Diego’s eyes go wide. “You can’t eat people.”
“I’m just saying, if I were trapped at sea on a boat, or—”
“So did you make a list for Santa?” Lizzie asks Diego.
Jude’s right: she’s got that easy way with kids I certainly never did before I had one of my own.
As we get up to leave, Jude pulls me aside. “Ryan says you’re thinking of striking out on your own.”
“Yeah. I need to change jobs. Seems like a good time.” I think about the business plan sitting on my computer, ready for me to take to the next level.
“My company is looking for an events company.”
“Why?”
“We’re a small marketing firm but we don’t do a ton of events, so we want to outsource it. It wouldn’t be year-round work, but there’s a healthy budget.” He pulls out his wallet and hands me a card. “Call me if you’re interested.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “Why would you do this for me?”
He shrugs. “Because my brother’s in love with you. Plus, I like your kid.”
Lizzie hugs me goodbye and they leave.
I stand there—one hand holding Diego, the other holding Jude’s card—wondering what in the world just happened.
Chapter 27: Ryan
Even though I’m inside my car, it’s freezing. I button the very top button on my jacket, hoping that will miraculously increase its ability to keep me warm. I could start the engine and turn the heater on, but then I’ll probably drive away.
I’m at the correct house. Its dark red door—complete with a fresh Christmas wreath—both beckons and repels me. Only the family who lives in this house are welcome through that door; I may be my father’s by blood, but I’m not his family.
Jude came here once. Parked in almost the exact same spot I’m in, stared at that door for a long time, and then gave up. I need to do better. In this one area, I need to best my brother. How will I ever conquer my demons if I don’t? If I do become a father someday, I don’t want this dragging behind me like a dead limb.
My car door slams and I’m running—across the street, to that door, into the fray.
My first knock is so light it’s inaudible. I knock harder.
His wife answers. My visit isn’t fair to her, but as Mom always told me, “Who ever said life was fair?” Still, I’ll do everything I can not to make this woman collateral damage.
“Hi. Is Dave here?”
She pushes a strand of brown hair behind her ear. Her eyes radiate suspicion, her instincts already shooting her some kind of warning. “Can I ask who you are?”
“Ryan.”
She stares at me for a second, maybe placing me from the café, but more likely hoping I’ll offer up more information. I could ease her worries with a casual “We work together,” or “I’m his friend Bob’s son.” But I don’t.
Finally, she agrees to get him but closes the door on me as I wait.
Then my father throws the door open, his face red. “Why did you come here?”
His wife is hovering in the back, trying to stare over his shoulder. He must feel her at his back, because he turns around.
“I’ll only be a minute,” he says. They exchange a look and she goes.
“I’m not trying to b-blow your secret,” I sound defensive. That’s not going to get me anywhere, so I calm myself down. “But I needed to say a c-couple things and you didn’t show up.”
“Look, I don’t know what you want from me, but you have to leave.” He shuts the door halfway, like that will hasten my departure.
I put one hand on it to hold it open. “All I want to say is that I f-forgive you, even though you’re n-not asking for it. I forgive you for b-being absent. For not giving a single fuck about m-me or my brother. And I want to thank you. For s-staying out of our lives. For not subjecting m-me to you as a father.”
There’s no air in my lungs, but there’s also no way in hell I’m stopping now. Not because I’m so angry that I can’t breathe, or because I’m so torn up inside that I can’t cry. Not for anything.
“Thanks for l-leaving the parenting to my m-mom, who was kind and g-good, and who read to me every n-night. And to my b-brother, who’s ten times the man you’ll ever be. It’s your l-loss that you’ll never know him, that you didn’t get t-to see him grow. That’s it.”
It’s eerie seeing Jude’s eyes on someone else’s face, especially when they’re peering at me without a shred of affection.
I hold out the dollar bill from the tip jar. “You c-can have this back.”
He doesn’t take it, so I drop it on the ground.
Jude was right: What really makes someone a father is choice. A father sticks.
I nod once at my father and then I turn and walk—away from that red door, away from the past, away from empty promises.
Toward the future. Toward Diego. Toward Eva.
* * *
Dark is falling when I get home. The house next door is wrapped up like a candy cane in red and white Christmas lights. I’m hoping for a little Christmas miracle myself right about now.
Eva’s car is in the driveway, so I veer straight for her front door.
But she doesn’t answer when I knock. I promised her I would give it my all and then I didn’t. Why would she let me in again? I ring the bell but get no response.
I trudge to the back yard—hunched shoulders, dragging feet.
“Ryan.”
I’m so startled by Eva’s voice that I drop my keys. She’s standing on the porch, the back door open behind her.
I stare at her, trying to get my fill.
“I hate to ask, but can you help me move the couch?”
The couch? As my heart lies on the ground bleeding, she wants me to move furniture?
“Can we talk for a m-minute?”
She chews her lip. “Okay. But I’d like to do this first.”
It’s not encouraging, but it’s a start. I walk past her and into the house.
The furniture is in disarray—the coffee table and chair pushed out of place.
“I want it over there,” Eva says pointing to the back wall.
That’s where I always thought the couch should go, so you could see the TV better. So fucking great that she’s taking my suggestion now.
We each lift an end and maneuver our way toward the wall.
I try to avoid looking around the room, but especially at the Christmas tree in the corner. It’s a painful reminder of everything Diego, Eva, and I were going to do together this season and didn’t. That included driving to the mountains and chopping down a tree.
But that was before.
We set the couch down and I give it a final hard shove against the wall.
I glance back at the tree. It doesn’t look finished yet. Colored lights are wrapped around the branches, but none of the ornaments have been put up. There are red plastic storage bins stacked near the fireplace, waiting to be opened. I wonder if Diego is anxious to put the star on top, and if he’ll be making popcorn garlands at school.
My eyes are drawn to the mantel, where I’m expecting to see the usual family photos, including Eva and Diego’s picture with Marco.
Except there are some new additions: a glass jar full of shells that look suspiciously like the ones Eva and I collected on our weekend away. And a color photo of me, Eva, and Diego in front of the polar bears.
I move closer.
Eva comes up next to me, but I can’t look away from the photo. “What is all this?”
“There’s something I wanted to give you,” she says, reaching down under the tree.
She pulls out a small green package with a silver bow and gives it to me, her hand shaking. My name is written on the paper in crooked letters. Diego always gets his y’s backward.
I pull off the tissue and remove the bow carefully, as though I’m doing heart surgery. Eva looks impatient, but I can’t move any faster. When I lift the lid off the box, there’s a round silver ornament inside that reads,
“Our first Christmas.” In the middle is the picture of me holding Diego on my shoulders at the zoo.
I run my thumb over the lettering. “Eva . . .”
“Diego picked the ornament. We want you to hang it on the tree.”
“Why?”
“Because Diego and I had a long talk, and we agree: there’s room for you. If you want it.” Her voice breaks. “He misses you. I miss you. So much. Every day without you has been . . .”
She breaks apart and starts to cry.
“Oh, Eva.” I put my forehead to hers and swipe at her tears with one hand.
“You were right about Marco. I told him I’m done and that things are going to change. Because you’re worth it. You’re so worth it. Maybe you’ve moved on already, but I want to fight for you. For us.”
“Moved on?” I toss the box on the mantel and grab her so firmly by her shoulders that I’m almost shaking her. “I’m gutted. I’m heartsick. I’m s-sad. I miss you b-both, like I’m dying from it.”
“I love you, Ryan. You’re the best man I’ve ever known. I want you to come first.”
Her words do something to me—heal something inside, maybe. All I know is I’ve been waiting for her my entire life and that I can love her and Diego both. There’s plenty of room in my heart; it’s big and not nearly full yet.
I was just waiting to be chosen.
“I’m happy to t-tie with Diego for first place,” I say, my voice wobbling. “I shouldn’t have w-walked away when things got d-difficult. You were r-right when you said that I jumped into this without really understanding what it w-would take. But I get it now. I was knocking on your door five minutes ago to t-tell you that I’m not going anywhere. That I won’t r-run again.”
“I won’t let you,” she says.
Then she puts me out of my misery and kisses me. Wraps herself around me like she’ll never let go. Well, I won’t either.
Because men like me: we stick.
Epilogue: Ryan
Four years later
The baby is crying, her fat cheeks wrinkled in anger, her toothless mouth gaping open. Her red onesie makes her look like a tiny vengeful Santa Claus. She’s so new to the world that she hasn’t even opened her eyes to face it yet.
She’s wrapped like a burrito in her blanket, and I put a cap no bigger than the back of my hand on her downy head. She quiets down.
“She’s a beauty,” I tell Lizzie, who is lying bundled up in her hospital bed. She looks like she ran a marathon, maybe two. I guess she sort of did.
I hold Ella in my arms, her body impossibly light. Her namesake—my mom—would have been over the moon today.
“I think so, too.” The paper cover of Lizzie’s pillow crinkles as she tries to adjust it.
Even Diego looks enthralled by the baby, which is saying a lot because he’s hard to impress these days.
“Oh, I need to get her another dress.” Eva nestles into my side so she can peer at Ella. “Boy clothes are fun, but girls’ stuff is so much cuter.”
I don’t know; I think Robert’s overalls are pretty darn cute. He’s down at my legs, tugging on Eva’s hand so she’ll let him roam and explore; toddlers are really good at that.
Just as he breaks free, Diego swoops in and stops him. “I got him, Dad.”
It will never get old, hearing him say that.
Eva scoops Robert into her arms. “Let’s take him outside. Lizzie, what should I sneak in here for you tomorrow?”
“Jelly Bellies—no, something chocolate.”
“You got it,” Eva says.
Diego and Eva give Lizzie a hug goodbye on their way out.
“Wow, you’re a m-mom now,” I say to Lizzie once we’re alone.
“I know.” Lizzie’s smile is droopy but joyful.
I remember that feeling: a cocktail of fear and elation. But mostly, so much love that it feels like you’re incapable of containing it. Like it will shoot out of your fingers and toes.
I never felt as close to my mom—or missed her as much—as when I became a father.
“And all of this because I sucked at Shakespeare,” she says.
She’s right. If Lizzie had never asked me to tutor her all those years ago and I hadn’t said yes, none of this would have happened. All the circumstances and choices that led us here are staggering.
“Let’s hear it for the book n-nerds.”
“Congrats on the story, by the way,” she says.
I rock Ella back and forth. “It’s one s-story in one journal.”
Lizzie rolls her eyes. “An important one. So take the compliment.”
The door bursts open and Sam and Jeff bustle in carrying a bundle of balloons. Sam can barely get through the door and she’s making a lot of noise about it. The baby gets restless in my arms, her tiny fists trying to escape her swaddle.
Sam runs over, leaving Jeff to corral the balloons in the corner.
“Holy shit, you really did it,” Sam says, quickly covering her mouth, like she’s blocking her curse.
Jeff rubs his hands with hand sanitizer and reaches toward me. “Hand over my niece.”
I do that tentative transition all new babies require—head supported, body held firmly.
“Hey, pretty girl,” Jeff coos. “Let’s pray she doesn’t have Dad’s nose.”
Sam moves to Lizzie’s side and takes her hand. “How you doing?”
Lizzie pushes a strand of hair out of her face. “As well as can be expected.”
“Yeah, considering you just forced that sweet baby out of your golden hoo-ha.”
Lizzie holds her stomach as she laughs. “Oh Lord, don’t do that. It hurts.”
“We’ll get the nurse in here to give you some meds,” Sam says, pushing the call button and promptly taking charge when the nurse comes in.
“Sam’s in h-her element,” I say to Jeff. “How’s she holding up?”
Sam and Jeff moved back here last year for her residency at UCSF.
“Fantastic. She was born to it.”
“Have you talked to Mom and Dad?” Lizzie asks Jeff when the nurse leaves.
“They got your photo. They’re flying in tomorrow.” Jeff rubs his cheek against the baby’s. “Man, she’s soft.”
I take their picture with my phone.
Jude should be here for this, but he hasn’t come back from wherever he ran off to.
Lizzie glances toward the door, probably noticing Jude’s absence, too.
“I’ll let you guys visit,” I say, giving the baby one more kiss and slipping out quietly.
Eva’s in the waiting room with Robert and Diego, who are playing with some action figures we brought from home. She sweeps a strand of hair behind her ear and it curls around her jaw. She’s a beautiful woman, my wife.
“Ready to go?” she asks.
“I n-need to find Jude.”
She stares at me with those intense eyes, trying to understand my deeper meaning. After four years together, we don’t require a lot of words to communicate. We’ve earned our shorthand through long nights with sick kids, and fights about money, and Sunday barbecues, and making love until the early hours of the morning.
She gives me a knowing smile. “Take as long as you need.”
I was right that reality never lives up to expectation: it’s so much better.
I walk the halls peering down corridors, but no Jude. I doubt he’s at the cafeteria or vending machine; Jude wouldn’t touch hospital food. He’s used hand sanitizer twelve times since we’ve been here. He even insists on wearing those paper booties over his shoes.
I remember his pale, shell-shocked face when he came into the waiting room and told us Lizzie had delivered a girl.
I walk faster.
I turn a corner near the elevators and there he is—sitting on a bench, staring out a window, his back to me.
Quietly, so I don’t disturb Jude’s thoughts, I sit down next to him. We stay like that for several minutes.
Finally, he breaks the silence. “She’s
perfect.”
“She is.”
He grips his hands together so tightly, his knuckles go white.
“She has your hair. I wonder if she’ll h-have your eyes?”
He shrugs.
“Sam and Jeff are here. Maybe y-you should come back to the room.”
He leans forward on his knees, still gazing out the window, his face angles and shadows. “Remember that time I broke your wrist skateboarding in the hills?”
I look down at the scar on my hand. “Pretty sure the hill b-broke my wrist not you. Why are you thinking about that?”
“I shouldn’t have made you do that skate.”
He’s wrestling so hard on the inside that it’s almost visible on the outside. I can tell where he’s going with this, and I know I am the only person in the world that can reassure him right now.
“It m-made me brave.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “You’re n-not going to break her, Jude.”
His eyes are red, his mind haunted. “I might. I don’t know what I’m doing. How would I?” His voice sounds corroded, like a rusty pipe that’s been eaten all the way through.
“Because of Dad, you mean?”
He nods.
My heart aches for him—that he’s wrestling with this now, after all this time.
“Trust me. You d-didn’t need him. You’re so much b-better than that.” If he only knew that he’s already surpassed his father in every way. I’ll tell him someday soon—now that he’s finally ready to hear it.
Still, he seems unconvinced.
“Listen to m-me.” I squeeze his shoulder. “You’re going to knock this out of the p-park. I ought to know.”
“But what if something happens to her?” Jude asks. And the fear and pain he’s been holding in since the day we learned our mother was sick finally overtakes him. His tears fall all the way to the ground, landing on the beige hospital tile.
I put my arm around him. “Don’t be afraid to l-love her.”
“It’s too much,” he says, his body trembling.
“I know. And the more you love her, the m-more it will hurt. But then you’ll just l-love her even more.”
We sit, he cries, and I hold him, channeling all my love for him—all my respect—into our embrace. I didn’t truly understand the sacrifices Jude made for me until I became a dad. But now, I’m finally capable of returning the favor and carrying some of the weight.
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