, but in the business world you earn respect with killer execution. Now I see that while Maddy’s strategy wouldn’t work in an office setting, mine sure as hell doesn’t work on Eve. So I put myself out there, hoping Eve will take comfort in the idea that my mom had skeletons too.

  Her eyes illuminate with intrigue. I’ve been unwittingly living with a CIA agent. I laugh as she dives in, scanning a copy of the journal entry, saying she’ll have “a lead” by the time I get back from my run. And she actually does, sort of. I return, dripping sweat, to a bombardment of questions.

  “Where was Grandma born?”

  “Virginia.”

  “And she lived there her whole life?”

  “Far as I know.” Which turns out isn’t much …

  “What year did your parents marry?”

  My jaw slackens. “Let’s see, Dad was twenty-eight, so that’d mean they were … married in … 1962.”

  “That was kind of slow for a CFO,” she jokes.

  “I’m not the one getting tutored in math.”

  She crosses her arms. “You say it like I’m getting tutored ’cause I failed a class. I’m getting tutored to get a year ahead in one summer.”

>   “Touché,” I concede. “Now what, Detective?”

  “Well, there’s a surprising number of Goldfarbs out there and we can’t assume they’re still in Virginia, but I found this site where you pay a fee to look up the U.S. Public Records Index. That’s all the information we would need. Should I do it?”

  “How much does it cost?”

  “Two hundred dollars.”

  I whistle. “That’s steep.” Truthfully, I enjoy seeing her interested in something. As my running stamina improves, I have less and less time at the house, so we’ve barely spoken all week. “Do you think we should do it?”

  “I do. I mean, Grandma was always so sad. I’d love to meet people who knew her differently.” It’s fascinating Eve remembers my mother as sad; Maddy and I always referred to her as cold. Kids are in a unique position to be perceptive—life hasn’t muddied their take yet.

  Eve keeps on her sales pitch. “And who knows? Maybe we’ll connect with Marie and Paul. I mean, they’re not really family, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

  I try not to be offended. “Who’s begging?”

  “You know what I mean. Aside from Aunt Meg, Lucy, and Uncle Dan, it’s just us. I always used to daydream about having a big family.”

  Her words punch me. “You did? Mom and I thought you’d hate sharing attention. It was one of the things that softened the blow of—” I hesitate to finish the sentence, but if I want a real relationship with Eve, I have to be real. She’s seventeen. “You know, I don’t think we ever told you this, but we couldn’t have more kids.”

  The memory comes with a giant what if …

  We wanted more. When Eve turned two, we started trying. When she was three, we went to a specialist—shot after shot, temperature-taking after testing after tears. It broke my heart each month when Maddy announced our failure, which she perceived as her failure. By the time we were ready to consider adoption, Eve was almost six and we were settled into our lifestyle. Maddy regretted that decision later. Shortsighted, she called it. I wonder how it would’ve changed things if we had an eleven-year-old right now. Would Maddy still be gone? Was there not enough keeping her here?

  “Good thing it didn’t work out,” Eve says, answering my unspoken question. “Could you imagine if we were stuck raising a kid right now?” Talk about the devil’s advocate. Does that make Eve a pessimist or a realist?

  “Let’s check into this thing, Dad. If nothing else, we’ll learn more about Grandma.”

  “Okay.” She takes my credit card and I head to the shower.

  When I return to the kitchen for dinner, Eve has a match. Not right away, but by searching under different variations, she found an Anna Marie Watson born January 3, 1952, at Providence Hospital in Washington, D.C., to Sandra Watson and Phillip Goldfarb. Eve called information, but there was no one by that name in the greater D.C. area.

  I think of Bobby. His brother is in the FBI. Maybe he could dig something up. I can tell Eve is pleased with my resourcefulness, so I call him right then, with her by my side. I’m racking up brownie points on this one.

  “I’ve been meaning to call you, Brady,” Bobby says after a quick hello. I can tell by the drag of his words that he’s a few beers in.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah, I’m a real asshole, you know that?”

  “Yeah, Bobby, me too. Listen, I’m calling for a favor.”

  “Anything, man. You’re my best friend. I never tell you that, but it’s true. And I’m sorry about Madel—”

  I cut him off with the reason for my call. He’s confused why I care since we aren’t biologically related, but agrees to look into it and get back to me. It doesn’t sound promising, but Eve is happy, so I’m happy.

  It hits me that she’s probably been lonely. I’ve been neglecting her again. Maybe I can forgive myself for holding back in relationships with my mother and wife if I can salvage the one with my daughter. It’s certainly better than going zero for three.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Madeline

  It’s bizarre to watch Brady, Rory, and Eve seated at my dining-room table, the tableau of a happy family. I have to remind myself I wanted this.

  Eve shows off by setting the table with linens and candlelight, serving baked salmon with a lemon caper sauce, and using random curse words in her stories. She’s playing the part of the hostess, treating Rory as a peer now that she doesn’t relate to her high-school friends. Both Brady and Rory allow the performance—Brady because there’s a guest in the house and Rory because she understands why Eve is doing it.

  I pester Brady’s subconscious with carnal thoughts. I start simple, saying things like She’s beautiful and I wonder if she’s attached, but eventually my dark humor kicks in and I funnel down things like Don’t you want to see her naked? and Try not to get a hard-on in front of your daughter. He’s alarmed by this internal chatter, but chalks it up to not having sex in so long.

  “So, how’s calculus going?” Brady asks as everyone sits down. He looks sharp. I lured him into wearing his best-fitting dark jeans with a gray button-down shirt. He wouldn’t remove his wedding ring, but he did brush the gel from his hair, giving him a softer, more casual air.

  “Great,” Rory answers when Eve doesn’t. “I think we’ll finish by the end of the month, which is no small task.”

  “Can we please not talk about it?” Eve sulks. “Sorry, but taking a class during the summer is a pain in the ass.”

  Brady isn’t looking for a fight. “Fine,” he agrees. “Rory, are you originally from the area?”

  She smiles before answering and the whole room relaxes. Rory’s smile is as contagious as a long yawn. “Yes. Well … Boston. But I went out west to Pepperdine for school, and lived there until about ten years ago.”

  The house phone rings. Brady gets up to answer it while Rory and Eve distribute food. They hear him going back and forth with whoever is on the line, but can’t make out any details until the end when, in a voice loud enough to infer he’s talking over someone, Brady says, “Christie, I understand you’re worried, but of course I’m sure. I’d know if Kara was at my house.”

  He reenters the dining room shaking his head. “Eve, you don’t know where Kara Anderson is, right?”

  Eve laughs—she hasn’t seen Kara since the last day of school—but I worry. Given the circumstances of our last interaction, I momentarily ditch my family to make sure she’s okay. I focus my energy until I find her alone on a dock at her aunt and uncle’s cabin north of the city. There’s a fifth of Captain Morgan propped against her side, but she’s subdued. She won’t do anything but pass out and be hunted by mosquitoes tonight. I leave her and return to the most important dinner party of my death.

  Brady sends Eve a decisive look of warning in response to whatever happened during my absence. “Where were we?” he says, recharging the conversation. “Oh yeah, Pepperdine in southern California. Beautiful area, especially this time of year. Do you miss it?”

  “Not so much.”

  Brady chuckles at her unexpected negativity. Rory is someone you expect to deliver only sunshine and roses. It’s why I picked her. “I enjoyed it while I was there, but I’m a New Englander at heart. I came back to be closer to my family, and I’m thankful for the time I had with my parents. My brother is here too, so that’s good. Well, mostly.” She winks at Eve, who is happy to be in on the joke. “What about you, where are you from?”

  Eve, looking for a way into the conversation, answers on Brady’s behalf. “We’ve lived in Massachusetts my entire life. It gets duller every year. I plan to go away for college though. Maybe Texas.”

  Brady puts his fork down and looks at Eve, trying to gauge how serious she is. “I didn’t know that,” he says, unable to hide his disappointment.

  “Well, you still have time to think about it,” Rory intervenes. “Apply widely. That way you’ll have choices. I remember wanting to go to Florida, but my mom convinced me the hurricanes would be a nightmare. When I got to California,
I discovered earthquakes. There are advantages and disadvantages to every location.”

  “And Boston is rich with options,” Brady says. “I don’t know if you’d agree, Rory, but I was envious of people who were a car ride from home, especially on the weekends when I needed to do laundry.” His obvious sales pitch gives Eve another opportunity to be controversial. She ignores my guidance to stand down.

  “I’m surprised you’re so totally emotional about the idea of Texas. I thought you’d enjoy the space. Then you could go for long runs with Mrs. Dundel or whatever.”

  Of all the times for Eve to bring up what she thought she saw three weeks ago, I cannot believe she picked tonight. It’s sabotage. If only I had more recourses at my disposal. I wouldn’t mind zapping her with a bout of explosive diarrhea to get Brady and Rory some time alone.

  Brady takes the heat well, calmly wiping his mouth with his napkin. “I don’t go for runs with Susan Dundel, first of all, and more importantly, I’m going to miss you a lot when you leave for New Hampshire in September, not to mention college next year.” He tenses his lips to not tear up.

  “I bet you didn’t think you’d be saying that two months ago.” Eve tries to pull it off as a joke, but her bitchy tone transmits hostility, making it easier for Brady to suppress his rising emotions. Our girl is on a mission to be memorable.

  I’ve seen her this petulant only once before, about a year ago. She’d invited a handful of friends over after a tennis match, including two very popular seniors. They were hungry and wanted pizza, so Eve screamed for me from the kitchen. When I appeared—which I only did because I thought something was gravely wrong—she told me, with assumed authority, to “get your credit card because everyone is starving.” I told her to meet me in the living room, alone. When she got there, without the comfort of her army present, she apologized before I even spoke. I had her send the friends home and go to her room. That was the end of that.

  Brady responds more subtly to Eve’s rebellion. “There certainly have been a lot of changes in our lives lately.” He pauses to sip his wine. “I understand that’s true for you too, Rory. I was sorry to hear about your recent loss.” Rory offers a closed-mouth smile and quiet thank you. “Eve said it was a beautiful service.”