A Forty Year Kiss

23

In the morning, he came down the stairs to the kitchen to find Melissa drinking a glass of water. Look, it shouldn’t be any of my business, he said as he fixed a pot of coffee, but you brought me into this, so I’m going to say it: your mom knows that something is up. Now, I can absolutely understand why you don’t want to tell her anything, I really do. But have you considered it? You two seem like you’ve got a strong relationship. A good friendship even.

She was silent for a moment, standing there with the morning light slanting in. Blueberry nuzzled against her thigh, and she scratched him beneath his jaws.

I don’t think she’ll take it well.

Why? he asked. You and the girls are everything to her.

It’s just that—she kept her eyes focused on the dog, kept her hands busy with the work of massaging the animal—it’ll be confirmation that I’m a screwup. That I’m still making these mistakes and I’m past thirty years old. At some point, I’m afraid she’s going to lose patience, you know? I guess I just haven’t disappointed her enough yet. She laughed darkly. Then she shook her head. I mean, it’s bound to happen someday, but so far, she hasn’t left us. When that day comes, my reality is going to change quickly. But I’d rather just have her leave because she wants to, you know? I don’t want it to seem like a breakup. Honestly, what I want is for her to move in with you. My mom and I are close, but there are still times she gets up in my business, and frankly, there are times I wish we had some space. A little distance between us.

All right then, I’m just saying: you’d better be prepared.

I know.

Because she’s going to quiz you tonight. You know that, don’t you? And she’ll probably quiz me too.

She nodded. Yeah, she was already texting me, looking for pics. It’s like, geez, c’mon, Mom.

Oof, he murmured. And what exactly were you supposed to be doing? A ladies’ weekend?

Yeah. Look, I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to think about her. Any of it. People lie all the time.

He studied her. How do you feel?

Not bad. A little sore maybe? A little nauseous. I can’t tell if I should eat or not.

You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to. Just know your mom is going to send out the search parties if it’s much past dusk.

I know, I know. I just…I want to regroup, or something. I wish I had more time. To come up with a plan.

Well, he sighed, can I give you a little advice?

Sure.

He inhaled deeply and considered where to begin. He had never told anyone what he was about to share with her now. But he suddenly felt very good, very light. He thought for a moment about what he was going to say, and then he said it.

Six years ago, I was working in Albuquerque. New Mexico. I loved it down there. Loved everything about it. The food. The climate. The people. It was the end of my career, and if I could have chosen anywhere to end things, I could not have chosen a better spot than New Mexico. Big clear blue skies. Mountains. I’d burn pinon pine in my woodstove every morning. There is only one reason I moved back here, but I’ll get to that here shortly.

Anyway, it was my birthday. My fifth-eighth to be exact. All the guys I was working with took me out to this fine Mexican restaurant, and we were having a hoot. Sitting outside, in a courtyard all strung with white Christmas lights. The air was perfect, you know. A late spring evening, the sun going down later and later, and the smell of flowers everywhere.

Well, we got to taking shots of tequila. Not good tequila or cheap tequila but, I’m telling you, the great stuff. Shot after shot after shot. The truth is, teenagers count their shots. Real drinkers don’t even want to know. And we had no idea. We’re eating good food, there’s a tres leches cake and singing, and everyone’s having a great time, and the end of the night comes around, and we all get up and go to our cars, and the next thing I know, I’m sitting on the side of the road with police lights flashing everywhere.

Turns out, I crashed into a parked car. Must’ve passed out. The airbag was all blown up. Broke my nose. Face all scratched up with the cracked windshield, bits of glass everywhere. I get hauled off to the county jail, and I spent the night there. And in the morning, I called my attorney, and I was out.

I was embarrassed. I began remembering things I’d said at dinner. Crass things. Dumb things. Felt kind of tortured by wondering what else I might have done wrong. Work didn’t think it was funny, even if my lawyer could get most of it wiped away.

But the thing was, I realized that none of those guys loved me. They’d never love me. They might like me, as a coworker or as a boss, or maybe even, you know, as a guy. But they’d watched me get into the car at the end of the night. And they had most definitely tried to get me drunk. The more I thought about it, the worse I felt. I could have killed myself, yes, but worse than that, I could have killed someone else. I could have killed someone’s mom. Could have hurt a kid.

That’s terrible, Melissa said. They could have just, I don’t know, called you an Uber or a taxi or something.

Yeah. That was the least they could’ve done. Now, I know I’m not their father or uncle or brother or close friend, but I was a person, and these folks just watched me get into my car. I mean, I was so drunk I fell over in the parking lot. They joked about it later when I came back to work. You were so drunk, man, you fucking tackled a cactus. I realized then that they thought the whole thing was funny. And it scared me. That this was what my life was. Those guys, they were my people. My family. And they didn’t love me. And here I’m almost sixty years old, right? I don’t have anyone. I’m a ghost before I’m even gone.

So I did this thing, this thing that a teacher of mine from back in high school once told us to do. Some iteration of it anyway. I thought about it, and I thought, You’re fifty-eight years old, man. Who loves you? The top five people. And I thought about it, and I thought about it, and I realized that my parents are dead. Two of my brothers are dead. My aunts and uncles are gone. I don’t even know where all my best friends from high school might have disappeared to… I thought about my whole life, Melissa, like I was rifling through my days as if they were files in a cabinet, and I’m looking for faces. For friends. And I could only think of two people, and one of those people was your mom. The other person was my friend Mona, but that’s another story. I thought I could easily come up with five names, but in the end, I could only write down a few names.

And I knew, at that moment, that I had to find Viv. I had to find your mom. And I had to try to make things right. And I didn’t even care if it wasn’t quite meant to be. I was even prepared for the fact that she might be married again. That I’d find her, but I’d have to go out for coffee with her and her husband. I mentally prepared to like the guy, even if I wanted to hate him. I was prepared, or thought I was prepared anyway, if she didn’t completely fall head over heels for me. Because I believed more than anything that I could be a good friend to her, a best friend even. If I didn’t screw it up.

She sighed deeply, and then swept her arms wide and went to him, and then squeezed him, and he hugged her back.

So what do I do? she asked. Make a list. Top Five People Who Love Me? That’s easy.

No. I think your list needs to be titled, Top Five Things I Want for My Life.

He poured them both mugs of coffee, and they sipped, quietly.

She looked at him, arms crossed. Not defiantly. Or angrily. But at that cusp, that brink of decision-making just before acceptance. That battlefield of doubt. She was there, and then, he could see the idea took, and she grasped it.

Top Five Things I Want for My Life?

I think so. I think you should go up to your bedroom and write them down. The Top Five Things I Want for My Life.

Oh my god, you sound like such a dad.

What he thought was, Thank you, my dear—sometimes I wish I were. What he said was, I’m serious.

Yeah, I know.

But you should do it. This is your opportunity. This, this is your low moment. You didn’t want to do what you had to do, but you did it. And now you’re here. And your mom is going to be expecting something from you. But you don’t have to give her what she thinks is coming. You can give her something else. Something surprising and good. You can go back home and say, You know, after this weekend, I’ve decided I want to go into nursing. Or you can say, You know what, Mom? One of my girlfriends thinks I can get my old job back. My old job in Minneapolis. Or, Hey, Mom, it’s not fair that you have to spend so much time babysitting my kids. I’m going to figure out childcare.

Okay, that’s enough, Charlie. Enough dad lecture. I get it.

He held up his hands.

I guess coffee is your truth serum.

I’m sorry.

Don’t be. I think I needed to hear that. Anyway, I’m the one who dragged you into this. I asked for your help. I really can’t thank you enough.

It’s just. I see so much of myself in you. So much so that, if I’m being honest, Melissa, I have to remind myself that there’s no way you are my daughter. Because there are so many moments when I want that. When I’d like to be that person for you. A parent, a father. And I want to show you my mistakes so you can stop making yours. And I’m sorry your real dad isn’t around.

Me too.

What happened to him anyway? Your father?

Oh, it’s a long story. A long sad story. I don’t like to think about it. She glanced down at her feet, at the floor. To be honest, the first few weeks you were back in town? You were probably wondering why you hadn’t met me? Mom had never told me she was married before my dad, that she’d been divorced. She never said anything about you. Ever. So you just show up in town, and everything is so hot and heavy and natural between you, and then she just comes out with it one night, that you two were married, and it was like—a mind fuck. No, no, no. Not like that. I don’t like that word—fuck—you know, commingling with my thoughts of you two. I mean, sweet, sure, definitely. Good for you both, but mostly, I mean, it was, like, a complete surprise. I mean, now that I know you, I wish you were my dad. Because my real dad was nothing like you. He was—she blew out a breath the way people do when they don’t want to begin crying. He was really tragic. I don’t know what else to say.

I’m sorry.

No. Not your fault. But like you said, here we are, and I’m telling you what’s what.

Fair enough.

All right. So go up to my room and make my list?

Yeah.

She refilled her own mug and then was walking down the hallway towards the stairs when she turned quickly, like a teenager, on the pirouette toe of her foot, and said, Thank you.

You bet. No problem.

No. Everything. This whole weekend. Nobody other than my mom has ever done anything like this for me. And I truly appreciate it. I didn’t know where else I was going to go. Who else I could have asked for help. I’ll never forget it.

All right. Well, you’re welcome. You’re most welcome.

She turned and walked up the stairs, and all at once the big house felt not at all too big but, simply, filled with love. And in that moment, a memory came to him unbidden: A morning, many years before. Early morning, before dawn. Back in New Mexico. He was standing in the desert with a group of people from work watching a hot-air balloon inflate. He was just standing there in the cold, holding a paper cup of steaming coffee, watching a flame burn against the darkness, the colorful fabric of the balloon slowly inflating. That was how his heart felt now. That was how this house felt.

***

Just before dusk she came down the stairs with her single small piece of luggage. She’d done up her makeup and taken some time with her hair. He knew there must be a well of sadness within her, however well camouflaged for the moment, but she looked beautiful. And she was acting perfectly for that matter. Acting like this weekend had been just the trick. A rare reprieve with old friends in the big city. She gave him a hug, and when they separated, she handed him a piece of paper, folded three times.

Don’t read it now. But later, okay?

I look forward to it. And hey, maybe there’ll be some way that I can help you. Because I would if I could, and I still have some friends out there. Not many. And maybe not all in the right places. But—you never know.

That’s right. You never do. Thanks again, Charlie.

Go on now.

Hey. Can I tell you something about my mom, please?

Sure.

She’s like me. She doesn’t think she deserves nice things. She’s never had nice things. Never. So she’s suspicious of them. Her whole life, I think, has just been dedicated to helping other people. Does that make sense?

Yes, it does. Thank you.

They hugged one last time, and he kissed her lightly on the cheek.

Good luck, he said.

She closed the door and walked out into the fading light of dusk towards the old minivan. He watched her sitting in the vehicle as it warmed up. Her eyes were closed but her lips were moving. He imagined she was trying to get her story exactly right.

***

Later that night, he unfolded the piece of paper and read her list:

TOP FIVE THINGS I WANT FOR MY LIFE

I want to quit drinking.

I want to move to a big city. Minneapolis or Saint Paul. But maybe Milwaukee or Duluth or even Chicago.

I want to earn my MBA.

I want a job with benefits. I want two weeks of vacation, every year. I want to get my eyes checked and my teeth cleaned.

I want to see a glacier before they’re all gone.