Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
AVERY
It feels like the idyll in the Berkshires happened months ago, even though it’s been only two and a half days since Josh whisked me away for the weekend.
My body doesn’t seem to realize that things are over between us, because it’s completely immune to the charms of the guy who gives me a ride back to the CPR parking lot. The one we all call the Hot Fireman.
When he asks if I want to get a beer, I just give him a limp wave. “No thanks, Jared, I’m beat.”
He winks and shoots a finger gun at me. “I’ll take a rain check, then.”
Besides mine, there’s one other car in the employee lot: Daisy’s ancient Ford Bronco. The center closes at six on Sundays, so it’s a little odd that she’s still here. I called home to tell my mom I’d be late as soon as we found Mabel, and she reassured me that they were all set for dinner, so they won’t be left high and dry if I check on my friend.
There’s no way I was going to Come Again with Jared, but a chat with Daisy feels like just the ticket. Some distraction before I head back to my childhood room to face the fact that I’m cursed when it comes to love, no matter what the darn clock thinks.
The center is locked up and the lights are off, but the minute I step inside, I hear music. Following the sound, I turn the corner to see light spilling from the art room doorway, and when I step inside, I find Daisy dancing around the room holding a paintbrush like it’s a microphone. The tune is infectious, the lyrics are hopeful—something about the good outweighing the bad in life—and I’m enraptured by the sight of my friend throwing her entire self into singing along with what I’m pretty sure is the Barenaked Ladies.
Until she notices me. After turning down the music, she asks, “Are you crying?”
I swipe away what may in fact be tears from my cheeks. “No.”
“Oh, well. That’s good. Must be allergies.”
“Yep. That’s it. Allergies.”
Her head tips to the side. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Painting,” she says, like obviously . “I mean, just now I was taking a dance break, but I always paint on Sunday nights. It’s the only time I can get lost in it, you know? With nobody here.”
“Can I see?”
“Sure.” She points the paintbrush at me. “No judgies, though. Creativity in progress and all that.”
The very large square piece of wood on her easel is painted in bold geometrics in the shape of a star. Or maybe a flower. “Is this a barn quilt?”
She nods, seeming to be happy that I get it. “My version of it, anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, usually, they’re just paint on wood so they can be hung on the side of a barn. But mine are more like collages.”
When I step closer, I can see that while she’s painted the underlying shapes, she’s added things on top. Pieces of fabric and old newspapers and even small items like drawer pulls and shells and feathers.
“The dumb thing is, now I can’t sell them to hang on barns because the elements would ruin them. So I don’t know what to do with them, but I can’t seem to stop making them.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say, entranced by the way she’s echoed the paint colors with the objects. “If a little eerie.”
Daisy clasps her hands and bounces on her toes. “That’s exactly what I was going for!”
“You sure you can’t sell them? Like, for inside art?”
“Do you know how much work it takes to sell art? Apply for a spot in some little show? Or set up an Etsy where nobody wants to pay for shipping?” She shrugs. “I just do it for me, anyway.”
We stare at the piece for a few moments. I’ve just noticed what looks like an eyeball from a stuffed animal when she asks, “So, how was the weekend?”
“Oh.” I shrug. “Fine.”
She pokes me with the wooden end of her brush. “Doesn’t sound fine. You seem mad.”
I shake my head. “I’m not mad.”
“Are you sure? You look mad.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not mad.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Okay, I’m forking mad!” I even throw my arms in the air and stamp my foot. “I’m so angry I could eat peas.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s the saying?—”
“Am I invisible?” I ask, unable to stop myself.
She blinks rapidly like she’s having a hard time keeping up. “Invisible?”
“That’s why I’m angry. Because a lot of the time, it’s like I’m there until it’s inconvenient and then, poof! I’m gone. They just forget I exist. This happens to me over and over again.”
Daisy side-eyes me as she whacks the brush across her palm a few times. “Who are you asking?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she begins as she straightens up her supplies, dropping brushes in jars and closing tubes of paint. “Are you asking best friend, tough critic Daisy? Or sweet, kooky Daisy?”
“Um…” I hesitate, wondering if it bothers Daisy that we all think she’s a bit eccentric.
She carries jars to the slop sink. As she fills them with water, she shouts over her shoulder, “Like, your zany, circle-casting friend might say, ‘Are you kidding me? You’re the opposite of invisible! You’re neon! The life of the party! Everyone loves you.’”
“Which is part of the truth. But best friend Daisy would tell you the rest of it.” Turning off the water, she holds up a hand. “And don’t worry, I know, I know, I’m not your best friend. Leia is.”
Not knowing what else to say, I argue, “I can have more than one best friend.”
She shakes her head definitively. “I don’t think so. The word best means there’s someone at the top of the list.”
“It’s just that I’ve known Leia since we were toddlers.”
“And I’m not a real Climaxian because I moved here in middle school. And then”—she gasps theatrically—“I left for college and didn’t come right back.”
“Well, I left for college and didn’t come right back.”
Daisy holds up her hands like, I’m just callin’ it like I see it.
Needing to make her feel better, I add, “Anyway, you were in the witchy crowd in high school, so we didn’t really hang out.”
“ Wiccans , not witches.”
She waves both hands in the air between us like she’s scrubbing it. “You know what? Doesn’t matter. Even if I’m only your second or third best friend, I’ll tell you what I really think. If you want me to.”
I’m not sure if I do or I don’t but I say, “I want to know.”
“Okay, then.” She clears her throat and then pins me with the gaze she uses when students say they don’t like an assignment. It’s a little scary. “People don’t usually notice the doormat unless there’s mud on their shoes. Then they just look long enough to make sure they’ve scraped it off before continuing on their merry way.”
I take a step back from her. “Are you saying I’m a doormat?”
“I’m not saying you are a doormat, I’m saying you act like one.”
“I don’t think I get the difference,” I say, still smarting at the insult even though I asked for it.
“Who ignored you this time?” Before I can answer, she nods like she read it on my face. “It’s Josh. What did he do?”
Too exhausted to resist but too embarrassed to share all the details, I just give her the basics. “Things got romantic over the weekend, but when we got back and the ship hit the fan, he said it had all been a mistake.” I explain how Mabel was lost, then add, “Even after I found her, he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, look at me.”
She sits with this for a long moment before saying, “That must’ve been pretty scary for him.”
“Since I can’t have kids, I wouldn’t know,” I snap.
She nods like, Aha! “So that’s what this is about?”
“What do you mean?”
“You thinking you’re not good enough for him because you can’t make babies?”
“Of course not. It’s about him giving up on us at the first bump in the road. And acting like I no longer exist.”
“If that’s what you say,” she says, obviously not buying it.
“You don’t think that’s it?”
She starts pushing chairs under tables. “There are two sides to every story.”
“I guess. Maybe.”
“New relationships are fragile things.” She stops straightening the room to point at me. “Especially new relationships forged away from home, away from work?—”
“We did get some work done! I learned a ton and networked and am really inspired.”
“Fine.” She flicks a hand in the air as she begins to fold up easels. “Away from routine. Away from everyday responsibilities.”
I have to stifle a sigh because she’s probably right.
“You know I’m right.”
“So what do I do?”
She winces.
“What? I don’t have to grovel, do I? I didn’t do anything wrong. Did I?”
She presses her lips together, like she’s in pain.
“What!?”
“You’re not gonna like it.”
“Just spit it out.”
“I’m back to the doormat thing.”
“Oh.” My belly twists with that yucky feeling when you’re suddenly ravenous and nauseous at the same time.
She stalks over to me to place a hand on each of my upper arms, her grip almost painful. “You do need to give Josh a chance to tell his side of the story. But first, you’re going to have to speak up for yourself in the other areas of your life. With your family”—she waves a hand around the room—“and here at the center.”
“At CPR? I don’t have a problem here.”
Daisy lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Avery. You do the work of three people, you teach a class that isn’t in your job description, and you volunteer for every other little extra thing.” She gives me a little shake. “Boun-dah-ries. You need to set them.”
“What does this have to do with Josh?”
She pulls out two chairs from under the worktable and sits down, indicating that I should too. A little unnerved, I sit.
“Speaking from experience,” she begins, “you’ll never be able to see and hear what Josh is really saying, how he really feels about you, if your own assumptions are shouting too loud inside your noggin.”
“But what does that have to do?—”
She holds up a hand. “You came in here assuming that the people closest to you don’t see you or hear you. Right?”
“Okay, but I was angry.”
“So turn that anger into action. Make a change. Convince yourself that you are worthy of being seen and heard.”
“How do I do that?”
“By asking for what you want.”
“But what if they say no?”
“When you ask, you have to tell them why you’re asking. The reasons why the status quo isn’t working for you. Don’t let them off the hook.”
“What if they still say no?”
“Then you have to decide if you’re willing to live or work with people who don’t respect you. But, honestly, Avery? I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
When Jared drove me to CPR, all I could think about was getting home and crawling into bed, hiding under the covers, and crying myself to sleep. But after talking to Daisy, I’m thrumming with energy.
Because I suspect she’s right.
Even though it feels selfish, I need to take my own advice. I may not be a parent, but I am a caregiver, and I have to figure out how to take care of myself, or I’ll end up bitter and alone and mad at the world.
Not even sure what I’m going to say or do when I get home, I’m a little disappointed that Carol and her wife Sarah have left already because I’d been thinking that they’d be easier to confront. They’re the ones who have barely helped out with Mom and Dad. Instead, when I walk into the kitchen, my mom offers to heat up some lasagna for me.
“Sarah made it. It’s somehow good for you and tastes good.”
“Um, sure. Thanks.”
My mom bustles around for a few minutes, plating leftovers and starting the microwave, before pouring me a glass of fizzy water. She’s been on an upswing for the past week or so, which is great, but there’s a part of me that hopes she wasn’t like this all weekend. Not that I want her to suffer, but it doesn’t help my cause if Carol didn’t see what it’s really like here most of the time.
After she sets the food in front of me, she asks, “How was your conference?”
Jeepers. I almost forgot about the conference. “Good. I learned a lot.”
I push the pasta around to let the steam out. And to will myself to eat it.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“Nothing. Just tired.” I shake my head, knowing I should talk to my mom about needing my own life, my own space, but not sure how to start. “Did you have a good weekend?”
My mom doesn’t like to talk about her health. I can hardly blame her. It must be so hard to never know how you’re going to feel when you wake up. Not to mention how frustrating it is that doctors still don’t know how to treat chronic COVID.
“It wasn’t bad. We didn’t do too much. Sarah spoiled us with her cooking.”
My sister’s wife is an excellent chef. Usually, I’d be scarfing down anything she made. Tonight, though, I’m too full of feelings to fit anything else inside.
“I heard about Mabel Harmon going missing. And that you helped find her.”
“It was no big deal. Josh—um, they—the Harmons were very worried, of course. But it was pretty easy for me to find her.”
My mom blows out a breath. Even without looking at her I can tell it’s an irritated one. “Avery Catherine Mills. I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wro—” A sob fills my throat, cutting off my words and making me a liar.
She rubs a hand up and down my back. “Whatever it is, it’ll be okay.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Just get it off your chest. You’ll feel better.”
“Fine,” I say, turning to face her. There’s no way I’m getting into what is or isn’t happening with Josh and me, but there is one thing I can’t put off any longer. “It’s Playgroup. Only three families are signed up for the next session. With the restructuring that’s happening, it’s probably going to get cut.”
My mom doesn’t say anything, and I suddenly feel terrible. “I’m sorry, Mama. I did everything I could to save it.”
She squeezes my arm. “I’m not upset, sweetheart.”
“You’re not?”
“I knew it wouldn’t last forever. It’s obvious that people need different things these days. Your siblings wouldn’t be able to take part in a program like Playgroup, since everyone works.”
My siblings who, unlike me, are capable of producing grandchildren. Shoving that bitterness aside, I face my mom again. “I really hoped, with more people working remotely, that we’d get more interest.”
She pats my shoulder. “People are busy. Hopefully, they’re finding community in other ways.”
Feeling slightly better, I manage to eat about half of the lasagna before telling my mom that I need to get to bed. We work together tidying up the kitchen, and then she gives me a hug. “I love you, Avery.”
“Love you too, Mama.”
Just lugging my suitcase up the two flights to my room is exhausting but I make myself unpack, knowing I’ll appreciate it in the morning. But when I realize that I must’ve left one of my favorite Vans at the retreat center, I just crumple onto the bed and hug the remaining lime green sneaker to my chest, letting out the few tears left in my ducts. Crying gets me all sweaty and as I’m wrestling out of my clothes, my hand pokes through a hole in the sleeve of my fleece. Staring at it, I realize I must’ve ripped it either climbing up or down the tree. At least Mabel’s home, I remind myself, safe and warm in her room instead of alone, frightened, and cold in the woods.
When I dig my phone out of my bag to put it on the charger, there are texts and missed calls from Josh, but I can’t face him right now. Anyway, I got the message. The weekend was a mistake. What else is there to say?
There’re also a few messages from my siblings.
Carol
Back in Syracuse.
And I’m exhausted.
Brad
Too much Climax for ya?
Carol
You could say that.
Mom and Dad are a lot.
I don’t know how you do it Avery.
My heart pounding, Daisy’s words echoing in my ears, I begin to type.
Me
About that. I don’t think I can do this anymore. Be their caregiver 24-7.
I hold my breath as dots appear and disappear from my sister and brother for a few moments. Then they disappear altogether. Just as I’m about to start typing something like, Forget about it, it’s okay, I’ll figure it out, the phone rings, my sister’s face flashing on the screen.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” Carol says. “Brad’s on too.”
“Hey, Aves,” my brother says.
They don’t say anything else, so I ask, “What’s up?”
“It’s late and we all have work tomorrow so I’m just going to say it. I think Mom and Dad should move to a retirement place.”
My brain freezes up because her words are not at all what I was expecting to hear. I hadn’t really thought about what we should do, I suppose. Just that I can’t do this anymore.
“You there?” Carol asks.
“Yeah, I just… but they’re not that old.”
“Not like a nursing home,” Carol says. “More like a community. They’d have their own house but it’d be smaller. And they’d have easy access to activities and maybe even doctor’s offices.”
“Can they afford something like that?”
“Carol called me over the weekend, and I’ve done some research,” Brad says. “There are a couple places just over the county line. They’d have to sell the house, of course.”
“I felt it out with Mom and Dad. They’re open to the idea,” Carol says.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“We just didn’t want you to think we were kicking you out,” Carol says. “Because, well, you’d have to move.”
“I’m only here because of Mom and Dad,” I say, hating that I sound like the bratty little girl they always complained about, but unable to be anything but defensive.
“Well, you did move in after everything went down in Atlanta,” Carol says. “And then you just stayed, so…”
Remembering my talk with Daisy, I sit up straight and speak slowly. “I stayed because they needed someone.”
“Does that mean you’d have somewhere to go if we sell?” Brad asks.
“I’d have to find a place.” My heart thumping with fear, worried that my brother and sister will think I’m complaining for no reason, I make myself add, “And prices have gone up. A lot.”
“I noticed,” Brad says. “That’s why Mom and Dad can afford to move. They’ll get a decent price for the house. Things are cheaper outside of town.”
I could move to the county too, I suppose. But I like being close to work. To my friends. And if I’m not going to be a doormat anymore, I need to stand up for myself.
“I’d like to be recompensed for the time I’ve spent taking care of our parents.” My voice is wobblier than I’d like, but I press on. “I haven’t minded doing it, of course, but it has, um, limited my career choices.”
After a beat that seems to last forever, my brother and sister talk at the same time.
“Oh, okay.”
“We could do that.”
“Like, what are you thinking?” Brad adds.
“I don’t know. Enough to help me with a downpayment on my own place.”
Brad and Carol bat around some ideas for a few moments before Brad sums it up by saying, “This is totally doable, Aves. I’m sorry we didn’t think of it before.”
“The family has saved a lot by having you there for the past couple years,” Carol says. “We would’ve been paying a fortune in home healthcare. Plus, Mom said there’s no way Dad would be as good about doing his PT without you badgering him. They appreciate what you’ve done too, honey.”
Brad promises to run some numbers and talk Mom and Dad through the possibilities and a timeline. After we all sign off, I sink into my pillows, equally wired and exhausted. It took a lot to ask for what I deserve, but I was rewarded for doing it. Things won’t always go my way so easily, but I guess it’s true that it doesn’t hurt to ask.
In fact, in this situation, it would’ve been hurtful not to ask. My parents might’ve avoided doing what’s best for them because they wouldn’t want to leave me in the lurch.
It’s too late to make a difference between Josh and me, and with the promise of a bit of financial freedom, I realize that I could leave Climax altogether if I wanted.
But it’s not just Josh keeping me here. I love my hometown. I love my friends. And I even love my job, even though it’s not what I set out to do. It might be torture to have to work with Josh without being a part of his life, but I can rise above it because I want to make CPR a place that serves our community.
I’m committing to Climax.