Chapter 23
Jane
W hen I wake up to my alarm on Wednesday morning, I’m alone in bed.
It’s been weeks since I woke up by myself. Even the time I couldn’t sleep and retreated to the other bedroom, I woke up with Evan holding me from behind.
But he got up an hour ago for an early flight, and apparently, he was quiet enough that he didn’t disturb me.
As usual, I begin my day with the elliptical machine. When I come up from the basement, I start the coffeemaker and feel a strange pang in my chest.
It’s not that I mind making my own coffee on a weekday. It’s just weird that he’s not here.
I sit outside as I drink my coffee. I read the news on my phone, since there’s no one to talk to me and smile at me and squeeze my hand. When I turn to head into the house, I jump back in surprise. Yesterday, Watson sported a beret, but now, he’s wearing a dark blue cape. Evan actually changed the penguin’s outfit, even though he left before seven to catch a flight. Though why he owns a cape, I have no idea.
Later in the morning, my husband messages me to say he’s arrived safely. I set my phone aside and return to work, but for some reason, it’s harder to focus when I know he’s not in the house with me, even though our offices are two floors apart.
Thursday morning, I wake up alone in Evan’s bed again.
Yes, I slept in his bed last night, even though he’s not here. It no longer feels like his bed, but our bed.
Once again, I head to the basement for my workout, then start the coffeemaker before my shower. After my shower, I take my coffee out to the patio. When I glance back, I half expect Watson to be wearing a different outfit, even though Evan is out of town.
Of course, Watson looks exactly the same as he did yesterday morning.
I rub my wedding band. I miss my husband a lot more than I should, considering he’s been gone just over twenty-four hours, and I texted with him yesterday evening for twenty minutes. But I can’t help missing all the ways he makes my life better.
After work, I decide to go for a walk and check the mail. Since there’s nothing in our mailbox, it’s a bit anticlimactic, but on the way back, I see Deena and Skylar on their driveway. Skylar is skipping. I lift up a hand in greeting, intending to keep walking, but then I figure…I can talk to them, right?
I come to a stop at the base of the driveway. “Hey!” My voice sounds unnaturally high. “I, um, wanted to check in and see how your father’s doing.”
Deena approaches me. “His surgery is scheduled for next month.”
“Oh, that’s good to hear.”
“It’s a struggle to make sure he follows all of the doctor’s advice, though.”
We talk for a few minutes, and Skylar shows me how she can skip with her arms crossed. She’s in the middle of demonstrating her backward-skipping skills when my attention is distracted by a familiar Camry.
“Sorry,” I say, “my mother-in-law just drove up.” I dash over to the car as Lynne gets out of the driver’s seat. Howie emerges from the passenger’s side with a few bags in hand.
“Hi, Jane!” he says with a smile.
“Evan’s not home. He’s on a work trip to Montreal.”
“We know. We thought we’d stop by with food so you don’t have to cook for yourself.”
As I unlock the front door and usher them inside, I struggle to wrap my head around those words. They came to visit me ?
“We wanted to text you,” Lynne says, “but we don’t have your number. I asked Evan, but he hasn’t replied—he’s probably busy. If you want us to go—”
“No, no, you can come in.” I feel like I ought to be a good host. At least the house is reasonably clean.
I head to the kitchen and put away the food, which is more than enough for two days. This is what I wanted, right? To feel like part of a family.
“Do you know how Evan’s trip is going?” Howie asks.
“I talked to him last night.” I start boiling water for tea and place some of the things they brought onto a plate. “His flight out was fine, and the work stuff…” We didn’t talk about that much. “It seems to be going well.”
“You could have gone with him,” Lynne says. “Or traveled out on Friday. Spent the weekend in Montreal.”
“You promised Evan you wouldn’t bring it up again,” Howie says.
“Did I say ‘honeymoon’? No, I did not.”
Oh my God. This again?
“My dad is visiting tomorrow evening,” I say. It’s the truth—and a good excuse.
“He’s coming from Calgary to see you?” Lynne asks.
“Yes. Well, he’s coming for work, and he’s visiting me for dinner afterward.”
Howie and Lynne exchange a look.
“Evan booked his flight so he’ll be home for dinner,” I say. “They’ll finally be able to meet.”
Lynne turns to me. “Is your father the reason you got married?”
I frown and reach for a pastry. “What do you mean? Why would I get married because of my dad? He didn’t even come to the wedding.”
She clucks her tongue. “I know, but I can’t understand why my son married you.”
I freeze.
“She didn’t mean it like that .” Howie turns to Lynne, and they exchange heated whispers in Cantonese.
“It’s not that I don’t like you.” Her words aren’t enough to reassure me. “But the engagement came out of nowhere, and I didn’t believe you were in love. I know you’re friends, I know you’re fond of each other, so I thought maybe he was trying to help you out of a bad situation.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Like your father would force you to marry someone you hated. I don’t know!”
“My dad would never force me to do anything. He barely even talks to me.”
I watch my in-laws’ expressions go from relieved to appalled. Though it can’t be too much of a shock because, well, he didn’t come to our wedding.
I wish Evan were here. I have no idea what to say, how to get out of this situation. I could tell them that I do love their son, but would they believe me now?
Fuck it. I’ll just tell them the truth. It seems easier than dancing around the issue.
“We got married,” I say, “because we were both tired of dating”—or, in my case, not dating—“but wanted to build a life with someone and buy a house.”
Now it’s Lynne’s turn to frown. “That doesn’t sound like Evan. He’s a romantic.”
“I know, but the breakups started to get to him.” I pause. “Is that why you kept pushing the honeymoon? Because you knew we weren’t…well…and thought we’d tell you the truth?”
“Ah, I don’t know. Partly, but I also thought maybe if you went on a honeymoon, things between you would change.”
“We are…getting closer,” I admit.
“I’m glad. I know sometimes it happens that way, even if I knew it wouldn’t happen to me in an arranged marriage.”
“What?” I say before I can stop myself. I hope that didn’t sound rude. I’m just flummoxed by her comment.
Lynne hesitates. “I was supposed to marry someone else. The son of my parents’ friends. He was a few years older than me, and I knew, my whole life, it was what they wanted. But I hated him. Even as a boy, he was horrible, and when he grew up, he was even worse.”
I don’t know how to respond. Does Evan know about this?
“So, you said no and your parents listened?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure they didn’t.
She chuckles without mirth. “No, I fell in love with someone else and ran away with him the week before I was supposed to get married.”
I gape at her. I struggle to picture this version of Lynne, forty years ago, even as she touches her husband’s shoulder.
“Because of my experience,” Lynne says, “I never told my sons who they should marry, even as they reached their thirties with no weddings in the family. Or when…”
“When Evan came out?” I supply.
“I know we didn’t react the best.”
He told them when he was fourteen, naively—as he later put it—believing that since they were in favor of same-sex marriage, they wouldn’t respond poorly. But some parents are okay with such things for other people, just not for their own kids.
Fortunately, that wasn’t the case with Evan’s parents. No, it simply hadn’t occurred to them that this would directly affect their family. They sat there in stunned silence as Evan freaked out, until Max—who was seventeen and already knew—told them what to say.
So, yes, it could have gone better, but it also could have gone so much worse. And in the two decades since then, his parents have been supportive.
“He could have married someone of any gender,” Lynne says. “We would have been fine with it, but your engagement…it worried me. He never told me you were dating, and I knew he was making excuses. But I liked you, and he seemed so certain. And now, I understand. I won’t ask about your honeymoon anymore. You don’t have to tell him that we know.”
“I’ll tell him,” I say, feeling weird about keeping the details of this conversation a secret. “Not until he comes back from Montreal, though.” I’d prefer to do it in person, and I’ll see him tomorrow—it’s not like I’ll have to wait long.
Howie nods. “I’m sure your father was also very surprised by your engagement…” He trails off, presumably realizing this wasn’t the case.
It’s like they can’t comprehend barely having a relationship with your adult child. It’s beyond their imagination.
I swallow. “I’m glad Evan has a…a loving family. I used to long for one.”
Howie’s eyes are misted with tears. I wonder if I shouldn’t have said that, but then he pushes the platter of sweets toward me.
And when Lynne stands up a few minutes later, she gives me a hug.
I’m pretty sure that if my mom were alive, she wouldn’t be much like Lynne. The young mother of my memories has a different personality, and though some of it might be thanks to a faulty memory, to the way we edit events in our mind after they happen, I believe there’s a kernel of truth in my memories.
I don’t think they’d be alike, but I think they’d get along, and as she pulls back, I feel I have a better sense of what it’s like to have a mother as an adult.
After scarfing down dinner—it’s a good thing I don’t have to cook, because I’m really not in the mood—I call Claudia to talk about Evan’s parents, as well as how much I miss my husband.
“Are you going to tell Evan how you feel about him?” she asks.
I regard my friend’s face on the screen of my phone. “I don’t know.”
Claudia, bless her, doesn’t try to give me advice. I couldn’t handle it right now. There are only so many feelings and difficult conversations I can manage in one day.
“But I do think you should go on a honeymoon,” she says, “or another trip. You haven’t been anywhere this year, and you deserve a holiday. With me, if not with Evan.”
“You’ve already come to Toronto. I could go out west, or we could meet in the middle—”
“Winnipeg? I’ve never been.”
“I don’t know much about Winnipeg, but I’ll look into it.”
“Already on it,” she says. “We could go to the mint?”
“Sure. Why not.” As long as I get to spend time with her. “Although…”
“What is it?”
“If I visit you in B.C., I could also visit Peyton. She sent me a card and wishes she’d been allowed to go to my wedding.”
We’ve texted a few times since then. She sent me a meme that she thought I’d find funny. I didn’t understand it, but I appreciated it nonetheless. I also discovered that snail mail is some kind of cool, old-fashioned thing in her group of friends. Like how some people in my generation got into records? I don’t know.
“Okay,” Claudia says. “Think about it and let me know. If we’re going to Winnipeg, we should probably do it soon. Before it gets too cold.”
“Good point.”
I’m looking forward to seeing her again. It’ll be fun. And now seems like a good time to tell her something that I’ve never told her before.
I tighten my grip on my phone and take a deep breath. “I love you.”
I know she’ll understand how I mean it. Not at all romantic, but maybe it’s practice for when I do say it in a romantic way. Still, it’s nerve-racking to put the words out there.
But for the first time in my adult life, they’re returned.
“I love you, too.”