Fix You

by Beck Anderson

  “Please, call me Andrew.”

  I resist the urge to run out to defend Andrew. I hear Hunter and Beau briefly, but I can tell they’ve run off to check out the house. I have a feeling they’re going to be disappointed to find no bowling alley or screening room or garage full of Bentleys.

  I wash the remains of the pie from my hands and go out to greet my folks.

  Andrew holds the poinsettia my mom’s given him. “This is so thoughtful. Thank you.”

  She pats him on the hand, and I’m happy to be out here. She sometimes needs me to rein her in. I credit her with a lot, but she’s always been great at revealing way too much information about me, my family in general, everything.

  Dad puts his hands in his pockets and looks around. Maybe he’s also wondering about the bowling alley.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  He smiles widely when he spots me, hugs me warmly. “Kelly.”

  “You found it fine?” I can’t help but ask. I’m secretly hoping I found it more easily than he did.

  “Your dad didn’t even need me to navigate.” Mom gives me a big hug too. I pull away before she can whisper something totally embarrassing too loud. She does that a lot.

  “Come on in. Can I take your coats?” Andrew helps my mom out of hers. Dad keeps his on. He’s being so silly. I can’t figure it out.

  We go into the kitchen. It’s open to the living room with a fireplace and a flat-screen over the mantle. There’s a big, warm wood table in the adjoining dining room. The living room has French doors to the backyard.

  “This is very nice, Andrew. Isn’t it nice, Dan?” Mom’s trying to soften Dad up. She needs to stop, because his tendency is to dig in even more deeply when prodded.

  Dad nods. Andrew goes back to the oven and checks the turkey. I say many, many silent prayers that what’s left of the dinner will not give my parents and children food poisoning.

  “We’re about fifteen minutes out.”

  I wish I could speed that along. I go to set the table, and I realize this is the moment Andrew’s been waiting for.

  “Kelly tells me you do some woodworking,” he begins.

  I didn’t know this topic was going to come up. Andrew’s swinging for the fence on this one. I hope he connects, for his sake mostly. It’s sweet that he’s making an effort.

  “Yeah, I putter a bit.”

  “The guy I rent from is kind of a fanatic. You should see the workshop.” Andrew motions out the French doors.

  C’mon, Dad, take the bait. I’m sending him this psychic message as loudly as I can.

  He bites. “I’d like to.” Andrew walks him to the door, turns around slightly to shoot me a hopeful raise of the eyebrows. I cross my fingers for him.

  With the boys gone, the men out in the workshop, Mom has me to herself. But she’s going to have to wait for the girl talk.

  “Mom, take the turkey’s temperature. I’m terrified it’s too cold. I don’t want to kill you people.”

  She smiles at me, and we spend a good ten minutes reviewing the dishes that will make it to the dining room table. She has a good laugh at all the stuff Andrew stuck in the quickset gravy.

  Finally, content that we have a meal that won’t kill anyone, I sit at the kitchen island with her.

  “So, Kelly Jo…” Mom is gearing up. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  I guess I should expect this. “Mom, I don’t know what to say.”

  “You like him a lot.”

  “Yes.”

  “He likes you.”

  “I think he really does. He makes me feel amazing, Mom.”

  Her eyes widen a bit. My mom was a fierce advocate for Peter. There were points when he and I were together that she liked him more than I did, it seemed. I wonder how she’s going to take this. Am I being disloyal?

  “Oh, honey, I’m so glad.” She gives me a huge hug.

  I’m sort of relieved that she approves.

  “I really like him, Mom.” This is a weird feeling. It occurs to me that I haven’t really talked to anyone about Andrew. Obviously not the boys. And Tessa’s not been much help. She makes me too nervous to share much with her.

  “Do you love him?” Mom looks at me. She’s treated me very gently in the last two years. I wonder if it gets old, handling me like a cracked teacup.

  I pause. “I think so. It came on quick, and it was really hard to believe. But it feels right. The boys took to him so fast. He’s just…”

  I leave off. I don’t know how to describe it. I haven’t thought about it. I’ve just been living it.

  “What?”

  “I overthink and worry about everything. There’s been a lot less of that. It just feels right.”

  I’m done talking, and the boys come tearing back into the kitchen just in time. I don’t know why, but talking about it feels like I’m going to jinx it.

  Mom pats my hand and busies herself getting Beau to fill the water glasses. Hunter turns on the Discovery Channel and settles on the couch.

  I turn around at the island in time to see my dad and Andrew walking across the backyard. As they come in the French doors, Dad gives Andrew a friendly clap on the shoulder.

  “Granddad! Come look at this squid they found at the bottom of the ocean!” Hunter calls.

  Andrew catches my attention from across the room, where he stands behind Hunter and Dad. He points at Dad, makes a heart sign, and points at himself, all while mouthing, “He hearts me.”

  I try not to guffaw, but Cosmo’s Yummiest Guy apparently has added the ninety-one gazillionth fan to his Facebook page.

  27: It’s Better to Give, but It’s Fun to Get Too

  CHRISTMAS MORNING DAWNS COLDER than usual for LA. I wake up at Mom and Dad’s and marvel that I’m up before the boys. This must be a sign that they’re getting older. The way they’re beginning to value sleep is decidedly adolescent.

  I might as well run. Last night was fun, but I have to say I felt torn at the end of the evening. Obviously I want to spend Christmas Eve with my sons and my mom and dad, but it made me sad to leave Andrew in his rented house all alone. Yes, he talked to his mom and dad, and the phone rang as we were leaving, and I’m pretty sure it was one of his sisters, but still. I had to fight the urge to pull him into my camp and circle the wagons around all the people I love.

  Yes, I said it. I love him. I haven’t told him that in so many words, but I’ve said it to myself, and this is a big step for me.

  Partly because of Peter. I just wasn’t sure how it was going to be to love someone besides him. Maybe part of me wondered if I’d be struck by lightning for feeling it, let alone saying it. Sometimes I feel like there’s an unwritten widow’s code, and I’m never sure if I’m following it or not. But when I stop worrying about what everybody thinks and follow my own plan for widow-dom, things always seem to go more smoothly.

  That’s a big step too, because I don’t feel like I’m on solid ground. I wish I felt more confident. I wish I could say hearing him say he wanted me settled all my doubts, but it didn’t. If I give in to my natural tendency to fret, I still find way too many things about this relationship that make no sense or seem very precariously balanced. House of cards comes to mind often. I don’t know.

  So the run’s good for me. It’s a beautiful day, and I’m able to clear my head a bit.

  When I get back, Mom is holding the boys at bay in the kitchen. They want desperately into the den, to get at the tree.

  “Thank goodness you’re back. This was getting ugly.”

  “Mom! Do not do that to us again!” Beau is irate. “This isn’t the time for a run!”

  Hunter’s a little less rabid, probably because he’s a little less awake. “Yeah, Mom. There are presents to open.”

  Dad strolls in. He’s always had the best Christmas poker face. He could stroll in like that after putting together an entire bike from Santa in record time. He’s probably been stuffing last-minute things into people’s stockings.

  “Hi, Dad.”
r />   He encircles my waist with an arm, pecks my cheek. “How was your run, sugar?”

  “Good.”

  “When’s Andrew coming over?”

  Andrew works miracles. The man’s charisma is unstoppable. A little time spent alone with Mr. Pettigrew, and my dad is a changed man. He almost sounds eager.

  “I’m not sure. I told him he could come have breakfast, if he wanted.”

  There’s a knock at the door. Andrew’s actor’s instincts are well-honed. He shows up on cue.

  I get the door and find him with a shopping bag full of presents in one hand and my folks’ newspaper in the other.

  “Merry Christmas.” He smiles at me and walks in. Now I feel content. Now everyone’s where they should be.

  The boys can’t stand it any longer. Hunter yells from the den. “People! Come on, already!”

  Andrew kisses me on the cheek. “No time to waste. Let the carnage begin.” He carries the presents past me and into the other room.

  I’ve always been a fascist about present opening, so it takes a minute to relax. I insisted even when the boys were little that we open one present at a time. Everyone has to ooh and ahh a bit, and then we can move on to the next gift. Peter always teased me about it, because in his gigantic family, Christmas was a free-for-all.

  Andrew gives Beau some very deluxe Legos, and there’s a long break in the gift-opening as Beau, Hunter, and Andrew do some serious building. It’s not entirely clear who enjoys the Legos more, the boys or Andrew. Then Hunter opens two autographed CDs from his favorite band, and Andrew scores with that gift too.

  Andrew opens his gift from me, and the coat fits. He seems to like it, so that’s good. Of course, he’s an actor, so he might really hate it. I’m just going to hope for the best.

  The boys each get cash from assorted relatives, of course, and games for various gaming systems they’ve accumulated over the years. My dad always gives each boy something they’ll use with him over summer vacations. This year it’s rods for surf casting. This is a big deal, because the boys can tell this means they’re regarded as mature enough to handle the big rods. Both disappear into the backyard with Dad to practice. I pray we don’t have a Christmas visit to the ER. I still recall a vacation with Peter when he and I went fly fishing, and I put a hook through my finger.

  Mom putters in the kitchen. Andrew sits on the couch, looking at the back of the book my dad gave him. I’m already thinking to later in the day, wondering how he and I might steal some time away. But for now I stand and start to straighten the piles of loot the boys have strewn around the den.

  “You’ve got one more to open.” He smiles and hands me a wrapped box.

  “You already gave me the cookbook and the bracelet. I only got you your coat!” I try not to have present anxiety. He’s giving me too much.

  “Stop. Just open it.” He takes my hand and pulls me down to sit next to him.

  I unwrap the box and take the lid off. It’s a book. It’s The Sun Also Rises. It’s an old copy. A really old copy. I have a feeling how old, and I start to tear up.

  “It’s a first edition, isn’t it?”

  He nods. “Do you like it?”

  “Do you have to ask? I love it.” I hug him.

  “I found it in a store downtown. It’s cool. I’ll have to take you there.”

  “I love you.” Well, that popped out, didn’t it? It feels good that it’s out there.

  He pulls out of the hug and looks at me, clear-eyed. “I love you too.” He looks a little surprised. He looks happy, though.

  And I’m happy too.

  28: No Sunglasses Necessary

  IF MY LIFE WERE A MOVIE, this’d be the part where the montage begins. You know, they’d play a kicky song like “Walking on Sunshine,” and there’d be shots of Andrew and me getting ice cream, riding bicycles through the park, playfully doing lots of things as a happy couple.

  And it’s close to that. I don’t know how many of those movies also include two young boys, but Andrew does an awesome job hanging out with Hunter and Beau. Christmas break is filled with my family and Andrew, and it makes me sad to go back to Boise so the boys can go back to school.

  But then he comes to visit us. For MLK weekend he’s flying in, catching a ride with someone on the way to Hailey again. Only this time it’s planned.

  And this time I’m ready for him. The house is spotless, first of all. I’m well-groomed, and there is nary a dog hair on my whole ensemble. He’s coming in Saturday morning and leaving Sunday morning, so we have to make it count.

  The boys come with me to pick him up from Western Air Terminal. I feel kind of suave. I know where to go, I expect the lady at the desk in the office area to wave us by, and I let the boys know Andrew will be standing there while a private jet taxis away.

  We’re all glad to see each other, and we have a great afternoon. But after dinner is what I’m really excited for.

  Andrew sits at the kitchen table, looking at the Boise newspaper. I’m finishing up the dishes when the boys, on cue, bring the ski gear in from the garage.

  “What’s this?” Andrew asks.

  Beau’s just plopped a large pile of coats, bibs, and other ski detritus in the middle of the kitchen. “We’re going snowshoeing,” he announces. Beau loves to be in on the plans.

  Andrew looks out the window at the deepening purple night. “It’s dark outside.”

  Hunter’s impersonation of a SoCal Lord of Dogtown rears its head again. “Bro, that’s the point. It’s sick, trust me.”

  Okay, I have never heard him use sick to mean cool in his life. Maybe he’s studying up on Andrew’s movies for appropriate dialogue.

  Andrew raises an eyebrow. “Night snowshoeing? This should be interesting. I’m down.”

  If the conversation gets any hipper, I’m going to have to go out and buy an urban slang dictionary.

  We pack ourselves into the car and drive up to the ski resort. It snowed early in the morning today, but now the night has fallen clear and cold, with an almost-full moon to boot.

  Once we park in the cross country parking lot and get out, Andrew gives my hand a little squeeze. He looks across the lot to the lodge, where we had dinner on—hard to believe—a much warmer night than this a few months ago.

  Beau’s in heaven. We’re all together, he’s good at snowshoeing, and he loves the novelty of it being at night. We approach the trailhead, which glows with luminarias, and he stops and turns around.

  “This is totally ‘Silent Night.’” He starts singing just to make the point: “All is calm, all is bright.” He crunches ahead in his snowshoes.

  He’s right. The moon throws thin shadows from the branches. The trees are coated with snow, and the moonlight bounces off of each frosted limb. There are also luminarias along the trail every so often, and the night is almost day. It could not be more perfect.

  Andrew leans over and kisses me. “This is almost as gorgeous as you.”

  Okay, I was wrong. Now the night is perfect. Seriously, the man is good.

  The boys get ahead of us. We crunch along for a while, our snowshoes breaking the crust of the frozen trail. I follow Andrew’s steps, and I watch the smile on his face spread. He spots an owl in a bare aspen tree and points out the moon with the rainbow of haze around it.

  Then he stops for a moment, and I come up even with him. “You see something?” I look off the trail to see what might have held him up.

  “No. I just wanted a second with you.” He smiles.

  “Okay.” I try to hold still and not fidget.

  “Can I tell you something?” He speaks softly.

  His face is lit with moonglow. The angles of his face are half in shadow, half in light. I can’t read his expression well. “Sure.” I don’t know what’s coming.

  “I just want you to know that I love you. I know we said it on Christmas, but I want you to hear me say it, for real.”

  “I love you too.”

  “There’s more than that.”
He glances down the trail at the boys. They’ve stopped to pull clumps of snow off the low boughs of a pine. He waves at them, and they wave back, return their attention to the tree.

  “I’m listening.” I try to quiet myself so I really can. It’s not my strong suit.

  “I’m not perfect. If we keep dating, you’re going to hear about a lot of stuff and a lot from my past.”

  My mind winds up. “Like what?”

  “When I first came to LA, I had a hard time keeping my head screwed on straight. The business is crazy—”

  “I can see that. I met Franca, remember?”

  “It made me a little crazy. And some stuff happened, when I was younger. I almost blew my career before it even got started.”

  “But you didn’t. We all have a past, believe me.” I don’t really want to get into that discussion just now. Mine is full of Peter, and that hurts.

  “Well, I just want you to hear it from me. Anytime you want to talk about it, I will. I work all the time to stay clear-headed now. I’m not perfect, but having you in my life, things feel right, I feel good. I think everything’s going to be fine.”

  “I’m sure it will be. Don’t worry so much.”

  “All things in moderation, right?”

  “Exactly.” I kiss him. “Except that. You can completely overdo the kissing thing. That’s very allowed.”

  He kisses me one more time, slowly, and I feel a surge of emotion radiate through me. I want to hold him, protect him.

  “Hey! Mom! Stop the smooching!” Beau comes back down the trail toward us.

  Andrew gives me a quick squeeze. “We’re coming!”

  His face is different, the moment over. He jogs off to meet Beau.

  I try to sort out what that moment was, but the boys call to me, and it slips away.

  When the night comes to an end, I feel truly sad. It’s not often that I have time with the boys, with Andrew, on such a beautiful night.

  We get home, and the boys collapse into bed, exhausted from the exertions of the evening.

  I get the house locked up and realize, suddenly, that this will be the first night Andrew is in my bed, here in my house.

  He comes out of the kitchen and into the living room. He seems to pause.