Paul matched Brian’s smile and turned to reply to Emily. “I’m not sure which branch of science would explain it. It would take a little chemistry, a little biology, and a little back magic. Let’s just say when Vera is involved, I cease to be the suave, debonair psychiatrist and turn back into the deluded fool that married her.”
The time was fast approaching when decisions about the holiday season needed to be made. Brian traditionally took the last week of both November and December off. Thanksgiving he spent at home. Paul’s only family was a sister in Memphis and his mother in a nursing home in the suburbs outside Memphis, so he stayed in town for Thanksgiving and went home for Christmas. He and Brian put together their biggest feast of the year on the national day of gratitude and gluttony.
At Christmas, Brian made the pilgrimage to Vermont. This year he wanted to take Emily with him, but she was being stubborn.
“Your parents want to have you all to themselves. They hardly know me. It would be awkward to be there for so long.”
Emily traditionally spent the holidays alone. On Christmas Day for the past several years, she had worked as a volunteer at the Samaritan Inn homeless shelter. Brian expressed the opinion that this was a grim way to spend Christmas.
“It’s a picnic compared to some I’ve spent,” she said with some vehemence. Brian waited, knowing that she would explain if he didn’t push. She continued, “My father was always at his worst at Christmas. I don’t think I ever saw that man get through Christmas without having a major fit over something. I guess when everyone in the world was doing family things, it reminded him that his family was not like other people’s, and that his family was suffering because of him. Anyway, at Christmas he felt so sorry for himself, it was disgusting to be around him, not to mention dangerous.”
“Did he ever hurt any of you?”
There was a vague, almost puzzled look on Emily’s face, “I’m not sure. It was things like, he didn’t like the tone of your voice when you said something, so he’d slap your face. If you did something really bad, he could get pretty mean. My two older brothers would come in late at night drunk, and if he woke up, he’d knock them around the room. I think eventually they started hitting back and he left them alone. ”
“Where was your mother through all of this?”
“I don’t know. I have trouble remembering those times clearly. I guess she was hiding under a bed somewhere like the rest of us. She drank.”
It grieved Brian to hear about the horrors that Emily saw in childhood, and it also struck him how calmly she recounted such things. When he shared some sad experience he recalled from his life, she always cried. He commented on this discrepancy to her, and all she said was, “I don’t care enough to cry any more over that man.”
“Sounds to me like you’re about due a really merry Christmas. In Vermont, you’d stand a good chance of seeing snow. Come on, Emily, I don’t want to spend Christmas away from you.”
The argument went back and forth throughout November. Brian had long since made an airline reservation for her, but she steadfastly maintained that it would be better if she didn’t go. He and Paul discussed the matter on Thanksgiving morning while tending the turkey, before Emily arrived.
“You wouldn’t think that such a shy, timid person could have such a stubborn streak, would you?” Brian asked.
“Do you think that’s all there is to it, she’s just being stubborn?”
His brow furrowed as he considered the possibilities. “I don’t really think so. I’ve been sort of running down the list of standard things that motivate her sometimes. ‘I’ll only be in the way.’ ‘I won’t know how to behave.’ ‘I wouldn’t be able to leave if I got uncomfortable.’ Are any of these logical motivations for a rational person to base decisions upon?”
“In this case, I can see the validity of some of that,” Paul replied, and began ticking off the list on his fingers. “She might feel in the way—God knows your mother makes me feel in the way. She wouldn’t know how to behave—how is she supposed to know how to behave in a normal family setting when she’s never been in one? And she certainly couldn’t leave if she got uncomfortable, and when the three McClellans get together, things sometimes happen that would make a shy person like Emily very uncomfortable.”
“Whose side are you on here, anyway? I was counting on you to help me talk her into going.”
“I’m not saying she shouldn’t go. I think it would be good for her to get over some of those motivations and care less what other people think of her. But people don’t always want to do things that are good for them. I can’t say that a week with your parents would thrill my soul either, not with the kind of icy politeness that the three of you have enveloped yourselves in.”
Brian harrumphed, but otherwise said nothing. The truth has a way of silencing all opposition.
Thanksgiving is the national feast day, and these were people who knew what feasting was all about. Emily arrived with a beautiful sweet potato pie, a deep dish apple pie, and a huge squash casserole. Her offering was added to the twenty pound turkey with cornbread stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberry sauce, cranberry relish, silver queen corn, glazed carrots, and three kinds of bread. The most amazing thing about the meal was that when they got up from the table, they had barely made a dent. Of course, it was also somewhat amazing that they were able to get up from the table at all.
Brian and Paul were somewhat atypical in that neither had any interest in football, so the rest of the afternoon was spent in the pleasant conversation that is to be treasured among friends and that is quickly and sadly becoming a lost art in a society that prefers isolation and trivial amusement to hospitality. Emily had thought herself a very poor conversationalist through most of her adult life because she knew she lacked the deliberately sparkling wit and clever repartée that television would have one believe is required for intelligent conversation between adults. Brian had corrected that impression on her part by assuring her that among friends, honesty is much better currency than repartée and that what passes in this society for sparkling wit is in fact mostly sarcasm. He recognized a quality of kindness that was ingrained in her conversation, and was a reflection of her gentle nature.
It was beginning to grow dark and the conversation was winding down when the phone rang. Brian figured it was his mother calling to wish him a happy Thanksgiving, and so excused himself to use the phone in the bedroom.
When he was gone, Paul asked, “So, Christmas in Vermont doesn’t appeal to you?”
Emily sighed. “I never said that. I just think it would be better to let his parents enjoy having Brian to themselves. Despite everything he says to the contrary, I don’t think his mother likes me one little bit. And anyway, I think he ought to have a long talk with his father, and he won’t do that if I’m around.”
“Well, of course Louise doesn’t like you, but she doesn’t have anything specific against you. It’s just that she doesn’t think there’s been a woman yet born good enough for her only son. As far as talking to his father, I agree with you that they need to talk, but I don’t think it would make any difference if you were there or not. Are there any other reasons that you don’t want to go?”
As Emily considered the question, her face seemed to droop a bit. “I guess there’s a little voice in the back of my mind that says maybe Mrs. McClellan is right. Maybe I’m not good enough for him. Maybe I’m too young or too inexperienced, maybe our backgrounds are too different. Maybe...” She stopped because she heard the sound of Brian’s limp. “So how are things in Vermont?” she asked a shade too cheerfully.
“I’m not sure. She sounded kind of odd. She says my father has been ‘kind of tired lately’ and is going to have some tests run. She was very vague about what symptoms or what tests he’s having. Of course, it does no good to press my mother. She just starts suggesting that you sound stressed and need to get more sleep.”
“You’ll be up there in three weeks, you’ll probably hear all a
bout it then,” Paul said reassuringly as he got up to go. “I’m going to make an early night of it. I ate so much I can’t stay awake much longer.” When he got to the door, he said as nonchalantly as possible, “Emily, call me some time soon. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
After Paul was gone, Emily asked, “Brian, are you worried about your father?”
The expression on his face—the raised eyebrows, the down-turned mouth—seemed to Emily to be almost a facial shrug. “I guess a little. I don’t suppose there’s anything wrong, when a man is seventy-two, he’s bound to get a little tired. We’ll find out when we get there.”
“When you get there,” she corrected. “If he’s not feeling well, he surely doesn’t need company for a week.”
Brian made the grunt that Emily interpreted as, “I’m resigning from this little skirmish, but the war is far from decided.”
Paul knew that if he really wanted to talk to Emily, he’d have to call her himself, and after giving it a few days thought, did so. They agreed to meet in the hospital coffee shop since Emily could stop by on her way home from work at about the time Paul took his dinner break when he worked in the evenings.
It seemed odd to Emily that after all the deeply personal conversations she had shared with Paul, she could remember no occasion on which the two of them had been alone together for anything more than a few minutes. The unusual dynamic of meeting him away from Brian seemed to her vaguely surreptitious. As he approached her table she reflected that he was a very handsome man, with a kind of vibrant good looks that ought to have had him fighting off attractive females by the score.
After making himself comfortable and ordering a cup of coffee, Paul sat quietly and surveyed Emily thoughtfully. When he spoke, it was very directly. “Now what’s this nonsense about you not being right for Brian?”
Having no inkling of what he’d wanted to see her about, she found herself taken aback by the bluntness of the question. She stammered slightly as she said, “I...I only said that I suspect that’s what his mother thinks.”
“That’s not what you said on Thanksgiving. You said, ‘Maybe Mrs. McClellan is right. Maybe I’m not good enough for him.’ What do you really think?”
“I don’t know. Brian is such a wonderful man, and I love him so much, that it’s hard to think. Being involved with him is about the most selfish thing I’ve ever done. I don’t doubt that he could find someone that would suit him better. Maybe it would be a good idea if we took some time out and reconsidered the whole thing.”
Paul digested that statement while he sipped his coffee. Finally putting down his cup, he said, “I’m speaking here strictly as a friend, not as a professional. You know Brian is the best friend I’ve ever had, we’re a lot closer than most brothers I know. And I’d like to think that you and I are friends, too. I’m asking because I care, and because if I can help, I’d like to. What is it about the relationship that doesn’t work? Do you really think you’re not suited for one another?”
“Well for one thing, he’s not... He doesn’t share my faith. You know the Church frowns on this sort of thing.”
“Have you talked to him about that?”
“No. I figured if I brought it up as if it were a big obstacle in our relationship and then he did make some sort of profession and join the church, I’d always wonder if he were really sincere about it.”
“Okay, I can see that. What else is there?”
“Brian’s forty-seven and has had a lot of experience in life that I haven’t had.” Emily was obviously struggling for the right words, and was also obviously not satisfied with the ones she had come up with. “I mean, I’m thirty-two going on twelve.”
“We’re not really talking about your respective ages here, are we?”
“No, not exactly.”
“Are you saying that it bothers you that he had sexual experiences before he met you?”
Emily shook her head as she replied, “No, I don’t mean that. Let’s face it, if at my age I would only date men with no experience, I could just go ahead and become a nun.” Emily continued in a tired voice. “It’s not him, it’s me. I see this frustrated look on his face and I know that even though he’s incredibly patient and understanding, the bottom line still is that I don’t...I can’t....I disappoint him.”
Paul saw her point, and knew a bit about Brian’s frustration. He also knew the depth of his friend’s feeling for her, and that he could, as many men couldn’t, separate it from sex. “Emily, in the twenty years that I’ve known him, I’ve never seen Brian as happy as he’s been since he met you. Would he like your relationship to be more physically intimate? Probably so. But his feeling for you goes way beyond even physical expression. I’m not trying to tell you what to do. Maybe a little time apart would be good for you. But don’t give up on him, and don’t give up on yourself. I think you’re both about due for the kind of happiness you can give each other.”
As Emily drove home from her visit with Paul, she reflected on what happiness is. “How do you go about being happy?” she wondered. In her youth she had a sort of sliding scale with different emotional qualities at opposite ends. At the unhappy end were concepts like ‘afraid’ and ‘hurt,’ ‘embarrassed’ and ‘lonely.’ These, she felt, would be appropriate ways to define the parameters of unhappiness for a person at any age. But the other end of the scale was harder to fill in when you grew up and supposedly became an adult. The eight-year-old Emily would have defined happiness with qualities like ‘safe,’ ‘quiet,’ and ‘unnoticed.’ “But what does Emily need to be happy at thirty-two?”
When Brian looked in the mirror, the worst wounds of his life were plainly visible. They symbolized for him not just lost limbs and a lost lifestyle, but the loss of a relationship with his father. When Emily looked in the mirror, the scars left from old wounds were difficult to discern. When Emily took inventory of herself, she invariably came up short. “I am so stupid. Whatever possessed me to think I could handle a relationship like this? I’m in way over my head. I don’t know what to do. I swear if I ever had an intelligent thought it would die of pure loneliness.” The voice was hers, but the words were someone else’s, echoes of an angry baritone. Emily’s mental picture of herself was built according to the specifications handed her years ago by a cruel architect. “You’re never going to amount to anything. You’ve been nothing but trouble to me since the day you were born. Can’t you do anything right?” The problem of her own happiness was one thing—she knew full well she had been making herself unhappy her whole adult life—but to get another person involved in the quagmire of her insecurities and self-perceived deficiencies seemed like a wicked thing to do.
She had all of this very much in mind over the next few days, and she was disturbed enough about it to avoid Brian with excuses of a cold. He assumed that she was avoiding him because she had heard enough about going to Vermont for Christmas. After four days of not seeing her, he caught up with her as she was coming out of the library at the end of the day.
“If I promise not to mention either Christmas or Vermont, would you come and have dinner at my place tonight?”
“I wouldn’t be very good company, Brian, I’m really beat.”
“Well, then, come sleep on my couch. Emily, I haven’t seen you in four days and I think I’m going into withdrawal.”
Emily had no answer to that argument and agreed to be at Brian’s in time for dinner.
It was a strange sort of evening, a regression into an earlier phase of their relationship when they were still taking care in what they said, and avoiding whole hosts of topics as too personal or just too awkward to discuss. They kept their distance both physically and emotionally, Brian because he felt himself to be on some sort of probation, Emily because she was practicing a self-enforced calm which she was afraid would crumble and leave her crying if she let herself get too close. She had done a lot of crying over the last few days.
She almost lost her control when she was leaving
and Brian asked, “Are you still mad at me?”
“I haven’t been mad at you, Brian.”
“There’s obviously something bothering you.”
“I have some things on my mind, but mostly it’s just the holiday blues.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, I’m sure it will pass.”
That was the way they left the situation that night, and that was the way it stayed until Brian left to go home to Vermont. There was no unpleasantness between them, but no real closeness either, at least not until they parted at the airport. The length of her kiss and the warmth of her embrace led Brian to hope that things were getting back to normal.
Chapter 6
There are certain occasions in life that are supposed to be met with standard responses on the part of the people who experience them. Children are expected to be afraid at least a little on their first day of kindergarten. Boys are supposed to get mad when someone picks on their little sister. The mother of the bride is supposed to cry at the wedding. Those are the times when what we feel naturally is in perfect sync with what we are supposed to feel, when what we want to do matches exactly what we are expected to do. The only son of the family coming to a beloved boyhood home for Christmas might be expected to feel and do certain things. As Brian’s flight arrived at Burlington International Airport and taxied to a stop, he reflected on what he might be expected to feel. “I imagine I should be thrilled to be here, I should certainly be looking forward with some anticipation to the days of celebrating ahead. Mother will have been baking for days, decorating for weeks, and cleaning interminably. All the family traditions will be carefully observed. And I will play my part; I’ll be polite, and even pleasant. But it will be harder this year than any of the last twenty, because besides the usual frustration of my mother’s fawning and my father’s distance, this year there is somewhere else I would infinitely rather be.”
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