by Lynn VanDorn
Josh: Pretty sure, yeah. It was my fault for not having any ice cream, apparently.
Purvi: Ice cream is very important.
Josh: I've gathered that. It's like item one on the list of The Care and Maintenance of Tyler.
Purvi: I think I'm going to like you.
Josh: Good. I think you might be item two on that list.
Purvi: There is no shame in coming in second to ice cream.
Purvi: Seriously, how's my boy?
Josh: Things are kinda bad right now. Tyler’s going to have a lot of shit to deal with. I'm glad you're coming on Monday.
Purvi: What the hell is going on?
Josh: I'll have him call you when he wakes up.
Purvi: Should I be worried?
Josh thought about how to answer that. The whole situation with Tyler’s family was a mess.
Josh: I don't know. It's his family. He's taking things pretty hard. He worries me, you know?
Purvi: Yeah, I do. I'm looking forward to meeting you.
Josh: Trust me, the feeling is mutual.
Josh put his phone down and pulled Tyler to him, a little surprised but grateful when he didn't wake. He needed all the sleep he could get. Tomorrow, or today, rather, was going to be another long and probably horrible day. In the meantime, Josh savored the quiet, the feel of Tyler in his arms, the soft sound of his breathing, and the scent of his skin. It didn't lessen his worry, but it did make it a bit more bearable.
Chapter 34
Cynthia Has Regrets
Saturday, October 1st, 11:40 p.m.
An upscale hotel room
Chicago, IL
Cynthia sank onto the window seat in her room, leaned her head against the glass, and looked down at the traffic below. Today had been one long wonderful, terrible ordeal. She intended to take a bath in the room’s jetted tub before going to bed, but for the moment she was too tired to do even that.
Convincing Brad and Rachel to leave the hospital and not cancel their honeymoon travel plans had taken the last of her energy, but her worthless ex-husband had ruined their wedding reception and wedding night with his ill-timed heart attack. He sure as hell wasn’t going to ruin their honeymoon, too. Not if she had any say about it. Thankfully, the Rosens had agreed with her and had thrown their weight behind her argument that Peter had come through surgery just fine and Brad and Rachel’s absence or presence wouldn't affect his recovery.
So many thoughts had tumbled through her in the taxi on the way back to the hotel. Worry about Peter and an accompanying irritation that she was at all concerned about him, hope that the newlyweds would leave on their honeymoon as planned, concern over her disappearing eldest son, and more worry concerning Tyler and what he had going on with Josh Rosen. Cynthia liked Josh, she always had, but she wasn't sure he’d be willing to uproot his life for her son, and their relationship wouldn't work any other way, not in the long run. And lastly, Michael. Michael had come uninvited to the wedding. She probably shouldn't have ignored all his attempts at getting in touch with her. It was just that… he was… she wasn't prepared to see him. Even after all these years. Especially after all these years.
Later. She would deal with it all later. He wasn't going to give up. He'd made that clear before she'd insisted he go away, but tonight too much had happened and she was exhausted. Maybe tomorrow, after a good night's sleep, she'd be able to think clearly and decide what to do.
She was about to get up and draw herself a bath when her phone rang. Dread pounded through her. Was it Peter? Had something happened to him while he was in recovery? She looked at the phone’s display. It was Ryan, her problem child. Tyler thought that was his title, and he wasn't entirely wrong, but he at least knew he had problems and tried to deal with them. Not always effectively, but he tried. Ryan, on the other hand, pretended his life was perfect when it was obvious to her that it was anything but. He was exactly what Peter had molded him to be. Like mother, like son, and no big surprise there. She'd been little more than a child herself when Ryan was born—just barely eighteen—and Peter had made them both into the family he expected them to be.
“Hello, sweetheart,” she said. “Is everything okay?”
“Mom, hi. I need to talk to you. Do you have a few minutes?”
“For you, I have all night,” Cynthia said. “What is it?”
“It's about Tyler,” he said.
“What about Tyler?” A sudden fear struck her. “Is he okay? Did he cut himself again? Is he in the hospital?”
“Whoa, slow down, Mom. No, he's not in the hospital and I assume he hasn't cut himself. I mean, I hope he hasn't. Josh is riding herd on him, so I imagine he's fine, all things considered. Which is—”
“I'm not sure how I feel about this whole Josh situation,” Cynthia said. Tyler had told her it was a temporary, fake relationship, for media consumption only, but she'd seen the two of them at the wedding. She wasn’t sure what Josh’s feelings were, other than exhibiting a fond tolerance for Tyler, but she knew her son, and he was in deep. Way too deep for a supposedly temporary, fake relationship. When Cynthia had predicted heartbreak and tears she'd been joking, but now it looked like she'd been prescient.
“I was dubious, too, but Brad talked me around.”
“Oh, really?” Cynthia said, now wondering if she needed to speak with Brad. Not that he'd listen to her. He'd never listened to her.
“Yeah, back in April.”
That made her pause. “That was over six months ago.”
“It was right after Brad and Rachel came back from visiting Tyler in New Zealand. According to Brad, he's been trying to make this happen since even before Tyler finally left David, but Ty and Josh haven't been cooperating. Tyler doesn't come into town all that often, and when he does, Josh was always dating someone or other, and of course for a while Tyler was with Ethan, even though we all knew that’d never last. I'm surprised they stayed together as long as they did. This time when he knew Tyler was going to be in town for the wedding, Brad talked Josh into taking time off work. The plan was to throw him and Ty together, which ended up happening in a way we hadn't considered, but it's all worked out, so there you go.”
Cynthia felt a headache start to pulse in her temples. “Let me get this straight. Your brother has been trying to set up your other brother with your ex-boyfriend for over three years and you're okay with this. Do I have that right?”
“Josh was my friend, not my boyfriend, Mom,” Ryan said, sounding sulky and put-upon.
“Oh, Ryan, stop it,” she said. “Josh was your boyfriend for years and everyone knows it. Hell, I suspect even your father knows it. He’s just as good as you when it comes to altering reality to suit his needs.”
“Mom!” Her thirty-five-year-old son sounded like he'd reverted to being a teenager. She'd indulged him, her firstborn, letting him have his illusions that what he got up to with his teenaged best friend was a secret. She regretted that now. What she should've done was spoken with him and stood with him against Peter. It was too late to go back and fix things, though, as much as she wanted to.
“Don't ‘Mom’ me.” Cynthia massaged one temple. “Oh, well, what's done is done. I hope you two know what you're doing.”
“Talk to Brad if you want the in-depth explanation. The gist of his argument, though, is that Tyler needs a fully functioning adult boyfriend who won't screw him over, and Josh needs someone he can pour love into. I agree with the Tyler portion—he does need that. As for Josh, well, I'm just going to have to trust Brad’s judgment. He's spent the most time with him over the years. I get the impression that he thinks getting Tyler together with Josh is killing two birds with one stone. Hopefully he knows what he's talking about. I wouldn't have thought Josh would want to be with such a high-maintenance pain in the ass like Tyler, but…”
“But?”
Ryan was quiet for a few moments. “I think it's safe to say Josh’s little infatuation with me is dead and something else has taken its place. So maybe Brad’s righ
t, as much as it pains me to say that.”
“Hmm,” she said, still not sure Josh was a good idea for Tyler, but becoming convinced that Ryan did not, in fact, resent his brother and Josh getting together. Which reminded her. “By the way, who was the ‘sick’ friend you had to take home from the wedding?”
“No one,” was Ryan’s sullen reply. He’d definitely regressed to adolescence tonight.
“No one is very cute.” And young. “Where did you meet him?”
“He works at the firm,” Ryan finally allowed.
“And he's no one?”
“Just a friend,” Ryan said. “A coworker, I mean. A friendly coworker.”
“And you abandoned your brother’s wedding to take him home,” Cynthia observed. “Not to mention abandoning your fiancée.”
“I didn't call to talk about this.”
“I'm still your mother, Ryan, and I'd like an explanation.”
“I’d like you to explain Uncle Mike,” Ryan shot back, his voice icy and sharp.
Cynthia felt like the ground beneath her was shifting. “What do you mean?”
“I saw him at the wedding, Mom. He's Tyler’s biological father, isn't he?”
She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Of all the things she'd expected him to say, that was dead last.
“Mom? You still there?”
Cynthia managed a dry, “Yes.”
“Tyler knows. I told him. Showed him an old photo I found of Mike at one of the firm’s summer picnics. The picture is from over twenty years ago and aside from having red hair, the man in the picture could be Tyler.”
“Ryan, what have you done?”
“What have I done? How could you have kept this a secret from him? Tyler's extremely upset. Josh took him back to his place and is presumably dealing with it, but you need to fix things with him.”
“Why did you tell him like that?” she asked, feeling panicky. “Couldn't you have come to me first?”
“I thought he deserved to know, that he would want to know. It would be one thing if he loved Dad, but I think he stopped years ago. And Dad, well, I used to tell myself that Dad loved Tyler in his own way, but he doesn't, does he? When were you planning on saying something? Were you ever planning on saying something?”
“It's complicated,” Cynthia said. “I should’ve told Tyler a long time ago, but first I felt he was too young, and later… well. I have no idea how I'm going to explain this to him now.”
“Try,” Ryan said, as if he were the parent and she the child.
It wasn't until much later, lying sleepless in bed, that she realized she'd let Ryan get away without a proper explanation for his very young, very attractive “sick” friend or his current relationship with his fiancée. Ryan was headed toward heartbreak, and Cynthia wasn't sure if there was anything she could do to stop him.
Again, like mother, like son.
She looked at her phone and the numerous texts Mike had sent her over the past few days.
Mike: I hear you're in town. Can we get together?
Mike: I need to talk with you. We need to talk.
Mike: Please. I have something for you from Sophie. She said I had to give it to you in person, but I can't do that if you won't see me.
Mike: If nothing else, can I talk to you on the phone? I've tried, but you won't return my messages.
Mike: Cyn, please.
Cyn. Only Mike had ever called her that. Peter never shortened her name, claiming that it made her sound vulgar.
Cyn was an appropriate name, sounding as it did exactly like what they did. She and Mike had done nothing but sin, lying to everyone: their spouses, their friends, and themselves. And for what?
“Happiness,” Cynthia whispered out loud. “A little joy.”
A little joy and so much harm.
It was nearly one a.m. by the time she gave up on the idea of sleep, got up, and convinced herself to call Mike. He answered the phone on the first ring, as if he'd been waiting on her.
“Cyn,” he said, his voice making her shiver. “Thank God you finally called.”
“Peter had a heart attack at the reception after you left,” she said, ignoring the hope she heard in his voice.
“My God. Is he okay?”
“He's as okay as anyone could be in his position,” Cynthia said. “He’s in Northwestern Memorial recovering from bypass surgery. I'm sure he'll be fine. It'll take more than a measly heart attack to kill him.”
“And you, Cyn? How are you?”
“Fine. My heart is just fine.”
Mike made a noncommittal noise. “I'd like to get together and talk. I have something for you.”
“Yes, you said that. Mike, we do need to talk. There's something important I need to tell you, something that I should have said a long time ago. I'm sorry, so terribly sorry I kept it from you, but I just couldn't and—”
“I think I already know,” he said.
“You do?”
“Yeah, if what you're trying to say is that Tyler is my son, of course I know. He's the spitting image of me. I've known for a while. Sophie did as well, but we never talked about it. Not until just before the end. Cyn, why did you think Peter and I had that huge fight ages ago? It wasn't over me leaving the firm to go off on my own. It was over me trying to claim Tyler as mine. You know, after you left him, then ended up going back.”
“I thought it was over me.”
“It was, in a way. Peter didn't want me claiming Tyler. He said that if I acknowledged him as my son I'd have to take you, too. And that he'd see to it that you lost the other boys, his actual sons, as he called them. Cyn, I would have done it, taken you and Tyler and fought for Ryan and Brad, except you know I couldn't.”
“No,” Cynthia said. There was Sophie, who was lovely and sick and the mother of his two children. There was no way he could leave her and choose Cynthia. Even at her most selfish, she'd never wanted that.
“No,” he agreed.
Cynthia leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Stupid. I've been so damn stupid.”
“Stop it.” Mike took a deep breath. “The last few years have been nonstop caring for Sophie. I haven't had time for much else. But one night, a few months before the end, Sophie was feeling a little better. Enough to go to a restaurant, although she didn't eat much, and then to a movie. She chose what she wanted to see. We both knew it would be the last one.”
Cynthia felt tears on her face. “I'm so sorry,” she said again, wiping at her face and wishing she had a tissue. “I should’ve come back to see her. I know I should have, but I just couldn't.”
Mike continued, ignoring her. “We saw that John Hughes remake, Sophie laughing and saying how fitting that the last movie we would see was a remake of the first movie we saw. And how nice it was that one of the stars was Cindy’s little boy, now all grown up. Seeing him on the screen was, well, it's hard to describe how it felt. Wonderful and awful, because it was me up there. Me, with your eyes. Our boy, Cyn, and I don't even know him. Afterward, Sophie held my hand and kissed me and told me that she knew, she had always known. We talked, finally, about all of it. It was a relief to finally clear the air. Sophie wanted to do the same thing with you, too, but…”
“Oh, God,” Cynthia said. “I don't… I'm sorry. I wouldn't return any of her calls.” She felt like all the choices she'd made all down the line were wrong, every single last one, but at the time she hadn't seen any other path than the one she'd taken.
“She left you a letter,” Mike said. “I promised her that I'd get it to you, one way or another.”
“I sh-should’ve done everything differently,” she said, starting to hiccup. She could hear Peter’s sneer in her head, telling her that she couldn't even grieve with dignity. Look at you, snot running from your nose. Disgusting. “Everything.”
“Not everything.”
Cynthia thought of her three sons. First there was Ryan, who she'd let Peter mold into a carbon copy of himself. She'd helped Ryan, but in all the wr
ong ways, she could see that now. Instead of encouraging him stand up to his father, she'd taught him how to hide and pretend to be something he wasn't. Then Brad, the one who had never needed either her or her husband, her independent child who didn't care what anyone thought. He loved her, but she was afraid he didn't like her very much. And Tyler, who refused to either hide or pretend, no matter how hard she tried to teach him that lesson. She'd tried to protect him, but he'd ended up damaged anyway.
“Yes,” she said. “Everything.”
“Can I see you?”
There really wasn't any point in further avoiding him. She would do it, they would have their conversation and it would be painful, but then it would be over. Finally, over.
“Okay, sure,” she said. “In the morning. We'll have breakfast. It'll be like old times.”
–—
Sunday, October 2nd, 9:30 a.m.
An upscale hotel room
Chicago, IL
Instead of eating in the hotel’s restaurant, Cynthia called for room service. What they had to say to each other was not meant for public consumption and it was possible that things would get ugly. At the very least she would likely cry. Again. Bad enough Mike would see that. She didn't need a roomful of strangers seeing it as well.
When Cynthia opened the door to his knock it was a bit like getting a punch to the chest. Seeing him at the wedding had been one thing. Here, in this hotel, the past eight years might as well have never happened. He had, perhaps, more gray in his auburn hair, and the lines around his mouth and eyes were a bit more pronounced. He hadn't become any less handsome, even at nearly sixty.
Mike stepped forward as if to embrace her, then stopped. He let his arms fall to his sides.
“You’re looking well,” Cynthia said. She stepped back to let him walk past her into the room. “I ordered room service. Help yourself.” She took a pastry and sat down in one of the chairs. She took a bite, but instead of tasting butter and sugar, it was like sawdust in her mouth. She put it down and absently picked it apart.