"Probably not," I said. Scatterbrained. So scatterbrained.
"Please do me a favor and get your special candies so you can calm the fuck down. I am going to give birth to two babies in the next few hours, preferably with my husband by my side, and I need you to turn all of this"—Magnolia waved both hands at my mother—"way down."
"Right, yes, okay." My mother dusted her arm off as she walked in another circle around the kitchen until she stopped at a cookie jar in the shape of a fat monk and plucked a small zip-top bag with a dozen purple jellies from inside. "Time to go, then!"
I grabbed the bag Magnolia pointed out near the door plus my mother's keys and phone, which were exactly where she'd left them after coming in from the market not long ago. "Yep. Time to go."
29
Jasper
I stared down at my phone for a long moment before tapping the icon beside my mother's number. Since leaving the NCVC offices—a former electronics store in a semi-abandoned strip mall—this evening, I'd fought off the nagging urge to call my mom. I never felt this way. I couldn't remember a single moment in the past twenty years when I'd needed my mother but I knew, for reasons that made no sense, I needed her right now.
I stared out at the tarmac and the workers in reflective gear that flashed back at me as the call rang. I hated taking red-eye flights. I hated half sleeping and half waking in a different time zone, and then pretending I was a functional human. I hated it but I hated my overwhelmingly beige hotel room more. I didn't want to stay in Sacramento another night.
"Hello? Jasper?"
"Mom," I said, tears immediately burning my eyes for no good reason. "I hope it's not too late to call."
"No, it's only a bit after ten and anyway, it's never too late," she said. "Are you flying in or out tonight?"
My mother knew airport noises the way I knew congressional districts. Another two minutes of her listening to the noises behind me and she'd be able to name the airport right down to the terminal and concourse. "Out. Heading back to Boston. I'm in Sacramento. There was an interview."
That felt like an appropriate description of the events. There was an interview. I was not interviewed. I was systematically backed into corners with questions that reached a little too far into confidential territories and repeatedly chided into sharing specific details about my work on previous campaigns. But hey, I blabbed about my former boss's bathroom habits on cable news. As far as they were concerned, nothing was sacred with me.
"Oh! I wish you'd told me! I could've flown down and taken you out to dinner."
Only my mother would think a flight from Seattle to Sacramento was a reasonable commute for dinner. "No, it's okay. I was tied up most of the day."
"Another time, then," she said, and it was obvious she didn't know what to do with me now.
She'd never really known but she'd tried and I gave her credit for that. She'd tried so hard even when everything was stacked against her. Even when her options were impossible. She'd tried and she did the best she could with the loss and devastation life handed her.
"I'm trying my best," I said, a wave of tears threatening to streak down my cheeks. God, I didn't want to cry in the middle of this airport. I just wanted to hold it together a bit longer. Just a bit. "I'm trying to do the right thing but nothing is working."
"It's going to work, honey. I'm sure of it. You've always tried so very hard, even when you were too young for anyone to expect that of you." She paused but I didn't respond because all the tears would fall and I'd sob and I didn't want that. I didn't want to be the person who cried on the phone in the middle of the airport. I didn't want to be the person who fell apart all the fucking time. "Why don't you come up to Seattle tonight? I'll make a call and change your itinerary, and we can have a day together."
I shook my head when I heard her typing. "Do you remember Halloween? That last one we spent on base?"
The typing stopped but there was a moment before she spoke. "I'll never forget it."
I let out a watery laugh. "See, that's my problem. I can't remember it. All I know is we had a good day."
She hummed in agreement. "It was a great day. All the families on base worked together to organize activities for the kids. Your father was in strong spirits too. You're right. It was one of the good days."
"Did we have a family costume? Something like that? I keep thinking we did but I don't recall what it was."
She laughed, saying, "We tried. I'll tell you, we tried but you wanted no part of it. Every year, I came up with a new costume and everything would be set but when it came time to dress up, you pitched a fit."
"That sounds nothing like me."
"Toddler Jasper was just as determined and stubborn as grown-up Jasper," she said. "That's how your father and I ended up dressed as Fred and Wilma Flintstone and you wore that sweet little black cat costume from Auntie Midge. The one you wore three years in a row."
An announcement sounded for my flight. "I don't remember any of that."
"You were a baby. You wouldn't. But you loved that costume. It didn't matter what season it was, you wanted to be that cat. You asked me to draw whiskers on your face all the time. A pink nose too." She laughed softly. "You loved the costume like crazy, even if it did ruin my plans year after year."
I shook my head. I didn't know what to do with any of this. "Mom, I have to go."
"I can get you on a flight," she said. "You can always come here, Jasper. I know I don't say that enough and my shifts never align with your work but there is always space in my life for you. Always."
I reached down for the handle of my carry-on bag. "I know, Mom."
"I want you to visit me, Jasper. Maybe not tonight but sometime soon. I'm certain I can find photos from that Halloween for you."
"I'm not sure what my—" I stopped myself before using my almighty schedule as a shield for the millionth time. I didn't have a schedule anymore. I didn't have anything but a gaping hole in my chest where my heart should've been because he didn't ask me to stay, and the ever-present sense I was missing out on something important that everyone else seemed to find without trouble. "I am not sure where I'm going. In my life. At all. I don't know what I'm doing."
Another announcement for my flight rang out but there were plenty of people lined up to board. I had a few more minutes.
After a beat, she said, "I needed to give myself permission to start over. I didn't think I was allowed to do that. I didn't think I could when I was a mother and in my mid-thirties but I realized I had to do it to save myself and save you too. I had to convince myself that starting over didn't mean I'd forgotten your father or that I didn't still love him dearly. It didn't mean the life we'd lived wasn't worth treasuring. It meant it was time for me to go in a new direction and I couldn't persecute myself over that choice. I couldn't hate myself for walking away from things that hurt me."
I didn't know what I was supposed to say. I sniffled. "Mmhmm."
"It's okay to change your life, Jasper. It's okay for it to be messy and it's okay to wonder if you've ruined it all."
"What if I actually have ruined it all?"
"That's just not possible, honey. It's not. You have so much ahead of you. Learn from the past but leave it there while you build a life that brings you joy and peace."
"I don't know how to do that," I snapped, angry for no good reason.
She laughed, gentle and rueful, and said, "Figure out what doesn't make you happy. Start there. Make a list. You've always loved your lists. Then, get rid of all that shit. Or as much as you can without going to prison for tax evasion. You'll figure out soon enough what you want."
"What if I mess that up too? What if I never get it right?"
"Then you live a life filled with new experiences. There's no limit on the number of acts in your play. You get as many as you want. You just have to keep getting on stage."
The final boarding call for my flight gave me a minute to dry my tears and take a breath before responding.
&nb
sp; "If you're going to Boston tonight, you need to get on that flight," she said.
"I am," I replied, shuffling toward the gate. "I'm going."
"Call me in the morning. I have two shifts next week but I can visit the week after that, if you want. Or you can come here. I'll fly you out. There's always a place for you here."
"I know, Mom. Thank you."
"You're going to make the choices that are right for you, Jasper. I believe that."
I stepped into the short line of passengers waiting to board. "Why do you believe that? How do you know?"
"Because I know what it sounds like when you're in the middle of a storm and you can't see the hand in front of your face. And I know you're in that storm now. It's different than mine but it's still a god-awful storm. I know it and I know you, and I know you'll make it through."
I drew in a long, shuddering breath and decided I didn't care if I walked onto this plane with tears all over my face. I just didn't care. I was sad and lonely, and lost in a world where I used to know my place, my spot. My feet hurt and I knew I wasn't going to sleep tonight, and I wanted to call Linden and ask him why he didn't ask me to stay but I wouldn't. I couldn't.
"I love you, Mom."
"Love you too, honey. Call me tomorrow?"
"I will." I handed the gate agent my boarding pass and proceeded down the jetway. "Thanks for listening."
"Thanks for talking," she said pointedly.
I sighed. "I know I've been bad about—"
"Let's stop beating ourselves up tonight, okay? You've been doing what you needed to do and you don't owe me an explanation. Go easy on yourself. You deserve it."
"Good night, Mom."
"Good night, Jasper."
When I made my way to my seat, I grabbed a notebook from my bag along with the flannel shirt I'd nabbed from Linden the other day because I was mad at him and wanted him to think of me every time he went looking for it. I draped the shirt over my shoulders like a shawl and flipped to a fresh page in my book.
I stared at it, pen poised over the paper, for a ridiculously long time. Long enough that I had to stow it in the seat-back pocket during takeoff and wait until the plane leveled off to return it to my lap. I stared at it through the beverage service and through half a bag of Cheez-Its, and then I wrote: The Person I Want to Be Now.
30
Linden
There was something about the sun on crisp November mornings. It cut through the clouds at harsh angles and pierced the thick fog in a way that made those lazy billows glow. Mornings like these made me feel quiet yet very much alive.
Maybe it had nothing to do with November or glowy fog but everything to do with a long night spent celebrating the safe arrival of my new nephews. Add in the stress of driving my sister to the hospital in rush hour while she whisper-screamed at her husband to get the hell home as rapidly as he could manage and the past eighteen hours were some of the craziest of my life.
It didn't end at getting her to the hospital—and then collecting Rob from the airport because an hour-long flight bested a nearly four-hour train ride in this situation. It was then, after Rob and Magnolia were reunited but before the babies arrived, that my sister remembered we'd forgotten her Boston terrier back at my parents' house. Since my father was within twenty minutes of the city—he'd been golfing with his phone off and last to hear the news—I volunteered to drive back to New Bedford, fetch the dog called Rob Gronkowski, and ferry him back to Boston where he'd spend the next few days with Ash and Zelda before meeting his little brothers.
That was Magnolia's expression, not mine.
Once Zelda and I had the pup situated, we got word the babies had arrived and all involved were healthy. The hospital kicked everyone out—including my mother, who'd pulled herself out of the scatterbrained spiral just in time—and my father decided this called for a celebratory dinner. That led to a great deal of confusion since my parents were at the hospital, Ash was at the office, and Zelda and I were at their apartment.
I'd call it a clusterfuck but the entire day had been a clusterfuck of proportions I'd never imagined.
Eventually, we circled up at a steakhouse my parents favored. There was champagne, probably more than made sense for the occasion but that didn't slow anyone down. There was steak, a perfectly reasonable amount for any occasion. And there were stories. So many stories. The day Ash, Magnolia, and I were born. The day our parents took us home. The day we wouldn't stop crying, not a single one of us, and the day Ash and I crawled under the living room sofa and stayed dead silent while our mother went nuts trying to find us.
It was a night well spent but there wasn't a single minute where Jasper's absence didn't stab at my sides. Where I didn't have to choke down the desire to turn to her, reach for her, whisper something private into her honeyed hair.
I wanted to share this with her. I wanted to fill her champagne flute again and again and tell stories with her. I wanted to pass out in Ash's guest room with her in my arms. I didn't want to do this or anything else alone. I wanted her here and I knew that made me a greedy bastard but I couldn't help it. I'd tried. I'd tried since sending her on her way to California but I couldn't do it anymore.
The only thing I wanted to do—aside from chasing away this throbby champagne headache—was feel sorry for myself. It was a selfish answer to a selfish problem but I didn't care. I'd shower and dress, chug some coffee and feed myself anything but toast, and slog through my day with all the self-pity I wanted.
It seemed only fair, considering Jasper was long gone. I hadn't heard from her in—well, I wasn't sure how long it had been since the days were a blur of babies and dogs and strange dreams but it was long enough to know she'd moved on. I was sure of it.
Except—
I came to a hard stop in the middle of my street, right where the dogleg bend opened up to reveal the pair of cottages at the end of the cul-de-sac and Jasper's old station wagon parked at a drunken angle in the driveway.
I stared at it for a long moment, blinking to make sure I wasn't hallucinating from the hangover, the adrenaline, the terrible nights of sleep I'd managed since letting her go. I blinked again and no, no, I was not hallucinating. Yet I didn't trust any of this. There were plenty of reasons for her to be here. It meant nothing. It couldn't.
I told myself this but I parked in my driveway and marched straight into her yard, not stopping for anything.
The front door stood open and I glanced inside. She'd abandoned her shoes and carry-on bag in the entryway. I decided that meant nothing. Same with the vague thumping I heard coming from the direction of the back bedroom. She could be packing the last of her things or knocking down a wall, or anything in between. That was how Jasper operated.
Part of me didn't want to find out. I didn't have the stomach to walk away from her again.
I followed the sounds of the low thuds until I found myself in the doorway to her little bedroom. It was such a sliver of a space, though I couldn't focus on that, not when Jasper was busy throwing shoes into an open-top box with bananas printed on the sides. At first glance, it seemed like she was packing, but this wasn't packing. It was demolition.
"Hey. The door was open," I said.
She turned, two different shoes in each hand. "I don't want these anymore," she said, her dark eyes brimming with as much determination as I'd ever seen them.
I shoved my hands in my pockets. It was all I could do to keep myself from reaching for her. "Okay."
She chucked the shoes into the box. "I don't want any of them. I don't want to need high heels to feel powerful."
"Fuck the shoes. You're already powerful."
"I don't want to do this anymore." She stared at the box of shoes and the clothes she'd piled on the bed. "I don't want to be a nightmare. I don't want to be known for that." She blinked up at me, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. I fisted my hands in my pockets. "I don't want to go to California. I don't want the job. I don't want any job like that one. I don't want to win at any
cost and I don't want to sell my dirty tricks. I don't know when I stopped being that person but I don't want to go back."
"You don't have to." I had a million questions but there was only one I really needed her to answer right now. "What do you want?"
Jasper thumbed away her tears and turned toward the bed where she rifled through the clothes heaped there. From somewhere near the bottom, she produced a notebook. If I knew anything about Jasper, I knew that book was full of lists.
She flipped through the pages, saying, "I spent all night on that."
"Is that how long the front door has been open?"
She shook her head. "I landed in Boston at six this morning." She stopped at the right page and glimpsed at me before reading, "I want to have friends who are unrelated to my job. I want to surround myself with people who care about me and don't measure my value by the access or information I can grant them. I want a job that means something to me but not one that means everything. I want to wear clothes I find comfortable, not those that function as armor or intimidation. I want to get some hobbies and I don't care if I'm very bad at them." She glanced up from the book. "While I am very bad at baking and home renovation, I don't think either of them qualify as hobbies I want to continue."
"That's understandable." I bobbed my head as a smile pulled up one corner of my mouth. "Anything else?"
She nodded, saying, "I want a community of my own, a place that's mine because I choose it, not because I'm stuck with it. I want to let myself rely on people, even when that's scary. I want a home that people want to visit because it's so happy and welcoming. I want to belong somewhere and to someone. I want to start a family and have a baby or two, and I don't want to wait until everything is perfectly right to do it. I've waited so long and I don't think I can wait anymore. Actually, no. I can't wait. I know that."
I stepped into the room, edged the banana box of shoes aside as I went. "You're not going to California."
The Belle and the Beard Page 33
