by A. M. Arthur
I wanted this summer to last forever.
Ryan invited me to a barbecue at his parents’ house on the Fourth of July. As scared as I was to face his parents, I turned him down because of my own dad. He was hosting a big cookout for clients, and I was expected to attend and play my part as the dutiful son and heir. I never used to mind. I knew my role. This year, though, I wanted to spend the holiday with my boyfriend.
My secret boyfriend. And I wasn’t brave enough to invite Ryan, or to show him off as my boyfriend to my father’s friends and business associates. I’d get kicked out and disowned before the fireworks display started.
So I wandered the party with a cup of rum punch in hand, occasionally with my dad, mostly on my own. The conversations revolved around my classes and internship, and I used that as frequently as possible to mention the upcoming fundraiser.
“Before and after school programs usually cost money, and a lot of parents can’t afford it,” I said for at least the eighth time in four hours. “So kids go home alone, or they wander without supervision. The center gives those kids a safe place to spend time.”
“It sounds like a wonderful place,” Annette Robinson said. She sipped at her punch, the diamond bangles on her wrist clanking together. Annette had been a friend of my mom’s for years, long before she married my dad. She’d also inherited her father’s mushroom farm, which was doing brisk business again this year.
“It really is. I’ve had a chance to spend time there, helping with some of the extracurricular classes they offer at the center. The volunteers truly care about the kids, and they believe in the work they do.”
“Sounds as if you do too, son. I’ve never seen you so excited about something.”
“I do and I am.” None of those statements were lies, or said for the benefit of making the center look good. I believed in this. “I may have found a passion for charity work that I never knew existed.”
“Well, good for you. Your mother would be so proud of you, seeing you helping others like this.”
The compliment warmed my chest. “You think so?”
“I know so. Jenny wanted your dad’s company to get more involved, to give back to the community more.” Annette sighed and cast her gaze around, searching before settling on me. “Your father is more concerned with power and acquisition, always has been. I’m glad to see his money going toward something like this.”
“Thank you.”
She gave me a sad smile. “It’s hard to believe it’s six years that she’s gone.”
“Yeah.”
I glanced to my left, at the cement patio where the bulk of the barbecue crowd had gathered to snack from tables of food. Beneath that patio was the skeleton of a pool—the pool my mother had fallen into and drowned when I was fourteen. Mom taught me to swim in that pool. She swam every day during the summer. Dad had filled it in two months after she died.
Annette squeezed my forearm, and the unexpected touch made me jump. “She loved you so much, Adam. You were her life. She never meant to leave you.”
“I know. It was an accident.”
“Drowning was an accident. Drinking was your father’s fault.” She snarled the words, and they made me wonder if she’d had too much punch herself.
“What do you mean?”
Her eyes went wide, then shuttered. “Oh, honey, never mind. Forget I said anything.”
I grabbed her elbow before she could turn away, not caring how rude that was. We were tucked into a corner of the patio, near a hedge, no one nearby. “What did you mean by drinking was Dad’s fault?” I’d seen Mom throw back at parties, even have a glass of wine or two at dinner some nights, but Annette was insinuating something worse. Something cruel and insulting, and she’d damn well better explain herself.
“You know your mom’s dream was to perform on Broadway?”
“Sure, she told me that. It’s why Broadway shows were our thing. We went every year. She taught me to sing.” I’d never been happier than when I was with her, singing in the car or the kitchen, listening to her tell stories about performing in high school and college.
“And then I took on the role of a lifetime,” she’d said, many times. “I became a wife and mother, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
She gave me a love of music. She made me want to play Mark Cohen.
She seemed happy.
“We shouldn’t be speaking ill of the dead,” Annette said, clearly upset by the conversation. “None of this matters.”
“None of what?” I felt sick. I didn’t want to know, but I had to know too. This was too important. This was my mom. My hero.
“The last few years she was alive? Jenny drank. A lot. She resented your father, and she resented giving up a career on the stage. She gave up a dream for him.”
My gut ached like I’d been punched. “And for me.”
Annette’s face crumpled. “No, not for you, Adam. Your mother loved you so much. She loved being a mother. I think she just wanted to escape a stifling marriage. She wanted the freedom she felt while performing.”
I wanted that too, so much. On stage, singing, I felt free and unburdened by the troubles in my life. The world felt open to possibilities. “She told you all this?”
“Yes, she confided in me sometimes. Not as often as I wished. And then she was gone, and I couldn’t do anything to help her.”
“But what does that have to do with her drowning? She slipped and hit her head.”
Annette’s sympathetic smile made my insides watery. “Oh, honey. No one told you this, did they?”
For fuck’s sake. “Obviously not.”
“When they did the autopsy, her blood alcohol content was point-two-three. She fell because she couldn’t stand up.”
Blood roared in my ears. Red-hot rage burst inside my chest. Rage at my mom for doing that to herself. Rage at Annette for telling me all this, even though I’d asked. Rage at my dad for making her miserable enough to drink so much that she fell into a pool and drowned. My vision blurred. I dropped my punch in the bushes and bolted.
I didn’t know where I was going until I slammed my bedroom door shut and fell face-first into my comforter. Air conditioning quickly cooled the sweat on my bare skin, but did nothing for my anger. Anger with no real outlet. I didn’t want to know this about my mom, and I couldn’t undo asking. I couldn’t pretend Annette’s words weren’t sinking in like acid, changing everything I believed true about my mother.
Tiny incidents jumped out from my memories, little things that had never added up to anything significant before. The first time we ate out and instead of a glass of wine each for her and Dad, she ordered the bottle. Stumbling on the stairs in the middle of the day. Monthly wine deliveries becoming every two weeks. Sleeping in later in the mornings, until I was getting myself up and ready for school without her.
Had I known all along and chose not to see? Had I blocked it all out so I could remember the best things about her?
I didn’t know. All I really knew was that she gave up something she loved—her dream of performing—for her husband, and fourteen years later she died unhappy and alone in chlorinated water. If I gave up Ryan, would I be her in fourteen years? Sooner? An alcoholic in a loveless marriage, conforming to what the family name said I should be?
No fucking way.
I was in my car, heading across town, before I remembered Ryan wasn’t at his apartment. He was at his parents’ house. I knew it well. I’d spent a lot of time there as a kid, and the idea of knocking on the front door made my insides squirrely. More than those nerves, though, I needed Ryan. Needed to tell him what I’d learned, to hear him say it would all be okay. Because if Ryan said it, I’d believe it.
Ryan
My parents invited some of the neighbors and some folks they worked with, so a lot more people were at the house than I expected. I had fun, though, talking up the fundraiser and eating Mom’s fantastic food. Daddy barbecued, and she did all the salads and fixings. The Jenners next door bro
ught over a big lemonade cake for dessert, and the Patterson kids had stuff for s’mores once the grill was done being cooked on.
We ate in the backyard, at folding tables we’d dug out of the basement. I smacked a few mosquitoes the citronella stakes hadn’t kept out. The little fuckers always found me. We’d left the patio doors open, screen pulled shut, so everyone heard the doorbell chime.
“I’ll get it,” Mom said.
I shoveled more chicken and pasta salad into my mouth, forgetting about the doorbell for a few minutes until Mom yelled, “Ryan,” from the patio doors. I put my fork down when she beckoned me.
Curious, I gulped down some sweet tea, then followed her inside. Away from the open doors to the living room. She was frowning, her eyebrows doing that deep V thing she did when she was worried. “What’s wrong, Momma?” I asked.
“Adam’s in your room.”
Of all the things I expected her to say, that wasn’t it. “He’s what?”
“He was at the door just now. He’s upset about something, so I took him to your room for some privacy until I could get you.”
“He’s supposed to be at his daddy’s picnic. Something must have happened.” Any number of awful things—including his daddy finding out about us and kicking him out—burst through my mind like a flash flood.
“Go talk to him, honey. I’ll make your excuses.”
“Thanks.” I kissed her on the cheek, then bolted down the hall to my old bedroom.
Adam was sitting on the bed, his back to the wall, knees drawn up to his chest. He blinked at me all deer-in-the-headlights, and my heart twisted. He looked young and vulnerable and unhappy. I shut the door, then gathered him up in my arms. He clung to me, face burrowing against my neck, breathing hard.
I held him, rubbed his back like I’d done so many times before. “What happened?”
“My mom was an alcoholic.” His voice was harsh, broken, like he was about to cry at any moment.
Second on the growing list of things I never thought I’d hear today. “Who told you that?”
“Friend of my mom’s. Slipped out. I think she thought I knew. Maybe I did and I didn’t pay attention.”
“Kids don’t always see the bad things their parents do.”
Adam made a rough noise. “Touchè.”
“Oh, baby, I wasn’t talkin’ about your daddy and the bashing.”
“You’re right, though. Maybe I didn’t want to see. I always thought my mom was perfect, but she was so unhappy. She wanted more than she had, and she drowned because she was falling-down drunk.”
Shit.
We sat together awhile, Adam working it out in his head, me being his blanket. Or his rock, or whatever the hell he needed me to be. Finally some good words occurred to me, so I figured I should share. “Doesn’t matter what other people say your momma was, Adam. It only matters how you remember her, and that she loved you. She gave you your love of music, and that’s somethin’ real special.”
Those must have been the right words, because Adam relaxed. His body got loose, and we shifted from me holding him tight to us just hugging.
“Thank you,” he said. “I knew being here… you’d make me feel better.”
His faith in me made my heart give a little leap. “All I want is you happy, babe. That’s all.”
“This makes me happy.”
“Me too.”
Adam’s gentle laughter rumbled through my chest. “I think I gave your mom heart palpitations when she opened the door and saw me on her porch.”
“I bet.” I could just imagine Momma’s face. “And they don’t blame you, you know?”
“They just don’t want me to hurt you again.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, either. Not ever.”
“I know.”
Someone knocked, and then Momma stuck her head inside. “Are you boys okay?”
“Better, thank you,” Adam said. “I’m sorry for interrupting your lunch.”
“Never mind that.” She came over and did something that surprised the crap out of me. She pulled Adam up off the bed and into a fierce hug. “You were Ryan’s first friend here, honey. Despite all that’s happened, you’re still family.”
Something stuck in my throat, and I swallowed it down. I stood up and hugged them both, real tight, not sure I’d ever loved my mom more than in that moment. We untangled ourselves. Momma wiped her eyes, then smiled at us both. “You wanna join us for lunch, Adam?” she asked. “We have plenty.”
“I probably shouldn’t,” Adam said.
“No one here’s gonna tell your daddy you came over.”
Her words made Adam visibly relax. He glanced at me, then smiled. “Okay.”
“How do you want me to introduce you?”
He seemed stuck on that one, so I jumped in. “Old friend from high school. We reconnected over the center fundraiser.” Off his surprised look, I said, “What? It’s the truth. They don’t need to know more than that.”
The gratitude burning in his eyes was more than enough thanks.
Adam knew how to work a room (or backyard) full of strangers. He stumbled briefly when he shook my daddy’s hand, then settled into his role as a friend of the family. He dug into a plate of barbecued chicken and coleslaw and other salads, and I hadn’t felt so content at a picnic in years. He’d come to me upset. I’d calmed him down, and he was smiling again.
If that wasn’t a relationship we could both count on, I didn’t know what was.
Adam
I couldn’t stop marveling over how easily Ryan’s parents accepted me back into his life. In the three hours I spent in their home, I never felt unwanted. Never thought they were pretending or putting up a front of politeness for Ryan’s sake. I didn’t want to leave.
Ryan and I helped clean up after the other guests had left. His mom tried to give me a doggy bag, but I insisted no. I had no way to explain the food. We talked about the fundraiser, my internship, the center—everything except the past, and I was grateful. As much as Ryan blamed himself for kissing me and getting us bashed in the first place, his parents could easily blame me for neither of us getting real justice for how badly we were hurt. Maybe Ryan had come away less physically damaged, but he’d been left with anxiety and a pretty clear fear of dark, isolated areas.
As the time inched closer to four, I knew the spell had to break. “I should get going.”
“You goin’ to see the fireworks tonight?” Ryan asked.
I wanted to see the kind of fireworks I got when his cock was pounding away at my prostate, but I couldn’t say that in front of his parents. Maybe I’d text it to him later. “Have to. LQF is sponsoring them this year, so we have to make an appearance.”
“If you can slip away, we usually go the park, near the war statue.”
“I’ll try.”
I couldn’t promise more, especially if Dad had noticed my long absence and questioned me about it. I didn’t want to draw suspicion from him, not over anything. He’d probably buy me wanting to get away and clear my head over what Annette told me, and I truly had done that. The only lie I’d have to tell was where I’d gone—even if it was a lie of omission.
The barbecue was winding down by the time I got home, and most of our guests had left, including Annette. Less than half a dozen remained, and they’d clear out soon now that the food was served. Dad and Joe were chatting in a pair of deck chairs, each clutching a glass of rum punch. Seeing the alcohol now, knowing what I knew, made me irrationally angry at both of them. Drinking right on top of the place where Mom died.
“Adam, where’ve you been, son?” Joe asked.
“I needed some time to myself,” I replied, giving Dad my undivided attention. “Can I talk to you, please? In private?”
Dad raised a single eyebrow, obviously surprised at my request for face time, because it happened so rarely. “Of course. Joe?”
“I’ll see you later, Ray,” Joe said. “Happy Fourth, Adam.”
/> “Happy Fourth,” I parroted. I took the chair Joe vacated and sat kind of stiffly, elbows on my knees, hands clutched tight between them. Coming at him defensively wouldn’t do me any good, but I’d failed to consider another strategy before engaging, and now I didn’t know how to begin.
“What’s wrong, son?” Dad asked. “It isn’t like you to disappear during a function like this. You know I count on you to make a good impression with my clients.”
“I know.” There really was no pretty way to put things. No easy way to ask this. “Why didn’t you tell me that Mom was an alcoholic?”
Dad fumbled his glass, sloshing red liquid across the arm of his chair. “I beg your pardon?”
“Annette told me earlier.”
He narrowed his eyes like a man expecting to be fed a bald-faced lie. “Told you what, exactly?”
“That Mom was drunk when she fell into the pool. That she’d been drinking for years because she was unhappy.” The rage and sense of betrayal came back, tightening my chest, making it hard to breathe. “Why didn’t you stop her from drinking?”
He glanced around, but no one was close by. No one was listening, paying attention to our dirty laundry. “Your mother was an incredibly stubborn woman, Adam. Perhaps I was distant much of the time, but when I noticed her drinking had reached a dangerous level, I spoke to her about it.”
“Spoke to her?”
“Yes. We had a fairly big fight, as a matter of fact. She blamed me for ruining her stage career. I told her I wouldn’t have her falling down drunk around our son, so I sent her out of the country to a very nice rehab facility. Do you remember how she missed your seventh grade science fair because I told you she was in Bali?”
I nodded, unable to speak around the lump in my throat. I’d been upset at her for scheduling a vacation when she knew I had a geology project up for a really good prize. And I’d won second place with neither of my parents there to cheer me on. Then the rest of what he’d said sank in.