by Howe, Violet
“A jacket? You say it so casually, like I’m a dude or something. I can’t just bring a jacket. It has to match what I’m wearing. Am I going dressy with a long pea coat, or should I be casual with denim?”
“My mom always says it’s better to be the best dressed in the room than the worst dressed. If you’re overdressed, people will assume you’re sophisticated. If you’re underdressed, they’ll think you have no class.”
“Ah, a clue. So we’re going someplace I need to dress up. Wow, fancy stuff.”
“Just pearls of wisdom from my mama, not a clue for you to figure out,” he said.
“Okay, Forrest Gump. Did you want to share anything else your mama says?” I teased him, like I always do, but he got really quiet.
“Hello? Are you still there?” I asked.
“Do you think she ever thinks of me? Like, do you think she sees things that remind her of me and she wonders where I am and what I’m doing?”
“Your mom?” I asked, a little slow on catching the transition.
“Yes, Tyler, my mom. I’m sitting here wondering if my mom ever thinks of me,” he sneered. “Monica!” He sounded angry, but I realized it had nothing to do with me.
“I’m sure she does, Cabe,” I said softly. “How could she not? You were an important part of her life. That doesn’t just get wiped out of your brain.”
“Humph,” he snorted.
“What’s up?” I asked. He had mentioned her much less lately, and I wondered what had triggered this.
“I got a package today,” he said. “The landlady from Seattle cleaned out the storage shed where she put all the stuff I left there. She said she tried to find an address for Monica and couldn’t, so she sent everything to me. Monica’s baby pictures, some stuff from college, and what we had together. Pictures, cards, letters. Our wedding album. Things that say we had a life together, but now we don’t. How is it that a year ago this girl filled my life every single day? Waking up next to her and going to bed next to her every night. My wife. And now? Nothing. I don’t even know where she is. I used to talk to her multiple times a day, and now I haven’t talked to her in months. How is that? How does someone go from being your everything to being nothing?”
I knew silence wasn’t the best option, but I felt anything I said would be inadequate.
“I don’t know, Ty. Does she think of me? Do I cross her mind? Does she even remember she had a husband?”
“You can’t do this, Cabe. You can’t go there. You gotta put that stuff away. Don’t even go through it. Pack it up and put it away somewhere. Hell, just throw it all out.”
“I’ve been looking at it all night. It’s like a train wreck. I don’t want to see it, but I can’t help pulling the next thing out of the box.”
“Oh boy. You can’t do that. You gotta put it away.”
He didn’t say anything, and I suddenly wanted very much to be there with him. To take all those painful shards of memory and throw them far away so they couldn’t hurt him anymore.
“I’m coming over,” I said.
“Okay.”
I knew he was in bad shape if he didn’t even protest.
“I’ll be right there.” I grabbed a coat from the hall closet and put on my sneakers.
Pictures, letters, and mementos surrounded him, spread out all over his bed, end tables, coffee table and floor. I could tell he’d been crying. And drinking. His voice didn’t belie it on the phone, but when I saw him I knew he was half in the bag.
I started picking up the remnants of his life with Monica, hating her more with every smiling photo of her I saw. I wanted to rip them all in two. I wanted to burn them and throw them in the pool. I wanted to tear her betrayal out of his heart and his mind. Pull her talons from his skin so he could heal and move on without her boring a hole into his brain every time he started to laugh.
Instead, I packed everything back into the box from Seattle, taking care to keep them from bending out of respect for Cabe’s emotions.
When I had it all sealed away, I crawled up on the sofa bed and lay down beside my best friend, putting my arms around him. He lay his head on my shoulder, and I heard a strangled groan escape his throat.
“I don’t want to be like this, Ty. I don’t want to be broken. I don’t want to feel like a failure. I wanna be okay.”
“You are okay, baby. You’re okay.” I held him tightly against me, and he allowed me to hold. I gingerly kissed the top of his head and tried to think of some inspirational, healing words to say. None came. Not like he needed it. He seemed at peace in the silence. He shifted onto his side and threw his arm across my stomach. I turned to wrap him up tighter. His head lay against my chest now, tucked under my chin.
At some point, I dozed, waking to the familiar pins and needles in my arm and leg under Cabe. I pushed gently, and he rolled onto his other side without even waking up. I slid down further and massaged my arm to get the blood flowing, trying not to yelp in pain. Then I slipped back into a peaceful slumber, curled up next to my best friend and prepared to protect him from the world.
I awoke to the sound of the door opening and someone entering the pool house.
“Time to wake up, handsome! I made you fresh blueberry muffins!”
I sat up and locked eyes with Cabe’s shocked mother.
“Hi, Maggie,” I said, figuring casual and nonchalant was the way to go.
“Oh, hi. I’m so sorry, Tyler. I didn’t . . . well, I mean, I didn’t . . . I should have knocked.”
“No, you’re fine. I need to get up and get going.”
I purposely pulled the covers back all the way so she could see Cabe and I both fully clothed. Even if we were adults, I didn’t care to have Cabe’s mother think I’d romp between the sheets with her son right under her own roof. Well, technically under her pool-house roof, but still.
“Don’t go on my account,” she said. She set the tray of muffins and coffee on the small dinette table and wiped her hands together. “I’m going to, um. Yeah. I’m going back to the house. Please make sure he gets up. He has a meeting this morning. Help yourself to a muffin. I didn’t bring you coffee. I mean, I didn’t know you were here. I should have checked the driveway, I suppose.”
I felt embarrassed, although I hadn’t done anything wrong. I had stayed there to support a friend. A friend whose mother wakes him up in the morning evidently, which is slightly creepy, I think.
He stirred and rolled over on the sofa bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
“Are you two going to talk all morning?” he asked.
“I brought you muffins and coffee,” she told him.
“I’m just leaving,” I said, smiling at Maggie and letting myself out the door. The morning walk of shame isn’t the same when you didn’t do anything naughty prior to the walk.
Friday, December 20th
Cabe called at six this morning and yelled, “Surprise!”
“What?” My mouth mumbled as my brain fought to slip back into deep sleep.
“Surprise!” he yelled again, and I resisted the urge to hang up on the man. Somehow pushing end call just doesn’t have the same theatrical effect as slamming down the receiver. What’s the point?
I yawned loudly to make sure he knew I had been asleep. “I don’t get it. What’s my surprise? That you’re waking me up?”
“No, but today is your surprise day, so I am calling to say surprise.”
“You are way too excited about this,” I said.
“And you are way too not excited about this,” he said. “Come on. Be at least a little bit curious.”
“Curious? Are you kidding me? It’s about to kill me not knowing what you’re plotting. I’m beyond curious. You won’t even tell me what to wear.” I rolled out of bed and shuffled to the kitchen, balancing the phone on my shoulder as I started the coffee pot.
“You will look beautiful no matter what you wear. Be ready at four-thirty sharp. You can’t be late!”
“Where are we going at four-thirty
in the afternoon? Now I really don’t know what to wear!”
“Dress for the evening, not the drive,” he said.
“Oooh, so we’re driving somewhere far away if we have to leave early, but we’re dressing for dinner.” I smiled, rather pleased with myself for deciphering his covert language.
“You are impossible,” he said. “It’s supposed to a surprise. You aren’t supposed to try to figure it out.”
I didn’t figure it out. I don’t think I could have figured it out in a million years.
A couple of years ago, Cabe and I were having a conversation about life, something we discussed quite often before he starting dating Monica and moved away. Back when he seemed to be the calm, cool, collected one and I was the one randomly crying and getting emotional about the travesties of life. I babbled on that night about growing up in a small town and how I always dreamed about moving away to the big city. I thought people who lived in cities always went to art galleries and museums, attended the ballet, and ate big brunches every Sunday. At the time we talked, I realized even though I’d been living in the city for quite some time, I had yet to do any of those things. I swore then to make a point of visiting a museum or an art gallery once a month and to see at least one ballet before the end of the year. I kept my commitment to the museum and art galleries for the grand total of one month, but I did buy a ticket to see The Nutcracker with friends.
I never made it. The night of the ballet, Cabe called me from his bathroom floor, certain of his imminent death from food poisoning. He had tried a couple of friends since his mother and sister were out of town visiting relatives for the holidays, but got no answer.
He felt horrible about calling me, but given the seriousness of the situation, I surrendered my ticket without hesitation. We spent the entire night in the ER trying to get him hydrated and able to keep something down. So I missed The Nutcracker. He promised he’d make it up to me, but life got in the way. Or rather, Monica got in the way.
Tonight, Cabe, the best friend a girl could ever have, made good on his promise, and I finally got to see a real ballet. Wow. Beyond anything I thought it would be. Mesmerizing. Breathtaking. Beautiful. The sound of their feet on their stage. The strength of their legs. Their grace. The emotions they conveyed. And the costumes! Spectacular.
Cabe had seen The Nutcracker before. He’s pretty much seen everything because his mom was a professional dancer before she had him and his sister Galen. Maggie made sure she exposed them to the arts from a very young age. Plays, Broadway shows, concerts, operas, ballets—you name it, Cabe has seen it.
Even he agreed tonight was special, though. A stellar cast and a thoroughly moving performance. It’s funny, because I haven’t thought much about it being Christmas, what with the trip home, the mama drama, the whole situation with Dwayne, Cabe being back home, and of course, the constant state of crazy that is my job. But tonight, watching Clara fight alongside the Nutcracker and then the Sugar Plum Fairy dancing—I felt a little bit nostalgic and misty-eyed about the holidays. I have only good memories of the holidays growing up. The first one without my dad sucked for sure, but I loved Christmas with my extended family. Lots of cousins, aunts and uncles. Everybody eating too much, playing card games, and opening presents. Singing Christmas carols on hayrides, decorating the tree, waking up early to see what Santa brought, my grandmother’s egg custard pie. Warm thoughts flooded through me.
I’ve avoided home for so long. Scared of slipping back into the dark place I escaped when I crawled out of there and left. But that has caused me to miss so many good things. My family, my home. My baby brother is grown, a man now. My niece and nephew only know me from my pictures and occasional Skype calls over the internet. My grandmother passed away while I hid out down here.
Tonight’s warm and fuzzy holiday mood made me see things from a different angle. I think I may actually be getting excited about going home for Christmas. Cabe’s gift did more than just repay me for taking care of him or introduce me to the art of ballet. He restored my holiday spirit. I mean, I don’t think I’ll be humming Christmas carols all day tomorrow or anything, but I think I can push aside the tension about Mama, Dwayne, Cabe—all of it—and have some peace. ’Tis the season for peace, right?
Saturday, December 21st
What a whirlwind of a bizarre event! Travis didn’t get his divorce. Because they had opted not to do a rehearsal last night, Diane didn’t find out about her fiancé’s marital status until two hours before she planned to marry him herself. Harry, the minister, went with Travis to tell her. As could be expected, it didn’t go well. Diane’s moods swung from fury to heartbreak and back to anger before she settled into embarrassment when the reality set in. All dressed up in a beautiful gown with fifty people here to celebrate a wedding that couldn’t happen.
Harry suggested they do a “love ceremony”, in which they pledge their love and commitment to each other, but without the pronouncement of husband and wife. No announcements by Harry or the DJ, and no wedding marquees in the convention center. It could not in any way be portrayed as a legal ceremony, but they could stand in front of their guests and promise to love each other, then celebrate with a reception. So many couples nowadays opt not to use the traditional vows that most of their guests probably wouldn’t even realize the marriage didn’t take place, unless, of course, the couple chose to share the news.
Diane disappointed me a little by going through with it. I expected a different reaction. She’s either a pretty good actress, or she wasn’t too concerned that the man she loves is a liar who doesn’t want to support his children or be responsible for his obligations.
Funny what people are willing to overlook in order to get what they think they want.
Dwayne called just as I finished laundry and packing around nine.
“Hello, darlin’!”
“Hey, Dwayne.” I smiled at the excitement in his voice sounding like a little kid knowing Santa is coming soon.
“What time are you leaving tomorrow?” he asked.
“I want to get on the road around seven, which should put me there early afternoon.”
“My girls both have parts in the Christmas cantata tomorrow night at church, so you’ll get to see them.”
My peaceful feeling wavered like a hologram and then vanished completely. I hadn’t even considered I would need to see Dwayne and his family at church. I mean, if his kids would be in the cantata, his ex-wife would be there, too. That old, familiar tension solidified in my belly like I had eaten bad chicken salad. Dang it. I didn’t want to dread going home again when I just started to be excited about it. “Oh, wow. Ellain’s going to be there, huh?”
I briefly considered illnesses that could befall me in the next twenty-four hours, but I knew my Mama was gonna make me go to church no matter what. I could have symptoms of the German measles and ebola while simultaneously bleeding from a missing limb, and that woman would still insist that if the church doors were open, that’s where I needed to be.
“Well, yeah,” Dwayne said, “but she’ll be sitting with her family, so don’t worry about her. If mama feels up to it, she wants to come, and I know a whole bunch of people who will be thrilled to see you.”
I felt the panic rising up inside me, and I struggled to fight it. I had been so happy just a few moments before.
“I don’t know, Dwayne. I don’t want to be on display for everybody. I’d rather sit quietly in the back and hope no one notices me.”
“Girl, yo mama has done told everybody who would listen that you’re coming home. Ain’t no way you’re gonna sit in the back and nobody notice you. You’ll probably get more attention than Calvin Thompson’s three-month-old who is playing the Baby Jesus.”
“Great,” I said. “Upstaging the Baby Jesus the week of Christmas. Sure to win me brownie points in hell.”
“Aw, they’ll end up having to use a doll anyway. Ain’t no way a three-month-old will lay up there in a bunch of hay for a whole cantata.”
Dwayne made me promise I’d call if I needed anything on the road tomorrow. I hung up feeling slightly nauseous with my shoulders about two inches closer to my ears than they had been.
I texted Cabe, and he called right back.
“You rang?” he asked.
“Not technically,” I answered.
“Yes, but ‘you texted’ just doesn’t have the same ring to it. Get it? Ring to it?”
“Yeah, I get it. Look, I know me going home is a sensitive issue for us right now, but I’m freaking out and I really need to talk to you. Dwayne’s kids are going to be in the cantata and his ex-wife will be there.”
“What’s a cantata?” he asked.
“Is that all you got out of that?” I sighed. “It’s a concert of music and Christmas songs at the church. Did you hear the part about Dwayne’s wife? Ex-wife?”
“Yeah, I just don’t know why you care. You’re not dating him, right? And you said you’re not going home to see him. What does it matter if she’s at the same church as you? God’s big enough to love both of you, I’m thinking.”
“No, I’m not dating him, but it’s awkward. She knows who I am. I know who she is. And it’s just . . . I don’t know. It’s weird.”
“Why? It shouldn’t be. You guys knew each other, like, five years ago. She doesn’t know you now, and you don’t know her. Y’all happened to be involved with the same man once upon a time. But neither one of you is involved with him now, so I don’t see the problem.”
He said it so cut-and-dry, like I was being unreasonable or something. I wished I hadn’t even texted him.
“You don’t get it,” I said.
“No, you’re right. I don’t. Why do you care if she’s going to be at church? She’s not coming to your mom’s for dinner, and it’s not like you have to speak to her or anything. So unless there’s a whole lot you’re not telling me, it’s not like you’re going to have to deal with her or even see her again after this.”