by Lynn VanDorn
Mike poured himself a cup of coffee and sat as well. “You’re as beautiful as I remember.”
“Don't be silly. I'm almost fifty-three years old and I'm bound to be a grandmother soon.”
“I'm already a grandfather twice over. Cyn, I think we've progressed past social niceties. We had an affair. It was unwise, and selfish, and we produced a child. If I could go back and change things, I probably would, but regrets don't help either the living or the dead. I want to move forward, and I'd like to acknowledge that I have more than one son.”
“Yes, well, you pretty much set that in motion, like it or not, by coming to the wedding uninvited. Apparently, Ryan noticed your resemblance to Tyler and told him last night, and the timing couldn't have been worse. Between this asinine video business, his house being vandalized by God-knows-who, his father having a heart attack, and this news, it'll be a miracle if he doesn't end up in the hospital himself.”
Mike frowned. “I had no idea Tyler’s health was that fragile.”
She'd never told either Sophie or Mike about the worst of Tyler’s childhood and adolescence. It had been too painful, too shameful to share. It wasn't any easier now. Hey, Mike, yeah, you've got a son and look at the wonderful job I did raising him! I let his father do terrible things to him and now he cuts himself to cope with stress. Isn't that great?
“I'm being hyperbolic,” she said, and that was probably the truth. Ryan seemed to think that Josh had Tyler well in hand. Cynthia wasn't so sure, but at least if he did cut himself, there would be someone there to take him to the hospital. Then she remembered that Josh was a physician himself and Brad’s matchmaking campaign suddenly began to make sense. “Besides, Josh is with him. At least he's not alone.”
“I've seen the tabloids saying Josh is Tyler’s boyfriend. Wasn't he Ryan's friend when they were teenagers?”
“One and the same.” Cynthia threw on a blinding smile she didn't feel. “Congratulations. Your long-lost son is gay.” Also, prone to slicing himself open.
Mike looked annoyed. “Cyn, you told me and Sophie that Tyler was gay when he was thirteen. It didn't bother me then and it doesn't bother me now. I thought you knew me better than that.”
Cynthia felt stupid. She remembered it now, crying on Sophie’s shoulder, Mike there in the background, offering advice on how to deal with Peter, not that it had done any good. “At the moment, I don't feel as if I know anything anymore. Everything feels unreal.”
Mike shoved an envelope her way. “Read this. It's reason why I came. I promised I would deliver it in person.”
Cynthia fumbled with the envelope with numbed fingers, eventually tearing it open and sliding out the letter inside. The paper smelled of Sophie—cinnamon and vanilla and underneath that something floral—and that was enough to make her eyes start to tear. “I'm not sure I can do this,” she said.
Mike grabbed her wrist. It was the first time he'd touched her in over eight years and the tingle she'd always felt was still there, making her heart speed up. “Yes, you can. Sophie managed to write it and you will damn well read it.”
“Of… of course,” she mumbled and opened the letter clumsily, somehow managing not to drop the pages onto the floor.
Dear Cindy,
I expect that you won't want to read this, so I've told Mike that he must deliver it to you in person and watch while you read it. I hope you haven't made him jump through too many hoops to see you. The past eight years have been hard for all of us. Needlessly so, I think. Maybe now that can change.
I know why you left. You were in a difficult position and part of that was my fault, although I comfort myself that I wasn't the largest part of why you left, and I flatter myself in thinking I might have been part of the reason why you didn't leave sooner. I forgive you, Cindy, I did years ago, and I only regret that I never said so.
I know that you and Mike found each other in a time that was hard for all of us. I was half-dead from radiation and chemotherapy, Mike was half-dead from exhaustion, and you helpless to save either me or yourself. We were quite the pair, weren't we? Me a skeleton with no hair, and you with all those suspicious bruises. No one as graceful as you could ever be that accident-prone. I knew what you were going through, if only subconsciously, and I was too wrapped up in my own misery to help you escape yours. Too selfish, as well. If you left Peter, you would leave me as well, and I couldn't bear losing my best friend when it seemed like I was losing everything else at the same time.
It was probably inevitable that you and Mike would comfort each other. At times, I resented it, and at other times it brought me a strange sense of peace. I thought I was going to die—we all thought it, even my doctors who tried to be optimistic about my chances. I was glad that Mike would have you when I was gone, my children would have a second mother, and that you would have somewhere to run that wasn't back to your parents. It seemed that things would work out, for you two, if not for me.
But I didn't die. Every day was a gift, at least that's what they say. I lived to see my children grow up, but I also spent too many years doing nothing but lying in bed at home or in the hospital, in pain and wishing to die. My cancer was like a vampire, draining everything and everyone around me.
You stayed as long as you could. I know you both hoped for and dreaded my death. I understand, Cindy. I really do. I both hoped for and dreaded the same thing. Every relapse was nothing but misery and pain. Every remission felt like stolen time. When I was sick, Mike was miserable. When I was better, Mike was always waiting for it to come back. It wasn't fair to any of us, and I'll admit that it was harder after you left. I missed you. Mike missed you. I hope that you missed us.
I spent too much time after you left feeling angry at you. I know you tried to stay in touch at first, and I said things that made you withdraw. I'm sorry. I wish I could take those words back. You hurt me, Cindy. Yes, you slept with my husband, but more than that, you left me alone. It felt like a double betrayal when you left, and I was cruel. I'm sorry.
I knew from almost the beginning that Tyler was Mike’s son. As a baby, he looked so much like my own Garrett that I just knew. And there were those bruises you had. Those bruises you tried and failed to explain away. What I didn't know about was what Tyler was going through, because you hid that too well. He had trouble in school. He was rebellious. He and Peter didn't see eye to eye. I didn't think anything of it, especially in those last few years before you left, given how sick I was at that time. I didn't put the pieces together until it was too late. I didn't know what made you run and when later you tried to explain, I didn't want to hear.
The person who explained it all to me was your son, Brad, believe it or not. Maybe six months after you went to California, I was in the hospital. Brad saw me while he was doing his rounds with the other students. We were surprised to see each other, and he came back later that day to visit me alone. I was still so angry with you for leaving me that I lashed out at him because he was the closest thing to you I had.
He stood there, let me verbally abuse him, then he let me have it right back. He told me about the harm Peter had done to Tyler, the cutting, the suicide attempt. He said that he'd told you that if you didn't take Tyler and leave, that one way or another he’d end up dead. So, there we were, both of us angry at each other and at you, and I realized how petty it all was. How petty I'd been. My anger was only one more thing that brought me misery, and after that day I could finally start letting it go.
After I went into another remission I tried to make amends, but it was too late and there was too much distance. I only wish I could see you one more time, that we could forgive each other in person. Brad is getting married this fall and you'll come back for that. I had thought maybe then, but now I know that's not going to happen. I've had my last remission and I've run out of time.
I had so many more years of life I didn't expect. They were hard years, bad years, but good years, too. There have been compensations.
Even in my despair, my darkest
hour, and my deepest anger, I always loved you. I never stopped, no matter what I told you. I've missed you, Cindy, but you've always been close in my heart, and I know that I'll see you again one day. You and Mike both. It'll be like old times.
All my love,
Sophie
Cynthia folded up the letter and started laughing. She was crying, too. Laughing and crying and she wasn't sure she could stop.
“Cyn?”
“That bitch,” she said. “Even from the grave she just had to get the last word in. God, I miss her.”
“I know. She was ready to go, at the end. Too many organs had failed. They had talked about a kidney transplant, but she wouldn't hear of it. The bone marrow transplants were one thing, but she said she'd be damned before she took Garrett’s kidney to the grave with her.”
Cynthia smiled and wiped her eyes on a napkin. “That sounds just like her.”
Mike put his mug on the table and leaned forward, taking her hand and enveloping it in both of his. “What now?”
“Well, I suppose we figure out how to explain to our son why I lied to him for his entire life. And then, frankly, I have no idea. I'm hoping he'll still be speaking to me by the time we're done.”
“You want to tell him together?”
“I'm not sure I can do it by myself. If that's okay with you.”
Mike squeezed her hand. “No. Together is fine.”
–—
Sunday, October 2nd
En route to Josh’s perfectly adequate condo
Evanston, IL
Cynthia read the text conversation over and over as Mike drove them to Josh’s home.
Tyler: I need to see you. Where can we meet?
Cynthia: I can come to you, if you want. You’re staying with Josh, right?
Tyler: Yes. Josh says that's fine. Come over around four. We should be done with his insurance company and the police by then.
Cynthia: Police?
Tyler: Josh’s car was vandalized Saturday. I'll tell you about it later.
Cynthia: OK. See you at 4.
Cynthia: I love you, sweetheart
Tyler hadn't responded when she said that she loved him. Maybe she was being too sensitive. Maybe she was making something out of nothing. Still, it worried her.
Josh buzzed them into his building, then opened the door to their knock. He held his hand out to Cynthia, who ignored it and gave him a brief hug.
“I'm not sure if you remember me,” Mike said, “but I knew your father, of course, from when I worked at the firm. And I saw you at the various family functions. But you were always…” Mike broke off.
Josh had been staring at Mike, but that broke his trance. “Always with Ryan, yes. Back in the day, where he was, I wasn't far behind.”
“I'm sorry,” Mike said. “It was rude of me to bring that up. I've been away from the Chadwicks long enough that I'd forgotten—”
“That some things are never talked about?” Tyler said as he walked over to join them. Cynthia went to hug him and he was stiff in her arms so she drew back. “Speaking of not talking about things, I didn't realize this was going to be a family reunion. I'm not sure of the etiquette in meeting your sperm donor, especially when you've already met. ‘Hi, I’m glad you knocked up my mom’ probably isn't appropriate, but I'm not sure Emily Post ever covered this situation.”
“Tyler,” Josh barked at him with a frown.
Her son flashed Josh a disgruntled glance then shared it with her. “Can I assume you're here to actually talk about things or are we going to ignore the elephant with my face in the room?”
Mike made a muffled noise that she thought might have been a snort. Cynthia wanted to pinch him. This wasn't funny.
“Ryan called me last night,” she said, stung by the sharpness in Tyler’s tone. She knew that caustic tone but it had never before been directed at her. “Yes, Mike is your biological father. If all you wanted was confirmation, I don't suppose we need to stay, but if you'd like an explanation, he's part of the story, obviously. Should we stay, Tyler, or should we go?”
Tyler blinked at her, raw pain naked in his eyes. “Am I not allowed to be upset? Is this going to be another time when I have to pretend things are just fine?” Josh grabbed Tyler’s hand and held it tight. Josh’s gaze, directed at Cynthia, was cold. She was being judged by Josh Rosen and she found she didn't like it. She still thought of him as that nice boy who operated as Ryan’s shadow. This man was not that boy.
“Come on,” Josh said, walking down the short hallway and taking her son with him. “If we're going to do this, let's at least not do it in my foyer.” He led them to a Spartan living room, painted white, furnished with a long couch and two chairs upholstered in black leather. There was a beige rug on the dark hardwood floor, and a large black television hung on the wall above a sleek black console. The only color in the room was the artwork: a painting of a gnarled tree in autumn on one wall and a ship tossed by an angry sea on another. “Please, have a seat.”
She sat in one of the chairs and contrasted this stark room to Tyler’s house, where each room was painted a different warm tone and there was so much color everywhere, from his furniture to the clutter that was never quite tamed despite a cleaning staff that came twice a week. She couldn't imagine Tyler living in a room this sterile. He and Josh didn't fit. The two of them would probably end up killing each other within a month. Tyler was chaos and this was a room owned by a man who craved order. Even if they didn't live so far apart, it would be impossible. Brad and Ryan were insane if they thought the two of them would work as a couple.
It was going to end in tears, sooner rather than later, and it would be her picking up Tyler’s pieces, as usual.
“Can I get you anything?” Josh asked, breaking into her unhappy thoughts.
Tyler sat on one end of the couch, then drew up his legs and hugged them. “Coffee, soda, something stronger? Only not vodka, as we are all out due to extenuating circumstances.”
Josh shot Tyler an indecipherable look and hovered, looking at Cynthia and Mike expectantly.
“I could use a beer, if you have any,” Mike said.
“Cynthia?” She shook her head. “Tyler?”
He waved a hand and Josh left and headed farther into the condo, presumably to the kitchen.
“So,” Tyler said. “I'm a bastard. Officially.”
“If you wish to be technical,” Cynthia said, “you’re not. Peter Chadwick is listed as father on your birth certificate. As we were married at the time, you are legally legitimate, not that it matters, as you well know, so being nasty is counterproductive.”
Tyler closed his eyes. “Excuse me for being nasty. I'm still a bit overwrought. I can't imagine why. Do you have any idea how creepy it is looking at you?” This last was directed at Mike.
Josh walked in at that point and handed a beer in a dark glass bottle to Mike. He put his own beer down and handed Tyler a can of something. Even though he hadn't asked for anything, he took it and started to sip it slowly. Ginger ale. Since when did her son drink ginger ale?
“Yeah,” Mike said, after taking a long drink. “I might have some idea. You look like my son.”
Tyler balanced the can on one knee. “Well, yeah. That's why we're all here today, right?”
“No, I mean you look like my other son. Garrett. Your brother.”
“No.” Tyler’s voice cut like a whip. “I have two brothers. Ryan and Brad. They're both pains in my ass, but they're my brothers and I love them. I don't even remember your ‘other’ son. He might share my face, but he's not my brother any more than you’re my father.”
Silence enveloped the room. Josh stroked Tyler’s leg but said nothing. Mike looked at her, then down. Cynthia studied her son. “What would you have had me do?” she asked.
“I don't know,” Tyler said, his voice cracking. He wrapped his hands around his drink, dropped his legs to the floor, and leaned toward her. “Make me understand, Mom. I need to be able to forgive you, I'm just
not sure how.”
Cynthia sat there and felt crushed under the weight of all her bad decisions. They had culminated in Tyler, the child she had sacrificed so much for, and it still hadn't been enough.
“I can't promise that you'll be able to forgive me,” she said, “but I'm going to try at least to explain, so maybe you'll understand.”
Chapter 35
Tyler Learns the Truth
Sunday, October 2nd, 4:28 p.m.
Josh’s perfectly adequate condo
Evanston, IL
Tyler sat back as his mother started to tell his origin story. If this was a movie, he would end up being a superhero or some shit. Ordinary people didn't have origin stories. Or rather, everyone had one, but generally they didn't need telling. It was all that “when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much” crap that was boring, and thus only the participants cared. Tyler, however, had an origin story and it wasn't even something fun, involving industrial chemicals and ending with him having superpowers. No, his origin story was all about stupid drama, where the villain was his father and Tyler’s only superpower was his ability to deep throat without choking. As superpowers went, it was pretty lame, and you could argue that his father, while a grade-A asshole, probably didn't deserve to be cheated on and have some other man’s kid foisted upon him. Also, there were no capes, which was a shame, because capes were kind of awesome.
“I married your father, I mean, I married Peter, because he got me pregnant. I was seventeen, a senior in high school, and I went to a party with friends where there was alcohol and college-age boys.” His mother gave a little shrug of her shoulders. “Peter was in his final year of law school and so much older than me. In the beginning, I don't think he even realized I was underage. We went out a few times, and it was nice, but nothing special. We both would have moved on, especially once he realized I was still in high school, but I found out I was pregnant. I had no idea what would happen when I told that handsome, rich man I barely knew that he was going to be a father, and I was terrified. I thought he'd get angry, or at least try to deny it, but he was ecstatic, and I thought that it must be because he loved me. Peter asked me to marry him right away, and of course I said yes. I thought I was living in some sort of fairy tale, even after his parents made me sign a prenuptial agreement.”