I shrugged. “Yes, it’s a great idea, and I appreciate that he came up with it, but it’s not that easy. Mom needs me. I’m her only contact with the world, besides the nurse who comes in to see her on weekdays while I’m working.” I shook my head mournfully and repeated, “It’s not that easy.”
“Sure it is. You just keep telling yourself it isn’t. That’s all.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean there’s no way you don’t have a single other person in your life or hers who can take over for a few days? A week, even?”
I chewed my lip, thinking it over. Was there anyone?
“Let’s take it from step one.” She folded her hands on her lap. “What exactly do you do on a daily basis? And I don’t mean the power of attorney responsibilities—I mean, what are the odds that something would happen while you’re out of town? What do you do that you know will absolutely need to be done?”
“I make sure she gets breakfast and dinner. I dose out her medicine and give that to her with her food. I pick up the house and wash dishes and make tea. I make sure there’s food around. I do laundry. I make sure the bills are set aside and paid.”
She nodded. “So, really, there’s not a thing you do that’s too complicated. Time-consuming and vital, yes, but not complicated. Anybody could do it so long as they had a list of foods your mother likes, the times of day when she eats and gets medication, that sort of thing.”
I went back over my duties and realized she was right. “I guess so. I could make sure she has clean laundry before I go. I could dose out her meds for the week. Stock up the kitchen.”
She nodded her gray head. “All right. We’re moving in the right direction now. Who could do these things?”
I shrugged, feeling hopeless again. “Everybody else—my aunts and uncles, the neighbors—they all have jobs, you know?”
“Dear. So do you.” She reached over and patted my knee. “From what you’ve told me, you’re going above and beyond. They can pitch in and help you for a week. It wouldn’t kill them.”
“You think so? I guess I just feel guilty, like they shouldn’t have to do it. She’s my mother.”
“It’s only one week—they can handle it.” Her eyes lit up. “Now. Where will you go?”
My head was spinning. I laughed giddily. “I don’t know! I don’t even know my options!”
“That, I can help you with. What about Cannes? Or Lake Como?”
“Hang on.” I couldn’t help but laugh some more. “I can’t afford that kind of vacation. Let’s keep it a little more modest, please.” Pax paid well, but he didn’t pay that well. Besides, I wasn’t working full-time just then.
“All right. Hmm. What about the Caribbean? There are plenty of modestly-priced resorts down there with plenty of nice amenities. They’re big and airy and clean and right on the beach. Have you ever been down there?”
I shook my head. “I’ve never been anywhere, really, except when I was in the military. I have a passport, because I thought I was going to go to Paris a few years ago. That fell through.”
“So you’ve never used it?” she asked, and I nearly resented the sorrowful tone in her voice. Like I was telling her the most tragic story in the world. The poor, untraveled, uncultured girl from Queens who never went anywhere. Boo-hoo, here’s another Tony.
“Nope. Not once.”
“You should, dear. You should!” She clapped her hands together and before I knew it, she was looking up resorts for me. I realized it was better to go along and let her think she had her way…until I found myself getting more and more excited the longer we looked around. It was doable—totally doable, in fact. I could afford an entire week for much less money than I originally thought. And it did look pretty. Very, very pretty. I could just picture myself on a white sand beach, drinking something fruity and heavily alcoholic, letting the waves wash my cares away. Oh, yes. I could get behind that.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“The truth?” She nodded eagerly. “I think you should’ve been a travel agent.”
“Oh, I played one once,” she confided. “It wasn’t much fun.”
***
“I’ve decided on Jamaica—or, rather, Miss Hughes decided on it for me.” I was back on Pax’s couch, this time with a glass of Scotch in my hand. He would sometimes have a glass after work and encourage me to have one with him. I usually turned him down, but on that particular night I asked myself why I always did. Why not live a little? I could get used to this new version of myself, the one who took chances and had fun and lived life.
“That sounds great. You’ll have a great time down there.”
“Have you ever been?”
“No, but I’ve only ever heard good things.”
“Same here. I just never pictured myself doing something like this—and it’s not like this is a terribly luxurious vacation, but it just never seemed like something that was in my reach. I guess that’s what comes from growing up in a working-class family. You always hear about how expensive things are and how little money you have, and eventually you carry that belief with you no matter how old you get or how well-off you are.” I took a deep sip of the smooth, velvety Scotch and savored the taste before swallowing.
“I know the feeling,” he confided. “So what about your mother? What will you do with her?”
“I’m letting other people step up for once. I’m announcing that I’ve scheduled a trip in ten days for the sake of my mental health, and I have plenty of openings for fill-in caregivers. But the trip’s already booked, so there’s no room for balking. They need to help me out, because I’ve been doing all the heavy lifting by myself for months.”
“Damn straight.” He lifted his glass to me. “And when you come home feeling relaxed and tan, mon, you can thank me for it since it was all my idea in the first place.”
“Oh, I’ll thank you for it before I even go,” I smiled. “Thank you for being my friend, and such a good friend.” I wanted to say so much more, it hurt. The effort it took to hold back, to not share my feelings, physically hurt. How could he not see it? What he did to me?
Evidently, he didn’t. He only sat there, enjoying his Scotch, looking up at the ceiling with a funny smile on his face.
Chapter Five – Pax
“So. I hear you’re going to be Maid of Honor at the wedding.”
Lizzie’s eyes widened. “You weren’t supposed to know yet! I wanted to tell you myself.” She folded her arms, pouting a little. She never pouted.
“I’m sorry, honey. Here. I’ll pretend I don’t even know.” I waved my hand in front of my face, and when I finished it was blank. “Okay. Tell me your big news.”
“You are such a weirdo, Dad.”
“That’s not big news. Everybody knows that.” She giggled. “Come on. Tell me.”
“All right, all right.” She took a deep breath. “Guess what, Dad?”
“What?”
“I’m going to be Maid of Honor at Mom’s wedding!”
I gasped, hands clasped against my chest. “Be still, my heart! This is the best news I’ve heard all century!”
“Okay, okay. You’re so cheesy, I swear.” She shook her head like I was the most hopeless case she’d ever seen, the way only a preteen could do it, but she was smiling the way her mother smiled when she secretly thought something was funny.
“Have you gone looking for dresses yet?”
She shook her head, then went back to expertly using her chopsticks to eat her sushi. The kid had an advanced palate for somebody her age—I thought hot dogs wrapped in crescent rolls were the height of sophistication when I was eleven. “Nah. We’re gonna go in a few weeks, I think. Before the holidays.”
“That’s great, but you know what that means.”
“No. What?”
“Don’t go bingeing on the Christmas cookies, or else you won’t be able to fit in to the dress by New Year’s.”
She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Dad. Why not jus
t make me anorexic?”
“Oh, I wasn’t trying to do that.”
“Body shamer.”
“I wasn’t even body shaming you. I was only teasing.”
“Sure, sure.” She rolled her eyes again, and again she reminded me of Suzanne. They were two of a kind from head to toe—even if the eyes looked like mine. “Anyway, I’m looking forward to it a lot.”
“Of course! It’s a big deal.”
She pushed the last couple of pieces of tuna roll around on her plate, which I knew meant she had something on her mind but didn’t know how to ask. And I had a feeling I knew exactly what it was. I wouldn’t say it for her. I would let her be an adult, the way she wanted to be treated.
“So, um… Will you be there?” She suddenly became very interested in playing with the little green lump of wasabi paste, avoiding eye contact.
“I don’t think so, sweetheart.”
“Why not? Didn’t Mom invite you? She said she was going to.”
“Yeah, she did.”
“So why aren’t you coming?” She looked up at me from under her impossibly thick eyelashes.
“Because it’s tricky, sweetheart. It’s something grown-ups—”
“Something grown-ups go through,” she finished for me with a disgusted sigh. “I hear that one all the time.”
“Well? It’s the truth. It’s not easy for me to sit there and watch your mother marry another man. And that’s as honest as I know how to be.” I cleared my throat and straightened out the napkin on my lap. “I’ve never said that to anybody else before, so I trust you’ll keep it between you and me.”
“Of course,” she whispered. I realized she was about to cry.
“No, honey! No! You don’t have to feel sorry for me or get upset.”
“How can I not? You still love Mom, and she’s marrying Denny.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. Son of a bitch. I shouldn’t have opened my big mouth.
“It’s not like that at all. How can I explain? I’ve known for a long time that your mom and I aren’t meant to live together—and you know that’s something that happens to couples sometimes.”
“Yeah. I have lots of friends whose parents are divorced, too.”
“Right. I’m not in love with your mom, but I do love her. And, I don’t know.” How could I explain? “I mean, in the back of my mind this whole time, it was like she was still sort of mine. I know that’s wrong. But it’s how I felt. In my heart, she’s still my wife even though she isn’t on paper. Mostly because she’s been raising you and doing such a great job of raising a terrific daughter who I get to spend weekends with and have a great time with and be super proud of.”
“Thanks,” Still, she didn’t look satisfied. “I think you should get married again.”
“What? How did you arrive at that conclusion?”
She shrugged. “It makes sense. You’re young, right? Like, young compared to old people.”
“That’s sweet,” I smirked.
“And I guess you’re handsome. My friends think so.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“Oh? Which friends?”
“Dad…”
I held up my hands. “Sorry. Go on.”
“It just seems like a shame that Mom is happy now and you’re not. You have a lot to offer. You’re a business owner, even.”
“Wow. That does sound impressive. I’m not an old man yet, eleven-year-old girls think I’m handsome, and I have my own business. I’m a real catch.”
“You don’t have to be sarcastic. I love you. I want you to be happy.”
I stopped joking when I saw how sincere she looked. “Thank you, honey. That means a lot to me—really, it does. You’re a sweet, thoughtful girl. I got very lucky when I got you as a daughter.”
“You’re avoiding what I’m saying.”
“I’m not.”
“You are! I’m telling you how you should start dating and you’re throwing compliments at me to distract me.”
Damn, she was good. “I guess it’s not working, then.”
“Not really.”
“Okay, smarty. Where should I look for this woman?”
“Uh, duh. Dating apps.” She slid out of the booth and sat down next to me, pulling out her phone as she did.
“I thought we talked about no phones.”
“Yes, but there’s a point to this. Just bear with me.” Bear with her? When did she turn thirty? I looked down at her as she opened an app, suddenly very serious and consumed with finding me a girlfriend and felt a swell of affection I couldn’t hold back. I kissed the top of her head.
“Oh, Dad, come on. We’re in public.” Great. So the whole public affection thing was over. That didn’t take long at all. Weren’t there memos parents could get to give them the heads up on shit like that?
“Okay. Here we go. I made you a profile.”
“Wait. You what?” I took the phone from her, jaw on the floor.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“You don’t sound sorry,” I pointed out with a wry smile.
“Because I’m not, really. You have to get out there and see what you’re missing.” She showed me the picture she’d uploaded for my profile and the meticulously worded description she’d come up with. “I know this needs work, but I don’t know what you do in your free time. I know you work out and you run and stuff, but that’s about it. Grown-ups always wanna know what kind of music and movies people like, and you know I hate the music and movies you like.” She rolled her eyes. “I couldn’t make them sound interesting.”
“You make me feel so ancient.” I scrolled through. Hey, she hadn’t done a bad job—especially judging by the chock-full inbox.
“I set this up this morning. You have three hundred and twenty-seven messages.”
“Shut the hell up.” I glanced at her. “Sorry.”
“That’s a dollar for the Swear Bear,” she reminded me.
“Put it on my tab,” I replied without really listening. I scrolled through the messages and couldn’t believe how enthused some of the women sounded. I hoped my daughter hadn’t been reading through, too, since some of them were pretty raunchy.
“How do I log into this?” She downloaded the app for me and logged in, then handed me the phone. “Thanks. I’m resetting the password as we speak.”
“Oh, come on.”
“You don’t need to be reading this.” I slid the phone back into my pocket and looked seriously at her. “You’re really something else, kid.”
“I know.” She shrugged, then went back to her seat to finish her dinner. “Hey! Maybe if you have a date by then, you can come to the wedding!”
“Lizzie…”
“What?” Her face fell again.
“Is that what all this is about? I’d be happy to come to the apartment or wherever and check you out—I want to see how beautiful you’ll look—but it’s still a little touchy for me. I’m sorry, but that’s my firm answer.”
“I hope Mom’s not too disappointed.”
“I wouldn’t worry about your mother. It’s her wedding. She has much more important things to think about.” Still, it gave me pause and made me wonder whether I should talk to her about turning down her invite. I waited until dropping Lizzie off at home to pull her aside.
“Do you want a cup of tea?” she asked, pouring water into the kettle.
“No, thanks. I won’t keep you long, either. I know you have a lot going on.” She was working out a seating chart at the kitchen table when we got there. I looked down at the multicolored sticky notes. “You’re going to sit Aunt Margaret at the same table as Uncle Peter and his fourth wife?”
She laughed. “You’d be surprised how well they get along now. It’s not the way it used to be. And hey, if they start fighting, we’ll have a little free entertainment to keep the night interesting.”
I had to laugh with her. It was good, seeing her so happy and carefree. So unlike our wedding planning, which was a nightmare. Her family was an infamously contenti
ous one. Somebody was always fighting with somebody else, and things could change from one day to the next.
“I wanted to talk to you about the wedding, actually. That’s why I hung back.”
She smirked in my general direction. “Were you planning on finally RSVP’ing?”
“You only sent the invites last week. Which, by the way, has to be a record. You got engaged two weeks ago.”
“I know, I know. It’s been a whirlwind, but I’ve always wanted a holiday-themed wedding ever since things started getting serious with Denny, and I didn’t want to wait until next year.” She shrugged.
“Makes sense.”
“So? Can we expect you this New Year’s Eve?”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do it.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
“Are you sure? Because our daughter doesn’t seem to think you would.”
“Our daughter is our daughter. She’s not me. I understand, because I’m an adult who happens to also be your ex-wife. How many exes go to their ex’s second wedding? Probably not many, I would guess.”
“I guess not.”
“So, it’s all right. I’m sure she would like you to see her in her dress, but otherwise? I don’t expect anything from you that you haven’t already given me.”
“I really appreciate that.”
She smiled a little, looking down at her tea as she carried it to the table. “How’s the online dating?”
“Oh, sweet Jesus. You knew about that and let her do it?”
“She’d already done it, Paxton. Besides, I think it’s a good idea. You know how I feel about you being single.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I think it’s time for you to be happy.”
“I said I know.”
“What about Christa?” She sipped her tea, peering at me from over the rim of the mug. Steam clouded her face, but I could see the way her eyes sparkled anyway.
“Who…? Oh, right. Ricardo.”
She giggled. “He called me to wish me well and tell me about his engagement, and we ended up talking about you. Hey. We love you.”
“That’s just great. Thanks a lot for talking about me behind my back.” I turned to leave.
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