60. Bertram
Bertram
Last night, Bertram had not regretted his unsuccessful—or was it? —date with Diana, even though he regretted his unexpected openness with Helena after.
This morning, he regretted the whole thing.
Whatever was in the Vibrant Violet, it had been fucking strong.
Bertram’s head was throbbing, which even worse than the pain itself, made him feel old. He never used to have hangovers. But now, creeping up on thirty, his body was determined to punish him for the amount of alcohol he drank the previous night.
He did not care for this development.
“Good morning, grumpy,” Helena said cheerily as he emerged from his tent and stumbled over to the table.
“Who said I was grumpy?” Bertram grumbled grumpily.
Helena raised an eyebrow pointedly.
“Well, I hadn’t even spoken yet when you accused me of being grumpy,” Bertram said. “So, I’m probably grumpy because you called me grumpy.”
Helena rolled her eyes. “First of all, correlation does not equal causation. Second of all, I’ve known you for fifteen-odd years now—you think I can’t tell your cute little grumpy face when I see it?”
Bertram huffed. He was thoroughly opposed to the idea of any of his moods equating to a “cute little face.” But he also had no means of disputing Helena’s accusation because, as usual, she was right. He had been grumpy before she said anything.
“Here.” Helena set a mug of coffee in front of him. “Aaand here.”
Helena lifted a lid off a pot. She handed Bertram a breakfast burrito with scrambled tofu and cashew ricotta and, of course, too many chives.
“You made this for me?” Bertram said.
“And kept it warm!” Helena smiled. “You never sleep in this late, so I figured it was going to be a rough morning. This was the post-hangover meal you used to make me in college. I don’t think I ever got to return the favor, because I don’t think you were ever actually hungover.
So, seemed about time. I’m not as good a cook as you are, but I tried my best.”
Bertram took the burrito from Helena and ate half of it in one bite.
He smiled behind his hand as he chewed.
“Well?” Helena asked eagerly, leaning forward on her elbows.
Bertram swallowed. “It’s delicious.”
“Yes!” Helena punched the air. “I mean, it’s a recreation of your recipe, so I don’t know how much credit I can really give myself, but I am happy that you like it.”
Helena sat beside him and took a sip of her own coffee and a bite of her much simpler meal of toast with peanut butter and jelly.
Bertram took another bite of his burrito. He thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever tasted. He watched Helena drink her coffee and thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
His brain must have still been somewhat fuzzy from the drinks, because he had the sudden urge to tell her as much, a sudden desire to open his mouth and tell Helena that she was an angel on earth—
But all his goodwill evaporated when his phone rang, and he saw the caller ID.
His passively admiring stare at Helena became an irritated glare.
“Oh, wow, look at that,” Bertram said pointedly, “a video chat from my mom. Who never video chats me. And right after I was just mentioning that!”
“Oh, huh,” said Helena, her manner perfectly neutral. “I guess you should answer. I was about to go take Lovey to work on her hovering—”
“Really?” Bertram asked. “Because you’re four bites into your toast.”
“Yeah, I actually have on my schedule today ‘eat half my toast’ then ‘watch Lovey hover’ then ‘eat the other half of the toast.’” Helena scrambled to her feet. “Lovey! Wake up!”
The owl-bear cub-chick lifted her head and slowly got to her feet, extending her talons and stretching like a cat as she did.
Before Bertram could chastise her further, Helena bounded off toward the woods, Lovey at her heels.
“Now I’m grumpy!” Bertram yelled after her, but she was gone.
Bertram sighed deeply and answered the phone. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, Bertram, love!” Jennie smiled broadly. “Look at all the new friends I’m making!”
Jennie turned the camera toward a mass of bright blue penguins with fairy wings, all flying in circles.
“There’s an ice flea swarm today, and they’ve been swooping in and out—it’s a feeding frenzy!” Jennie said. “This is actually several flocks combined—it’s the first time we’ve seen this phenomenon. Aren’t they beautiful?”
“Beautiful,” Bertram agreed.
For a moment, he and Jennie watched the penguins in silence.
“Is that why you called, Mom?”
“Well, Helena and I were texting, and I asked how you were, and she said that I should ask you myself. I figured I might as well make it a video call so you can enjoy the magic of Eudyfaela minor in a superflock.” Jennie frowned.
“When Helena said I should ask you myself . . . do you think she was irritated with me? It’s hard to read tone over text, and she doesn’t usually brush me off like that.
I wasn’t trying to create extra work for her by inquiring after you.
I only wanted to know how you were, and I figured Helena and I are close enough that interpersonal conversation would be pleasant, not burdensome—”
“Would you like to get your updates on me from Helena?” Bertram asked.
Jennie smiled. “Of course I want to know how you’re doing—”
“Yes, but is there a reason you want to know that from Helena?” Bertram said. “As opposed to from me?”
“Oh.” Jennie seemed genuinely surprised.
“Oh, I . . . no, I suppose not. It’s usually just that I’ll check in with Helena about Lovey and of course I want to hear how you’re doing as well .
. . would you . . . do you want me to ask you directly?
” Jennie said this as if it was a completely novel concept.
“My intention wasn’t to make you feel like you’re being discussed behind your back—”
“Do you like Helena more than me?” Bertram asked in a rush. He felt stupid the moment the words left his mouth and made a mental note to not discuss familial issues while hungover ever again.
“That depends.” Jennie furrowed her brow. “How much do you like Helena? The two of you seem to be getting along much better—”
“No, Mom.” Bertram sighed. “Do you like Helena more than you like me?”
Jennie let out a sharp, startled laugh.
Bertram didn’t laugh with her.
“Bertram.” Jennie’s voice softened. “No, no of course not. Why would you ever think that?”
“She’s the one you text. She’s the one whose name you put on the packages. You two talk about things that you and I never do. Even when I was a kid, you were so excited to suddenly have a surrogate daughter, especially one you thought was so brilliant and special—”
Jennie looked shocked. “And I thought you were brilliant and special too!”
“But I’m not; not like Helena, and we both know that. And you invited her here, knowing I would be miserable about it.”
Jennie shook her head. “I invited her here knowing it would help you both.”
“You couldn’t have known that for sure!” Bertram protested. “My whole childhood, I had to compete with the entire world for your attention. And then when it seemed like maybe we could shut them out, I had to compete with Helena for your attention.”
“I was the only mother she ever had,” Jennie said.
“Yes, but you’re also the only mother I ever had,” Bertram said.
There was a long moment of silence.
“I’m sorry,” Jennie said. “I never knew . . . maybe I wasn’t paying enough attention.
I never meant to make you feel less than.
I love Helena—but you’re my son, Bertram.
I never want you to feel like you are anything other than the absolute light of my world.
Because you are the absolute light of my world.
You always have been. You always will be. ”
Bertram swallowed and nodded. “I know, but . . . I guess I worry that if push came to shove, you would choose Helena over me.”
“But I didn’t,” Jennie said, softly. “When you and Helena broke up, I didn’t have more than a single conversation with her for three years. Isn’t that me literally, conclusively choosing you over her, Bertram?”
Bertram was silent as he considered this.
“Yeah,” Bertram finally said. “Yeah, it is.”
Jennie smiled, but Bertram’s stomach turned slightly. Yes, it was comforting that his fears about his mother’s favoritism of Helena were unfounded.
But Jennie had made a good point that she was the only mother figure Helena had ever known, and that mother had been ripped away from Helena because of Bertram. For years.
As Bertram mulled over that fact, the idea of Jennie choosing to discard Helena no longer felt like a victory in Bertram’s favor.
If anything, he felt like he had been worrying about all the wrong things.
He suddenly cared much less about the time that the three of them had spent together, and much more concerned with the time the three of them had spent apart.
“No one is more important to me than you are, Bertram,” Jennie said. “Nobody.”
“I think I just . . . I just needed to hear that out loud.” Bertram shook his head. “I know it’s stupid—”
“It’s not stupid,” Jennie said, firmly. “I know I can be distracted at times. I’m just self-aware enough to know that I’m not very self-aware.
So, if there ever feels like something I’ve missed, like I haven’t noticed what you’re feeling, or that you’re worried about something, please do let me know, Bertram.
I want you to be able to talk to me. Any time. About anything.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Bertram said. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Jennie smiled.
“Go enjoy your feeding frenzy,” Bertram said.
“I will. But call me if you need anything. I mean it, Bertram. Anything. You are the light of my world, you are brilliant, and I am endlessly proud of you.”
Even when Jennie hung up, Bertram was still smiling.
Bertram set Helena’s breakfast off to the side before clearing the rest of the table and setting up his woodworking tools. He was already sanding down a few pieces of newly sawed wood when Helena and Lovey returned.
“How is Lovey’s flight looking?” Bertram asked.