“There I was, sitting in one of those swivel chairs, and I made eye contact with the man in the chair next to me in the mirror. We were in those funny black cloaks they make you wear, wet hair, no body parts showing. We both looked ridiculous. I’ll never forget it: He looked me dead in the eye in the mirror and he winked. I don’t know what it was about that wink. It was intimate, strange as that may seem. I know it sounds silly, but it made me bashful. That’s the only word for it. He made me smile, and what’s even stranger, he made me blush, for the first time in years. I fell for him a little bit right then and there.”
Caro paused as the flight attendant walked by offering us water, which she waved away. “Through the rest of the haircut, I didn’t look at him again. I was embarrassed. Then we went to pay at the same time and ended up walking out together. He held the door for me and asked me how much I’d tipped the stylist. He said he never knew how much to tip at these types of things. Was it like a cab? A restaurant? I couldn’t help but laugh. He asked me if I wanted to get a coffee, and just like that, I canceled dinner plans with Hunter. That should have been the first sign. We went to coffee that night for four hours. I was up for the rest of the night. From the caffeine, of course, but mostly because I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Couldn’t stop running through every detail of the day in my head. Why I chose to get a haircut at that time, at that place. At what point I noticed him sitting next to me. Every word he’d said at coffee. I wanted to remember it all, every minute of the day.”
“I know that feeling.”
Caro looked up as if she was surprised to see me sitting there. I hurriedly brought her back to the story to avoid breaking the spell. “What did Hunter say when you didn’t come home? Did he notice you were acting differently?”
“Oh, I don’t remember. Probably nothing. He was pathologically understanding,” she said, dismissing the question with a wave of her hand. Wasn’t that typically a positive attribute? She shook her head, as if recalling a litany of pet peeves, and then looked at me directly. “Emma, I want you to know this. Mike and I were honest with each other from the start about the fact that we were both married. No one was being deceptive. When we met we were both wearing rings although I suppose you couldn’t see them under those silly capes. The point is, neither of us was trying to hide anything. Neither of us had any idea where everything would lead.”
“If you knew he was married, and he knew you were, why did you even start anything to begin with?” I asked, softly. I wasn’t trying to judge. I really wanted to understand. What happened. Where I came from. Why I existed. “Why didn’t you just say good-bye and never speak to each other again?”
“That’s a good question. I’m not sure. Because I loved him, I suppose. Guilt may trump happiness, but I guess love trumps guilt.”
“Like rock, paper, scissors,” I murmured sadly, feeling the crushing complications of life weigh heavily on my soul. Was that why Sam did what he did?
“Also, neither of us had children at the time. Both of us were unhappy in our marriages. Neither seemed permanent, at least not from what we told each other. But really, it was pure, unexplainable love. He always used to tell me that his favorite thing about me was my feet. My beautiful feet. If that’s not love I don’t know what is. But the real thing that got me was . . .” Caro stopped. Maybe she was worried that she’d gotten carried away and this wasn’t an integral part of the story.
“What?” I urged.
“He used to tell me that he thought I was the nicest person he’d ever met.” That I was not expecting. Beautiful? Yes. Smart? Of course. But nice? It wasn’t the primary descriptor I would use to describe my tough-as-nails mother. “I know you’re surprised. But you try growing up with Mickey Rigazi throwing you around and see how sweet you turn out. I chose tough over nice every day of the week. But Mike Madigan . . .” She sighed, as if saying his full name took a great deal out of her. “He was the first person who saw me for who I truly was, a scared twenty-two-year-old girl from Philly who was starting to realize that her husband didn’t want her and she had no one in the world to rely on but herself.”
This image of my vulnerable, injured mother didn’t compute. I tried to make sense of it while she continued, explaining that she and Mike fell in love and were debating leaving their spouses, when she got pregnant—completely by accident, she stressed.
“Despite the surprise, when we found out I was pregnant, we were thrilled in a way. This was the excuse we needed to take the plunge. Mike took me out to dinner and gave me a beautiful pearl ring. He said he wanted to get me a diamond but then everyone would know it was an engagement ring. We planned to tell them both that weekend, get a quickie divorce, and remarry before anyone could do the math.”
The pearl ring from the pawnshop. It was like rewatching a movie you’d already seen a thousand times, but all the other times you’d missed the first scene.
“Hunter and I were going away for Labor Day and I decided to tell him then. I called Mike from a pay phone on the side of the road for a pep talk, although honestly I wasn’t even that nervous at that point. I was more excited than anything. Everything finally felt as if it was falling into place. The pregnancy felt like a sign that we should be together, and that all of our actions were worth it, that they were justified. Then, out of nowhere, right there on the call, minutes before I was going to tell Hunter I was leaving him, Mike broke it off. For the most horrifying reason possible. His wife was also pregnant. He couldn’t leave her like that. I was . . . devastated. There’s no other word for it. I thought I would die. The worst part was, in an incredibly sad twist, a few months later she ended up losing the baby. Of course, she had three more later, your half brothers.”
I hadn’t even considered that. The Madigan boys were my brothers. I decided to hold on to that piece of information until later, when I could properly digest it.
“After the phone call, after he told me they were starting a family, there was no reason to continue the relationship. I was very angry. And when she lost the baby he blamed himself. He thought God was punishing him for the affair.” She shook her head at this.
“When we broke up, my heart broke in half. I could barely imagine a reality in which we wouldn’t be together. But after a little time passed, things changed. I started to feel better. I loved being pregnant. Every day I woke up picturing you growing inside of me. First, a little bean, then a banana, a kiwi. Odd that a kiwi is larger than a banana.” I nodded in agreement. I was well acquainted with the fetus-fruit scale, thanks to my many pregnant Facebook friends.
“I felt that because I had you, everything was going to be okay. My family wasn’t that supportive, no shock there. I think they suspected something was off. But I didn’t really mind. I remember thinking, I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I have a daughter.” I felt myself turn away slightly, embarrassed by her uncharacteristic display of emotion.
“When Hunter told me he wanted a divorce, I gave him my blessing to go, live his life, and be happy. I didn’t want anything from him.” She paused, laughing sadly at herself. “Although after what I did, of course, I wouldn’t have been entitled to it. All I asked was that we keep his name, and that he stay until you were born. That way there would never be any question surrounding your background, or your birth.” But didn’t that bother my father? Didn’t he care? I hesitated, but forced myself to ask.
“Didn’t Mr. Madigan, I mean, Mike, you know, what did he think about that?” I asked, stumbling on what tense and designation to use to identify my neighbor/father.
“He knew he didn’t have a right to an opinion,” she said firmly. “I told him not to contact me, that no one could ever know the truth. After his wife’s miscarriage, he agreed we shouldn’t have any more contact.” She shrugged sadly. I noticed Caro didn’t use Mrs. Madigan’s name when she referenced her. What was it? I struggled to remember. Debbie? Donna? Were we somehow related? I didn’t th
ink so, but I’d have to make a diagram when I got home to make sure.
“He respected my wishes. He never made contact during your childhood.” There was a long pause while Caro inspected her hands. “Then, thirteen years later, he did.”
The story continued. Apparently, when I was thirteen years old—I shuddered to remember the mini backpack and dream catcher earrings combo I was probably rocking at the time—Mike called Caro out of the blue. He said he was sorry he’d been out of touch, although he knew that was what she wanted. Despite that, he wanted to help.
“Point-blank, he offered to buy us a house. I told him I didn’t need his money. I was about to finish my degree and start working full time at the lobby. We were doing okay.”
I nodded, remembering. At that time, we were renting an apartment in Woodley Park with a full bedroom and a loft. Caro let me have the bedroom and we painted it together when we first moved in, light green walls with a purple ceiling. I wanted to feel like I lived inside a flower. I loved that flower bedroom.
“But he insisted. He wanted to do something for you, and he made it clear that you never had to know about him or what he had done. But there was one condition. He wanted to buy us a house near him, in Arlington. He wanted to be able to know you on some level, to watch you grow up, even from afar.” My heart instantly constricted and my throat thickened with emotion. I took a deep breath before I spoke.
“Is that why you finally agreed?” I asked when I was able to steady my voice.
“Not really. In my opinion, he lost that right when he walked away from us and chose Debbie and her kids.” So it was Debbie. My almost stepmom once removed.
“But his kids weren’t born yet when you broke up, right?” Caro gave me a look that said she didn’t appreciate the clarification and I spoke quickly to ensure that she didn’t clam up, never to speak about the topic again. “Why did you agree, then? Why did you let him buy us a house down the street from his?”
“It was a no-brainer really. I wanted you to have a home. You were growing up. You needed a place where you could close the door and get some space from me. No teenager needs her mother right in her face all the time. Little did I know that you would eventually need three thousand miles of space.” Caro chuckled sadly at this and I was hit with a mixture of surprise and guilt. It was one thing to know how distant we were, and another to hear her reference it.
“I could never have afforded a place like the one he was offering, not for years, and by then, you’d be out of the house, so what would be the point. Plus, you were about to start high school. I couldn’t let you attend D.C. public schools and I couldn’t afford private school.”
“What about Debbie?” The question popped out before I could decide if it was a good idea. “Did she know who we were?”
“She knew,” Caro said simply, leaving it at that. I decided not to press my luck on that particular issue. This kind of distraction always happened when I watched a movie. I would get fixated on the side characters, worried about the guy who got left at the altar so his girlfriend could end up with the man of her dreams. Did she ever explain what happened, or did she let him find out from his goofy best friend? Afterward, did he see pictures of her and the new guy on Instagram and feel bitter every time, or did he unfollow her?
“And Mike—did you guys ever get together or . . . ?”
“Did we have another affair? No, Emma. I was in my early twenties when that happened. Don’t take this story as any indication that I think cheating is okay. It isn’t. And I was duly punished for it. I had to drive past their house every day, see Mike throwing the football to his sons in their front yard, watch them walk by with their goddamn picnic basket. It wasn’t easy.”
The picnic basket.
I could physically feel her need to end the conversation. But I had one question left.
“Did he really die?” I knew this wasn’t really a question at all, but it had to be asked. After all the lies, I didn’t want to leave any stone unturned.
Caro must have understood this, because she answered quickly. “Yes, he did. I’m sorry.”
I felt a sudden wash of vertigo, born of pure sadness. Struggling with what to say next, I looked over and saw that no words were necessary. My mother, usually so strong, so pulled together, had started to silently weep. She loved him, I realized. He’d been the love of her life.
Ignoring the seat belt light that was still on, I got up and stepped across the aisle, putting my arms around her. I felt her shaking as I held her, but I didn’t let go. As I felt vertigo overtake me, I looked out the window. Our plane was descending. I was home.
CHAPTER 26
As we silently deplaned and made our way out to the Arrivals curb, I couldn’t help but remember all the times Sam and I had been there before. I thought about the year we flew back from London, where we’d met his entire extended family for the holidays, and I was sick the entire nine-hour flight home.
We’d gone out for fondue the night before and I made an ill-timed bet with his brother that I could eat more cheese than him. This led to three hours of vomiting in an airplane bathroom, with the people in the last row pretending not to hear and the flight attendant knocking at one point to ask if I was okay. Sam eventually convinced them to move me to first class, where I lay in the fully reclined chair and slept the entire way across the Atlantic. When I woke up I was miraculously cured and even enjoyed a few complimentary glasses of champagne. When we landed, Sam mistook my tipsiness for remnants of my illness and took care of me the rest of the weekend.
After grabbing a taxi to my house in Venice, and seeing me inside, Caro carefully hugged me good-bye and said she was going to check into a hotel where she had made a reservation. We may have shared more in the past two hours than we had in the past ten years, but that didn’t make us different people. We both needed to take everything in, to process what she had shared with me.
After Caro left, I ignored all the little tasks I usually do when I get home from a trip. I dropped my bag on the ground and immediately took off all my clothes and got in the shower. I let the hottest water I could stand run over me. When my mind finally cleared, I was struck by one simple thought: I had known my father, and he had known me. What was more, he’d liked me, he cared about me. And I’d liked him. We had, in the smallest, most casual sense, a relationship.
Then I realized something else. That was it. There would be no chance for anything else between us, ever. That would be the extent of my communication and closeness with my father until the end of time. I would never call him Dad, he would never know that I knew who he was, and we would never connect on any deeper level. What we had those years on Redwood Lane—the friendly chats and random run-ins—was all we would ever have. Because he was gone. It was so impossibly final. The pain of this knowledge seared through me, and there, in the shower, with the water still running, I dropped to my knees and cried.
I cried for Caro, who tried so hard to give me a good life and put herself through a kind of torture in the process. I cried for Mike, who lost two babies at once, and then, so randomly, his life. And for Debbie, who had to see the product of her husband’s infidelity walking to the bus stop every day, twice a day, for four years, and whose own children, now grown, were fatherless. And, finally, I cried for myself.
What felt like a lifetime later, I stood up, peeling myself off the shower floor, exhausted, yet lighter. I’d fought against feeling sad for so long, and when I finally let myself give in, I was surprised to find that I could actually handle it. I recalled a phrase of Dr. Majdi’s: Emma, you must face the abyss. It never made any sense before. But now I got it. The dream of finding my father and having him whisk me away from my life was never going to happen. Hunter wouldn’t be an escape hatch. In fact, Hunter Moon, a name to which I’d attached so much importance for so long, meant essentially nothing to me, and although I had a feeling Leo was going to Facebook friend me,
we would most likely never see each other again. No whisking, no escape hatch, no Hunter. Hello, abyss. It’s me, Emma. I looked down. It wasn’t quite as deep as I had feared.
CHAPTER 27
I heard the telltale creak of my front gate opening, the swollen wood slightly too big for the space it occupied. The footsteps on the stone path leading to my door needed no introduction. I’d had them memorized since sophomore year of high school when we met at my locker to walk to precalc together every Tuesday and Thursday. I opened the front door before she could knock.
“Wow, you look like shit,” Liv said. It was at that moment that I knew we were going to be okay. If she’d acted formal or polite, I might have been worried. I reached for my best friend and, despite the fact that she was five inches shorter than me, I managed to put my head on her shoulder and let her hug me. After a minute, she led me to the couch and I told her everything about Mike and Caro, their history, what had happened, and the cruel twist of having known my father for years, but never knowing who he was.
“I don’t know, this is going to sound weird, but . . .” I paused, looking at her, making sure we were one hundred percent okay before I went on.
“Tell me,” she urged.
“I’m afraid that I was mean to him, or rude or something, and didn’t even know it.” I was confessing a fear I’d barely formulated in my own head.
“Em, you’re not mean to anyone. Except guys in bars sometimes when they’re annoying, but that’s funny. I’m sure you were your amazing sweet self.”
“At sixteen I was a terror,” I reminded her.
“At times. I hope you didn’t have too many encounters when you were on that birth control junior year that made you super crazy.”
I laughed out loud, despite myself.
“It’s so unfair that everyone knew but me, and I didn’t even know how to act, or that when I was talking to him, I was talking to my actual dad.”
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