The Color of Us

by Jessica Park

  “Can Shally hang out with you today? We’re doing demo with another one of Paul’s crews, and I’m always afraid someone’s gonna throw a bathtub out of a second-story window or demolish a deck without warning. God forbid he’s underfoot.”

  “Of course.”

  His mouth wanders across my neck, kissing me, licking my skin, tasting me, but then he groans. “Ugh. I really have to get ready.” He hops out of bed and starts for the shower. “By the way, your mom was a beast last night. I didn’t know she had it in her.”

  “I hope she didn’t go too far,” I start.

  He shakes his head. “No. She and Paul did what I couldn’t do. They’re both tougher than I am.”

  “Doubtful.” I sit up. “Hey, do you want breakfast? I could make you something.”

  He’s too upbeat, too happy.

  “Nah, I’m good. But can you feed Shallots? Then, I’ll drop you at your place.”

  “Of course.”

  On the ride home, he blasts Def Leppard’s live version of “Armageddon It” so loudly that it’s impossible to talk, which I think is the purpose of the volume. While it’s entertaining to see him use the steering wheel as a drum set and I laugh at his lip-syncing and sitting dance moves, I also know that no one who has been through what he has could possibly be this happy. Yet I cannot argue with his need to escape right now.

  When he reaches my house, I lower Shallots to the gravel and circle around the truck to kiss him. “See you tonight?”

  “Of course!” The music cranks back up as he flies away.

  The house smells like a bakery, and I find still-warm blueberry muffins in a tin on the stovetop. Though perplexed, I grab two and fill mugs with the fresh coffee in the carafe. I wander around the house until I find Mom outside on my beloved back porch.

  “Hey. Did you make these muffins?”

  “Hey back. And I did. It was hard to resist those blueberries from the farm. You probably don’t remember, but I used to bake a lot.”

  I hand her a cup and a muffin and sit down.

  We watch the water flow and the sun continue to rise before she asks, “How is Danny?”

  I wish I had a better answer. “Too happy.”

  “I get that.” She nods.

  The creek’s water travels and gurgles in front of me. Its sounds are rhythmic and soothing, yet they bring me to tears.

  “This is all going to kick his ass.”

  “Yes, it is. But you’ll be there for him.” She tastes the muffin and follows with a sip of coffee. “Damn, I’m still a decent baker, huh?”

  After I try a bite, I have to agree. “Maybe we can make dinner together tonight?”

  “I’ll try to keep up with you, but sure.”

  “You’ll keep up with me.”

  By now, I know my path on the creek’s stones by heart, and I slip off the deck and balance on rocks and enjoy the rush of the water. “As you brought up the other night, we really are lot more alike than I ever thought, but it’s nice to find that out.”

  “We are.”

  “What about Erica?” My feet step from rock to rock.

  “What about her?”

  “I mean, I don’t really have a relationship with her, but you always have. Why? I don’t get it.”

  She rolls up her pants and joins me in walking over rocks and through the cold water, and she relishes in the moments of soaking her feet in the deep cold more than I do before she plants herself on two smooth surfaces and finds balance. “I love her because she’s my daughter. She found herself in LA, and she’s happy there. I know you don’t respect her or understand her. I accept that you might never have a relationship with her. The way she paints her face? Her makeup tutorials and her online presence? It isn’t particularly meaningful, and it’s not anything like what Danny does, but she has her followers, and she’s found her place.”

  “So, that crazy contouring makeup shit of hers is still popular?”

  “Still as viral as ever.”

  “I’m not sure that I’m ever going to be close with Erica,” I admit. “I’m sorry about that. We’re at least talking now though. Texting a bit. Not something that I ever would have predicted. Maybe it’s a bit of groundwork, but I don’t know.”

  “That makes me so happy. But no pressure, okay?” Mom takes a few more steps over the rocks. “I also don’t really have a connection with Erica. It might look like we have one, but we don’t really. It’s always easy to like her makeup posts.” She hops onto another stone and pauses. “My connection with her has never been complicated because it’s never had the potential that ours does.”

  Hearing her mention our potential makes me so damn happy.

  “So, maybe my relationship with her should be next up on my apparent family-repair tour,” my mom continues. “Hey? How about we hurl ourselves into that gorgeous lake before I have to leave tomorrow?”

  I scrape myself up from last night’s haze and my poor sleep. “I’m in.”

  Our leaps off the dock make wonderful noise, and we throw splashes and laughter around.

  I watch as she turns to float on her back, barely moving, blissfully letting the soft current blow her body where it wants. Just a few feet here or there, but she’s surrendering to those small pushes, and I know how awesome that feels.

  After swimming, drifting on floaties, finding time to talk, and also finding time to say nothing, I ask, “Mind if I head into the kitchen? I’m thinking about prepping lunch. Brie, avocado, turkey, tomato, and spicy aioli on sourdough. Sound okay?”

  “I’m ordering a hundred!” My mom splashes about.

  After I call out that lunch is ready, she’s seated at one of the picnic tables very quickly, and it’s so cool to see her pump a fist as she chomps through the first few bites.

  Before I ask what I want to—need to—I let both of us enjoy our food and wait until we are finishing up. “Mom? Last night? With Andie?”

  She sighs and shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I was so proud of you.”

  She looks confused by my response. “You were?”

  “Of course. Because you didn’t just fight for Danny.”

  While she isn’t able to look at me, she does nod.

  “And you really put Andie in her place. She deserved every word you said.”

  “My tirade might have been slightly alcohol-fueled. You know, just possibly. But I was truthful.”

  “I love you for that.” I pause. “For so many other things, too.”

  “And I love you too.” She takes another bite of her sandwich, and it takes her a minute of chewing and happy sounds before she adds, “Also everything you have fed me and will feed me.”

  “Just wait. I’ve got about a hundred more recipes that I want to try out.”

  “I’m ready. The one thing I regret is that Danny is probably not a big fan of mine now, but I’m still a big fan of his.”

  “The total opposite. He called you a beast, and he wants to come for dinner tonight, so I wouldn’t worry.”

  As if approving of my words, Shallots trots in, demanding snuggles. “Beast probably isn’t the worst thing I’ve been called,” she says with a laugh. “Okay, so then, what are we going to cook for dinner? Do we need to run out?”

  “Already ahead of you. The seafood section of Wake’s store isn’t what it could be, so I again had stuff shipped in. I’m on a Julia Child kick these days, so I thought we could do a full-on bouillabaisse, complete with a rouille to stir in at the end.”

  “I don’t understand anything you said, but I’m up for it.”

  “It’s a seafood soup with mussels, shrimp, and cod in a tomato broth, and you serve it with a concentrated mayonnaise made up of breadcrumbs, garlic, red peppers, parsley, and stuff. That is supposed to add a final kick to the dish.”

  “Oh, that sounds heavenly. Clams would probably work well, too, huh?”

  I shrug. “I might have ordered those too. And lobster tails.”

  “Ah,
you’re bringing seafood to inland Vermont. I get it. I might not have been the perfect mother, but your dad and I still raised a damn smart daughter.”

  Cooking with her later that day is so fun, and it’s surprising to see how she lets me take the lead and defers to my every decision, asks questions, and even writes notes in her phone because she wants to make this for herself again.

  Shallots suddenly barks and jumps up onto my leg, before racing away and returning just as quickly with Danny right behind him. His arrival makes us both cheer—not only because it’s nice to have him back, but also because it means that we can add the seafood for the final minutes it takes to cook this dish, and that’s when the real flavor will kick in.

  Danny stands in the doorway but doesn’t shy away from kissing me when I rush to him. Then, he hesitantly hands my mom a gift bag. He wavers for a moment but then shows such resolve. “It’s silly stuff. Maple syrup, maple candies, a stuffed bear from Vermont Teddy Bear. Flannel pajamas. Stuff to remind you of Wake.” He shuffles in his place a bit. “For last night. For what you did for me.”

  She reluctantly takes the bag and looks through. “Oh gosh, this is so sweet of you, but, kiddo, this is not at all necessary.”

  “You and Paul are my heroes.” His tone is serious and laden with gratitude.

  My mom shakes her head and looks down. “We’re not heroes. I should have done more years ago. Mike and I should have done more so many years ago. Paul should have. Everyone should have. You really are Wake’s son. You always will be.” She backs up and wipes away tears. “Dammit, I thought I was done crying. So, come in, come in. As Callie is teaching me, feeding people is the best way to show that you care for them. So, let’s eat!”

  Dinner is . It’s perfect really. Flavorful, rich, exquisite. Exactly as Julia would have wanted it, I hope. And Danny proclaims he is now fully converted to seafood. It may have taken a few tries, but I got him for good now.

  After dinner, he pulls me aside. “Is it still okay if I stay the night? With your mom here?”

  “Of course. She adores you.” And I don’t want him to be alone.

  “And she knows I adore you?” He brushes my hair back.

  “She does.”

  “I’m glad.” His eyes are as beautiful as always, but they are so sad tonight when he says, “I’m wiped out and dying to crash.”

  He and my mom share a long hug before he goes upstairs.

  “I’ll see you again soon, I hope?” he asks.

  “Definitely,” she promises.

  Before I go to bed, I say good-bye to my mom because she has a very early flight, so she’s going to drive herself to the airport and return her sassy red rental before flying home.

  “There’s some kind of pumpkin festival in early October,” I say as I hug her. “I know that’s only a month from now, but—”

  “Sounds fantastic. I’m back for it.” She grips me tightly. “This trip?”

  “I know, Mom. I know.”

  Her hands move to rest against my cheek. “Okay. Go take care of your boy.”

  “Love you,” I say.

  “Love you back, kiddo.” Just after she starts to the bedroom, she turns back. “One last thing? While Danny might not have lost his actual father on the day you lost yours, he lost a father figure. Couple that with his totally neglectful mother? That loss probably hit him as hard as it hit us.”

  She’s right, and I shudder as I exhale.

  “He’s going to need you, but he’ll also likely try to push you away. Don’t let him. Don’t let him make the same mistakes that I did.”

  thirty-nine

  Even two weeks after seeing his mother, Danny is still not himself. Just as I knew, her visit came back to haunt him. To trigger him. He’s been drinking too much, and Matteo and Slow had to stop him from beating the shit out of a guy at the bar who’d barely looked at Mary Ann with a provocative glance. He’s been driven back to my house late at night more than a few times, and I’m grateful he’s got friends watching out for him. But I also don’t want to keep seeing him spiral.

  It’s one thing to play in rough waters, but it’s another to drown.

  And he knows that he’s starting to drown. I can feel it.

  One morning, he wakes me with the noises he makes as he dreams, so I reach back to touch him, trying to soothe whatever nightmares have taken over. Both of us have overcome our rough sleeps after we found each other, and it hurts to hear and feel him backslide.

  So, while he’s still half-asleep, I shake him and kiss him, telling him that I am here. He wakes enough to roll me out of my position, where I’m curled on my side, and onto my back. Danny comes alive as his hand gently cups throat before moving down to my collarbone, over my breasts, the curve of my waist, my hips until he reaches my thighs. He wants to give me a million things right now, and I want to give them all back, but what he really needs is an escape that is healthier than the ways he’s been taking. And I can give that to him in the safety of our connection.

  For a moment, Danny tries to protest when I pull his weight on top of me, trying to get me to take my time, but my desperate, pleading words are no match for how much we both need each other this morning, so he caves and gives himself to me, and his groans are exactly what I want to hear. The sound of him drowning in me—in us, in our intimacy—and not in his pain gives me hope that our tie to each other can help him heal. His hips move so slowly, so rhythmically, and it takes a beautifully long time before he finishes. Our endless kissing after only secures our bond and my belief that we can survive anything.

  After our intense morning, it’s hard to see him go, but Paul has him and a large crew working on restoring an old barn a few towns over. I’ve seen the pictures of the dilapidated structure, but it’s clear that it’s going to be lovely once it’s rebuilt.

  “Go, go!” I hand him a breakfast sandwich and coffee for the road. “Send me pictures?”

  “Promise. And I’ll see you tonight. You didn’t get everything you deserved this morning.” He backs me up against the doorjamb, and I nearly buckle because his mouth is so hot and so perfect. Demanding even.

  When he walks away, it takes everything I have not to stop him and tell him that I’m assuredly and enduringly in love.

  Later that day, after I’ve fussed with the raised beds, researched more recipes, and scoured the upstairs bathroom, Danny texts me to let me know that the tin tiles for the kitchen are ready, and he’s going to pick them up, but because it’s such a long drive, he’s going to stay overnight, and he wonders if I can watch Shallots.

  I tell him that, of course, I will, but that I’m also happy to make the drive with him.

  Hours later, he replies.

  Already on the road. All good.

  But all is not good.

  The next day, Danny texts me that he’s going to spend another night away. Something vague about consulting more with the artist who did my tiles. How he could be great for other projects. When I call later, he doesn’t pick up.

  And the next day, he doesn’t respond to any of my attempts to reach out.

  Then, three torturous days go by with no word from Danny. No texts, no calls. Nothing. My panic becomes more than I can manage, especially when none of our friends can reach him, so I call Paul.

  “You haven’t heard from him either?”

  He hasn’t, and he tells me he’ll be over soon.

  Not fifteen minutes later, I find Paul in front of my house, pacing. “Wait a second.” He takes out his phone and spends a few minutes before he yells out, “Fuck! Are you kidding me? I should have known she’d do something this goddamn stupid.”

  Even though he forces himself to calm down for my sake, he can’t hide how distraught he is when I reach him.

  “What is it?”

  With hesitation, he hands me his phone. “Once in a while, I do a Google search on Andie. Just to see what she’s up to, where she is. What kind of damage she might cause.” He swears more. “Danny must have an ale
rt set.”

  The interview she gave to a prominent site is on the screen, and I cannot skim it fast enough. It takes a bit to see what has Paul so upset, but when I do, I wish I could unsee it. I wish it weren’t real.

  Andie was asked if she had any children. Her amused response? The one she gave with a laugh, according to the interviewer?

  Oh gosh, no kids. Having children is right for so many people, but for me? I’ve always wanted it to just be me and my art, nothing but my creativity and the freedom to explore.

  Both of us frantically call and text Danny.

  For two hours, Paul and I sit with each other. Neither of our phones sounds out with any response.

  Paul looks beyond dejected when he leaves, and I snuggle up to Shallots in search of comfort.

  “Your dad will be home soon, and we’ll help him through this.”

  When I’m in bed for the night, I make another desperate attempt, and this time, Danny finally picks up.

  Before I can say anything, I hear his voice. He sounds nothing like the person I know. “I’m too crushed, too damaged. You must know that. It’s why you and Paul have been blowing up my phone.”

  “I know why you’re crushed. Of course. But you’re not too damaged. It just feels that way right now.”

  “I don’t know how to come home. Not after this. After what she said. How would I ever face anyone? She wishes I didn’t exist. In her reality, I don’t.” The break in his voice, the agony, cuts through me.

  “Of course you can come home. There is not one person in this town that gives a shit what she’s said. We all know who you are. Danny, you have so many people—”

  “Yeah, people who know what I show them. Who they think they know while I hide everything else. I’ve spent my life pretending that she is someone she’s not. Now? I just look like a fucking idiot. Cindy was right to say that I never had a mother. I also never had a father because she doesn’t know or couldn’t keep track of who she slept with, and she didn’t care anyway. I’m so sorry, Callie. I have to go.” He hangs up before I can stop him.