by S. M. Parker
“I needed a run.” Needed to think.
She moves to the island. “Did it help?”
“Yeah.” The run was perfect. It’s all the other stuff crowding my heart I could do without.
Mom crumples the note I left her before leaving the house this morning. “So, what are you going to do, Zephyr?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’d be willing to bet you do know, even if it seems like the hardest thing in the world right now.”
And she is right. Of course.
I tug off my hat and scarf, unlace my sneakers.
Mom stirs cream into her coffee. “But none of that needs to happen in this very instant, so how about we try to conjure up some semblance of a normal Christmas? The rest can wait. Step by step, remember?” She gives a hopeful smile. “And those gifts aren’t going to unwrap themselves.”
“I could do with normal.” Anything to keep my mind off Alec. And maybe Mom needs the same thing, to keep her mind off Dad not being here and all the disappointment in me she’s trying to hide.
We go to the tree and I choose a medium box and tear at its wrapper. Inside is a Boston College sweatshirt and it steals my breath with all its maroon color and bold white stitching.
“I wasn’t sure if I should still give it to you. But you said it’s what you want.”
I rub at the thick material, think about its journey from the bookstore on campus. “It’s all I want.” I lost track of that too easily. If Alec is innocent, I still want Boston College. I can have him and Boston College and it will work. “Would it be weird to put it on?”
“Not at all. It’s important you visualize what you want. Maybe this will be a good sign for our mission with the dean.”
I pull off my outer tee and stretch the sweatshirt over my head, poke my arms into its soft inner fleece. It’s too big, but in that perfectly oversize way. I brush my hand over the front, my fingertips catching the embroidered seal. “Thank you.”
Mom looks at me, so proud. “Don’t thank me. You’re the one who did the work to get there. And you’ll do it again, Zephyr.”
Mom’s faith is so strong I almost believe a second chance is possible.
“Zephyr, I think your father deserves to know what’s happened.”
Shame visits me again, quick as lightning striking. “I thought you might have told him already.”
“I wanted your permission first. And I wanted to suggest that the two of you talk about what’s been going on with you lately.”
“I don’t know if I can, Mom. It’s bad enough you know.”
“Telling me was the best thing. And talking to your dad about it might provide new perspective. Maybe he can see through this problem in a way we can’t.”
“Maybe.” Maybe. “Could you tell him? I think I’m fine to talk about it when I meet him for dinner; I just can’t bring it up. I need to focus on talking to Alec first. One thing at a time, right?”
“Step by step,” Mom says, and I can hear how she’s trying to draw the stress from me, help me survive this.
We spend the morning opening gifts and baking cookies until I am stretched on the couch, lost in a sugar coma. It is dark by the time the doorbell rings. Mom calls to me from the kitchen, “I’ve got it!”
I stand and watch Mom put her hand to the doorknob and in that instant all of me wants our visitor to be my father. I want to hear his reasons for leaving me and why he wants me back. I want someone to show me that love is complicated and makes us do ridiculous things. And that it’s okay to fall. And make mistakes. And forgive and come out the other side.
But it is Alec’s voice I hear exchanging polite greetings with Mom as she welcomes him in. I meet him in the kitchen where Mom throws me an is this okay look. I nod. Finn barks.
Mom resumes the noisy work of loading the dishwasher so I invite Alec into the living room where A Christmas Story is too loud on the television and shredded wrapping paper litters the rug. I can’t help remembering the first time I let Alec into my bedroom, my fear of him seeing anything out of place. Now, I don’t even lower the volume on the TV.
“What are you doing here?”
Alec leans in. “It’s Christmas.” He kisses me on the cheek.
I recoil but he hands me a small box. “I wanted to give your gift in person and see if you were feeling better.”
“Better than what?”
He grabs my chin, holds it softly. His eyes search mine and I cannot look away. “You were so upset yesterday. I tried calling after, but . . . did you turn your phone off?” Then he waves off his question. “Doesn’t matter. I just hope you got the answers you were looking for.”
I didn’t. I don’t know any more than I did yesterday. Not for sure.
He nods at the gift. “Aren’t you gonna open it?” That’s when I feel the box in my hand, so innocent, too much of what I wanted with Alec next year. Surprise. Kindness. Trust.
“It’s just something small.” He eyes the kitchen to make sure Mom can’t hear. “To celebrate you coming with me next year.”
I take a small step back.
“Us together next year. It’s everything, Zephyr.”
The word everything echoes.
And it is too much.
“Open it.”
I unhinge the box to find a silver necklace. An artistic, sweeping heart dangles from the chain’s center.
“Do you like it?”
I close the lid with a snap. “I can’t accept it.”
“And this.” He ignores me, pulls a small holiday bag from behind his back. He shows me the dog collar inside, shiny, bright red.
“The material is reflective. So Finn will always be safe if he gets out again.”
His thoughtfulness at the vet, his care of Finn. Him remembering how my first dog died.
But still. “Alec, we need to talk. Can you wait for me in my room?”
He smiles. “I’ll always wait for you, Zephyr actually.”
The pull of that nickname softens me. I go to Mom in the kitchen. “I have to tell Alec about how you’re gonna help me get back into Boston College. He’s in my room, waiting.” I read Mom, how hard she’s fighting not to judge Alec. Or me. “I just need a little privacy. Is that okay?”
She worries the dishcloth, tosses it onto the counter. “I won’t listen, Zephyr, but I won’t be far. Door open.”
“Of course.”
She nods, her face tight with concern.
Alec comes to me when I enter my room, takes my hand. “You freaked me out yesterday.”
I pull back from him and sit at my desk chair. I need distance from his body and his mint smell that wakes such a deep wanting. I place the jewelry box on my desk.
He sits on the bed. “I think I figured it out. Why you were trying to blame me yesterday.”
“Why?” I am desperate to hear any version of the truth other than mine.
“We talked about it before. How the first Christmas or birthday is the hardest. Your dad’s always been here and you’re angry that he’s gone now. You just took it out on me. It’s totally normal, Zephyr.”
I’m not sure what I expected. A full confession? A string of irrefutable facts that would prove he didn’t do what I suspect? But as I sit across from him now I realize neither of these things was a possibility.
“Next year your entire lens will be so different and you’ll be the missing piece that returns home. Things like this get easier with time.”
I steel my nerves, even though my stomach quakes. “We need to talk about next year.”
“My favorite subject.”
“I want to go to Boston College.”
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “I thought we covered this. Besides, isn’t it too late?”
“My mother doesn’t think so.”
“Your mother?” Alec stands. “So you told her.”
I nod.
“Is that what this is all about?” He points at my sweatshirt like an accusation. “She’s trying to keep you close.”
“What are you even talking about? You chose us, and Michigan. I never pressured you.” He hears the way his voice escalates, and softens. “What about all our plans? What about me, Zephyr?”
“I think I need some space.”
He crowds me. “What does that even mean?”
“I need to think.”
“Think? About what? This preposterous idea that I hid your acceptance letter? You were the one who signed those papers for Boston College. Not me. I wasn’t even with you when you did that.”
I pull the defaced press clipping from my desk drawer, hand it to him. “What about this?”
There isn’t even a shift in his eyes as he reads the slur and it makes me go cold. He crumples the paper, tosses it into the corner. “Zephyr, you think I wrote that? I would never.”
Tears fill my eyes. The word didn’t surprise him. He didn’t ask about my signature or when I found it. He just cast it aside like it wasn’t important now. “I so didn’t want it to be you, Alec. Even after I knew it was you, I didn’t want it to be you.”
“Zephyr, you know me. You know how much I love you. Why would I do something like that?”
But I don’t hear his words, only his tone. The same one he used to convince me the girl at Waxman’s was for my benefit. That he needed to teach me a lesson. “I don’t doubt you love me, Alec.” I doubt his version of love. “But I think we need to stop seeing each other.”
He reaches for my hand, squeezes. “Don’t do this, Zephyr. It’ll be the biggest mistake you ever make.”
But he’s wrong. I’ve already made the biggest mistake. “I feel like we need to take a big step back. Get perspective.”
He discards my hand, too forcefully. “So you’re dumping me on Christmas. Really classy.”
“I didn’t want this, Alec.”
He turns on me quick. “Yes. Yes you did. Because you’re the one who’s doing this. Not me. All I have ever tried to do was protect you. I listened to you about your father, helped you when your dog got sick. And all those things you begged me for?” His eyes go sly now. “The way I made you feel. You wanted that. But now you’re acting like a complete nutcase. No wonder your own father didn’t want to stick around.”
A serrated knife cuts through my heart, shreds me. “You should go.”
He grabs at my wrist, too hard. I try to pull my arm free from his grip, but he tightens his hold. “Don’t think for a minute that this isn’t all your fault.” When he finally lets my wrist drop, he grabs the gift box and punches the wall just shy of the light switch. The plaster buckles under his force. I hear a different Alec reach the kitchen, exchange polite good-byes with my mother, like nothing happened between us, like he didn’t just level me.
Chapter 33
I drive the highway, grateful for the distance from Sudbury. I find the Chinese restaurant we agreed on and my father is already seated in a red vinyl booth. He stands when he sees me.
“Zephyr, it’s so good to see you. I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
“I thought about it.” A lie to sting him. Because it only seems fair.
I take a seat opposite my dad and my brain clogs with all the questions I wanted to ask. About another woman. Another family. If he doesn’t love us anymore. But I hear Alec’s words above everything else: No wonder your own father didn’t want to stick around. And the question that rises faster and stronger than all the rest: “Why did you do it?”
My father folds the cloth napkin from rectangle to square. “You don’t want to order tea first? Get warm?”
“No.” I hadn’t meant to bring this much confusion to dinner, but Alec’s words have me spinning. And I think my father is the only one who can slow me down. “I need to hear you say it. I need to try to understand.”
He clears his throat, looks impossibly nervous. “I was feeling lost, Zephyr. Like I’d forgotten who I was.”
My insides jolt. I lean in.
“I’d made all these promises and had all these expectations and they felt cumbersome. I fell into that cliché trap of wondering, what if? What if I could see the green on the other side? But then I did and it showed me was that all I’ve ever wanted to be was your dad. And a husband to your mom.”
“You couldn’t have figured that out without leaving us?”
“I wish I’d been smart enough to handle it differently.” His hand reaches across the table for mine. I slink back.
“You really messed me up. Mom too.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. You can’t know how much.”
“I’ve been thinking about this for so long. Wondering if sorry would be enough. If it could ever be enough.” I accepted Alec’s first apology. I gave him that. I fear giving away too much again, even to my father.
Dad’s eyes search mine. “And did you reach a conclusion?”
“I’m not sure. I think sorry can only be a start. Like a placeholder.” I straighten my fork against the knife, center them on the cloth napkin. Order, in miniature. I pull up the napkin, letting the silverware fall into a chaotic pattern. “Then we see what comes next, if sorry can stick.”
“A start is good, Zephyr. And my apology will stick. I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to go.” His gaze stamps with that promise.
The waiter breaks the tension, asks for our order.
Dad asks, “Our usual?”
I nod and Dad tells him we’d like cashew chicken with white rice, wontons, shrimp rolls, and tea. Our favorite dishes.
When the waiter leaves, I say, “You remembered.”
“It was never my intention to forget.”
“Then what was your intention exactly?”
“I don’t know, Zephyr. I’m even more confused than I’ve ever been. But not about us. Our family. I want to earn a way back into your life.”
“Is that why you’re not lecturing me?”
“Lecture you? I’m the one who screwed up.”
“You did, but so did I. Mom told you about Boston College, right?”
“She did.”
“And yet no lecture?”
“I think you deserve a congratulations first. I wish I’d been there when you heard.”
I wish I’d heard when I was supposed to. And for the first time I wonder if things with Alec would have been different if Dad hadn’t left. If I hadn’t felt the need to bond with Alec over our absent fathers—have Alec in my life to fill the void Dad left.
“Did Mom also tell you how I decided to go to University of Michigan. And why.”
He nods. “Yes, and I’m here to help any way I can, but I think I have to earn back your trust before my opinion can really matter.”
“But I want to know what you think.” I want to hear it, need to hear him tell me I fucked up. Maybe it will make us both seem normal or human or something.
“I think you made a mistake and you’re working to fix it.”
No different than him.
Dad’s simple honesty makes me reach into my bag then, pull out the three fall issues of Classic Car magazine and slide them across the table. “I’ve been keeping these for you.”
Dad’s face softens as he rests his palm on top of the small stack. “Thank you, Zephyr.”
And I hear what he’s really saying. How he’s thankful I always knew there would be a time when I could give them to him.
“Dad, I need you to do me a favor.” Or Mom a favor. As a thank you for her always being there for me. For her loving me despite my bad choices.
Dad searches my eyes. “Anything. Always.”
“I’d like you to come to Anna Slicer’s wedding reception. For Mom. I think it’s something she’d really want.”
“Will you be there?”
I nod. “I’ll be there.”
“Then I’d be honored.”
And something forges between us then, me accepting him into Mom’s life in this small way, one step removed from min
e. We both honor the safety in this first step.
• • •
When I return home, I bring in the dress I bought at Second Skin vintage shop on my way back through Sudbury. I hang it over my door, far from my closet with all its false sense of order. I smooth the clear plastic over the dress, love how the claret color deepens in different light.
“Pretty.”
I jump with fright, my hand leaping to my heart. Alec sits in the corner of my room, next to my record player.
“Is it for something special?”
“What are you doing here?” I step back, into the door’s threshold.
“What? You’re afraid of me now? Jesus, Zephyr, what went wrong?”
“Well, yeah. You’re sitting in the corner of my room like a creeper. How did you get in?”
“The key. I needed to see you.” He stands, pulls a carnation from behind his back. It’s the one from my wall, the one he’d tucked in the grill of my locker, though it is dry and brown now, its crown fragile. He sets the flower on the desk like a peace offering. “I feel like we got lost somehow. Can’t we start again, Zephyr? Be like we used to. We were so good together. You know that.”
“You need to leave. My mom will be home soon. She can’t find you here.”
“Don’t lie, Zephyr. I saw her note on the island.”
The back of my neck goes cold. Did he watch Mom leave? The way he did when he brought me eggplant parm and the letter that changed everything?
“You used to like when I came over. Remember all the times you invited me into your room? The time you kidnapped me from school? I love you, Zephyr. I want that back. And deep down, I know you do too. You can go to Boston College. I don’t care. I’ve always said that. I want you to do what you want to do. I just want to be with you. And I want you with me. Like before.” He selects a record from the stack, empties it from the sleeve.
“Alec. What we had is over. Really over.”
He eyes me, taunts me. “Don’t say anything you’ll regret.” He spins the record around by its thin edge. Clockwise. Around and around. It is almost mesmerizing until he smashes the vinyl against his knee, the record snapping in half, shrapnel shards jumping into the space between us. He drops the pieces, comes to me. I back into the hallway and he follows. He presses his chest against mine, the same way he did at the rink that day. His breath hovers so close. “You’ll figure it out soon enough. How much I love you. How I’d do anything for you.” A finger strokes my jawbone, soft, knowing. “Hopefully, before it’s too late.”