She gestures towards the bags. “A little help here?”
I close the door behind her and relieve her of two King Kullen bags. Back in the kitchen I silently unpack them as my mother, sister and niece flit around the kitchen preparing for this birthday luncheon that I wish was already over.
Half-an-hour later, we’re all seated together in my mom’s backyard. She’s made some improvements since last I was here. There’s a new stone fountain, some colorful shrubbery outlining the perimeter and what I believe is a new set of lawn furniture. What did she do with the old set? I could swear she’d only bought it last summer. My mother needs to learn that just because you see something new doesn’t mean you need to get rid of the old. I’ve shared this sentiment of mine with her, but it fell upon deaf ears.
I suffer through a bit of small talk with Loretta, my mother’s neighbor and frenemy. They call each other friends, but all I ever witness is two women in their sixties constantly trying to outdo each other. The grand piano in my mother’s living room was inspired by the one in Loretta’s sitting room. The new 750i in Loretta’s driveway is the big sister to my mother’s 550i, and I have a nagging suspicion there’s some new lawn furniture in Loretta’s backyard as well.
Her thirty-something-year-old twin daughters are nice enough. I envy the closeness they not only share with each other, but the genuine fondness they seem to have for their mother. I can only hope that Morgan and I are as close when she grows up. I eye Ashley and can’t help but give Norah some credit. My niece is a well-adjusted, positive young woman. She’s seen a lot, and for many years Norah treated her more like a girlfriend and sister than a daughter. She’s been subject to many of my sister’s poor choices and has had a lot of “uncles” in and out of her life. Notwithstanding, she has a good head on her shoulders, is scheduled to graduate at the top of her class from Brown University next semester and doesn’t have that annoying sense of entitlement like so many young people these days.
I strategically sit on the opposite end of the table, away from my sister. The tension between us is palpable. I respond when she asks me a direct question, but I won’t initiate any conversation with her and whenever I can avoid speaking to her altogether, I do.
Once lunch is done, I head inside and busy myself with tidying up the kitchen. Mom insists I leave it for her cleaning lady and urges me to stay out back with them. But I can’t. Not only is the sunlight aggravating my headache (I’m praying it doesn’t become a full-on migraine), but also I can’t focus. My mind is back at home. On Vaughn. And Dylan.
“Aunt Blair?” I turn to find Ashley standing in the doorway.
“What’s wrong? Why do you have that look on your face?”
Her pretty face is wrinkled with distress. “Can I talk to you?”
“Of course you can, what’s wrong?”
“Can we go upstairs? I don’t want Mom to hear.”
My heart thumps. Oh, God, I hope she doesn’t plan to tell me she’s pregnant or something just as awful. I have such hopes for her.
I lead the way upstairs to one of my mom’s guest bedrooms then close the door behind us.
“Okay, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”
She gnaws her lower lip. I remember how she used to do that as a child. It always preceded the admission of a broken vase or a spilled glass of juice. I’d welcome any of the following right now over whatever it is she has to tell me.
I sit on the edge of the bed. She stands, fumbling with her Kabbalah-inspired bracelet.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?”
She shakes her head. “No, I’m not. I just wanted to talk to you. Alone.”
“You’re killing me Ash, what’s wrong?”
“It’s about you and Mom.”
“What about us?”
“I know what happened at your birthday party.”
“How do you know about that?”
“When Mom came home that night … well, I know she’d been drinking … and she started babbling.”
“She told you?”
“No, not exactly, but I knew she’d been in a fight. Then the next day I overheard her on the phone with Grandma and I kind of put two-and-two together.”
“Come. Sit down. I’m sorry you had to hear about that. It was ugly, we behaved poorly. We both had a little too much to drink and—”
“You mean, she had too much to drink.”
If this was anyone else, I’d agree, but not to my niece. Despite what my sister has become, it’s important that Ashley see her in the best light. “We both had some drinks. Not that that’s any excuse, but things just got out of hand.”
“Aunt Blair.” Her eyes meet mine. “I know my mom is an alcoholic. You don’t have to try and cover up for her. I know.”
As shocked as I am to hear Ashley say it, I know I shouldn’t be. How could she not know? She’s been sitting front row her entire life; who better to know of her mother’s issues. I feel an instant pang of guilt for not protecting her. I don’t know how I could ever believe that only my mother and I were victims of my sister’s illness. Ashley’s had a little reprieve these past few years while she lived on campus, but that’s nothing compared to the lifetime she’s spent dealing with her mother’s demons.
I resist the urge to deny it. Ashley, for all intents and purposes, is a grown woman now, and I have to treat her as such. “I’m sorry, honey.” I rest my hand on top of hers. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this.”
“It’s not your fault. She’s just so unhappy. I wish I knew how to help her, but I don’t. Not anymore.”
She goes on to tell me stories of how she’s found Norah on the living room floor, too drunk to stand. How she’s had to pick her up from the local bar after getting a call from the owner. Another time she had to bail her mother out of jail after being arrested for public drunkenness.
“I never told Grandma because I didn’t want to upset her.”
“But how come you never told me?”
“I know you two don’t have the best of relationships. And now after the fight, you two aren’t speaking.”
“We’re not not speaking. I just needed a little space.”
“Give me some credit. I see it. You could cut the air with a knife down there.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She needs help. I told her, but she won’t listen to me. I don’t know what else to do. She drives when she’s been drinking. Thank God she hasn’t hurt herself or anyone yet, but every time she goes out I’m scared. After I graduate, a couple of friends and I wanted to get an apartment in the city, but I’m afraid to leave her…”
She reaches in her back pocket and pulls out a pamphlet. “There’s this program upstate. One of my professors is a social worker and she told me about this place. She said they’re one of the best. Only it’s very expensive and—”
“The money is not an issue.” I take the pamphlet and flip through it. “The problem is getting her to go.”
“I know. That’s where you come in.”
“Sweetie, I’m probably the last person your mother would listen to right now.”
“But we have to do something and she … she respects you. You may not believe that, but it’s true. She might go if you insist.”
“Ash, alcoholism is a disease. It’s much bigger than persuasion. She has to want the help. We can’t toss her in the back of a van and just drop her off.”
“I know, but we have to do something. Every time the phone rings, Aunt Blair, I get nervous. Thinking it’s going to be ‘the call.’”
I reach for the box of Kleenex on the nightstand and blot at the tears rolling down her cheeks. I even have to swallow back my own. The thought of my sister in an accident or in jail or responsible for someone’s death is too much to fathom. Ashley is right. Something has to be done, but I’m the last person Norah will listen to. I instantly regret my harsh words towards her at brunch. I guess I kind of always knew in the back of my mind that she had a problem, one which borde
red on alcoholism, but I tossed it aside because I didn’t want to believe it. But now it’s clear. It’s written all over the tear-streaked face of my niece. How could I refuse to help her?
Part of me wants to tell my sister to handle her own issues, to tell her that her free ride is over, that she needs to figure it out for herself this time. Especially now while I’m in the midst of my own personal crisis. But if something ever happened to her, I’d never forgive myself.
I squeeze Ashley’s hand and hand her the box. “Here, dry your eyes. Splash some water on your face and take a moment. We don’t want them to know you were crying, okay? And don’t worry. I’ll take care of this.”
She looks up at me and sniffles. “You will?”
“Yes, don’t stress anymore over this, okay? These are the best years of your life. You should be out there partying and having fun, not at home worrying about anybody. I’ll handle it, okay? I’ll get her to go to this program, I promise.”
She springs up from her seat and hugs me. “Thank you so much. Thank you. This means the world to me.”
As I embrace my niece, my mind races. Just how in the hell am I going to make good on this promise?
THIRTEEN
It’s been a little over a month since Dylan presented me with his ultimatum. I hate myself for giving into his demands, but I had to. Until I figure a way out of this, I have to give him what he wants. He’s seen Morgan three times since then, first at the museum, then in Central Park, the last time we agreed to meet in the mall.
She stared at him the way she does most strangers, with both curiosity and cautious reservation. I think she could tell, even at nineteen months, that something was amiss. Our meetings brim with acrimony. We visit in almost complete silence, the thick air filled only with the baby talk he directs at Morgan. I have no words for him. Just the sight of him disgusts me. Or at least it should, but it’s growing difficult to not see him in her, and when they’re together it’s that much more evident.
Albeit subtle, I notice she’s taken a liking to him, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because she feels some sort of connection. His interaction with her is a bit more awkward. He’s unsure of how to act, what to say, and I know my looming presence doesn’t help. He struggles with being loving towards her and hateful towards me. Sometimes switching his expression instantly as his gaze rises from her and rests on me. I’m in an equally strange place. Pissed yet fearful, and somewhere in between is a thin layer of guilt. Guilt, which is at odds with my sense of preservation, my instinct to protect what’s mine. When the guilt creeps in, I remind myself of all I have to lose, not just for me, but for Morgan.
The last time we met I asked him what his agenda was, how much longer we would have to keep up this charade.
“I don’t know,” he had said, peering at me from behind his horn-rimmed frames. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“You know she’s going to start asking questions soon,” I told him. “I won’t have my daughter caught up in any drama.”
“You mean our daughter. And she already is.”
“Seriously, we have to talk about this. I’ve let you see her like you asked, but we have to draw a line in the sand somewhere.”
“Just what do you think? That I want to hurt her? This is hard for me too, Blair. You get to see her every day, to watch her grow up. What do I get? An hour here and there in some public place. Try and see it from my perspective.”
As I tried to imagine even one day without her, I grew sympathetic. I don’t know what I’d do if I could only see her once a week. If I couldn’t wake up to her smiles or hear her voice or watch her eyes grow large whenever she discovered something new. He’s missing out on so much. Moments he’ll never get again.
“And would you take off those stupid sunglasses,” he said next. “If you’re trying to look inconspicuous, it’s not working. You’re only drawing more attention to yourself.”
And just like that, the sympathy was gone. No, I would not feel sorry for him. He doesn’t deserve it. If he really cared for her, he would want what’s best for her—a peaceful life with two parents who love her. That’s what she deserves, and I’ll do everything in my power to ensure that’s what she gets.
“I’m leaving.” I adjusted my Jackie O shades and stood.
“C’mon, Blair, sit back down.” He patted the seat beside him. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Doesn’t matter. We have to go.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that you’re sitting here as if you’re in disguise, like we’re committing some crime.”
I remained standing, silent. That capricious way of his wore on me. One moment he was nice, the next he was hurling threats and insults. I never knew which Dylan would show up.
Then, fortunately for me, he sighed and eyed his watch. “I have a class in an hour anyway. I guess I should be going. I’ll call you to schedule our next meeting.”
He stared at Morgan for a second. Then he leaned over, kissed her on her forehead, and vanished into the crowd. I slumped back into my seat and struggled with the lump in my throat.
*****
“What’s with that cheap bracelet?” Vaughn asks.
I look up from my plate. “What?”
It’s Sunday morning, and the three of us are eating breakfast at the kitchen table. Well, Vaughn is the only one eating. I’ve barely touched my waffles. Typically, Sundays are my favorite. It’s the one day of the week that we’re guaranteed to have breakfast together. Rosa has laid out a beautiful spread, but I have no appetite. I rarely eat anymore and I’m always tired. Side effects of the medication, I’m sure. I thought to stop taking my Xanax, because I need to be alert, especially now, but without it I can’t cope.
Vaughn lifts Morgan’s left wrist gesturing to a plain gold bracelet with a teddy-bear charm. While she giggles and twists the charm between her fingers, I take a closer look. I’ve never seen it before.
“What is that?” he asks again, taking marked notice of my confusion.
“Um… Uh…”
“I gave it to her,” Rosa says. “It belonged to my Jenny when she was a little girl. I buy it for her when she was just about Morgee’s age.” She gives a squeeze to Morgan’s thigh. “Been in the family a long time, so I give it to my chica now.”
Vaughn’s expression softens. “I’m sorry, Rosa. I … I didn’t mean to call it cheap.”
“It’s okay.” She places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I know you don’t mean any harm.” She’s one of the few people he’s humble towards. I believe it’s because she nurtures him in ways his mother did not.
Rosa shoots me a knowing glance that says, We’ll talk later. I muster a smile. “Yeah, she gave it to her yesterday.”
Vaughn apologizes again and eats the rest of his meal in embarrassed silence.
As soon as I hear the garage door lower behind Vaughn’s car, I remove the bracelet from Morgan’s wrist and inspect it. True to his words, it is cheap. I flip over the name plate. It’s engraved. Love you always, Daddy. What the hell!
I dash up the steps with the trinket in my grip. I slam the bedroom door behind me then snatch my cell phone off its charger. I jab at the keys so hard, I crack the tip of my nail.
Dylan answers on the first ring. “Yeah?”
“Are you fucking crazy?”
“Whoa!” He takes me off of speaker phone. “What are you talking about?”
“The bracelet! When the hell did you sneak that onto her wrist?”
“First of all, I didn’t sneak anything. And I gave it to her yesterday when we met. You’re just now noticing it?”
“No, I didn’t notice it, but my husband, her father, did.”
“Don’t start with that shit, Blair—”
“No!” I say, “Don’t you start with that shit. Are you insane? You’re playing with fire. What if Vaughn saw that inscription? Then what? How was I to explain that to him? What are you trying to do?”
“She’s not his daughter.
And if I want to give her a gift, I have the right to,” he says in that same haughty tone he uses with his students. But I’m no undergrad in one of his classes.
I fire back. “Do you want us to be found out? If that’s the case, just say it. C’mon, just come out with it. Let’s stop with all the bullshit. Be real with it. Is that what you’re trying to do? We had a deal—”
“Did we though, Blair? Because I don’t remember promising you anything. What I said was that we would take it day by day.”
“Yeah? And when did you decide that yesterday was going to be the day that you put us on blast?”
He laughs. “Us? I haven’t done anything wrong. I have nothing to be ashamed of.”
I feel the weight of his words. There was a time when it was Dylan and I against the world. When we were a united front. The words “we” and “us” had meaning. He’d been a willing participant to the lies, but now I stand alone on the pier of deceit. I’m the only bad guy. The sole culprit. I finger the bracelet and re-read the inscription. Heat rises in my chest.
“Listen, I’ve been beyond fair. Here I am lying to Vaughn and sneaking around so you can see her, and this is how you pay me back?”
“C’mon, Blair, like you haven’t made a career out of lying to him. Quit the self-righteous act.”
“If you want to see Morgan you need to reevaluate the way you do shit. This is not a game.”
I hang up. My tone was threatening, but I know what I’ve said is of no real consequence. He has full control over this situation. I’m at his mercy, and he knows it. For all I know, he’s planning on telling Vaughn regardless of what I do, and I can’t keep living like this.
I throw myself down on the bed and stare up at the ceiling fan. I watch the blades revolve as I blink back the tears. Maybe I should just tell Vaughn everything. Maybe he’ll take mercy on me and forgive me, especially since I’ve forgiven him so many times. And, he adores Morgan; the way he dotes on her, the way his eyes light up every time he looks in her direction. There’s no way he can throw that all away just because I made one stupid mistake. Elle is right. The longer I prolong this, the worse it is. Dylan will keep stringing me along, gaining more and more leverage with each encounter. I can’t keep this up. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in a month. This can’t go on. Vaughn deserves the truth and he deserves to hear it from me. Yes. It’s the right thing to do. We can fix this. We’ll get through this—together. I know we can.
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