Chapter Twelve #3
There were so many things he didn’t get about them, why his father, in light of his mother’s constant cheating and absences, had never stood up for himself and left.
Her brow furrowed and she nudged his foot this time. ‘That is hard to understand. You okay?’
‘Yeah, I long gave up trying to piece together the intricacies of their dysfunctional relationship.’ It would never happen to him.
He’d never again stand there pining, waiting for someone to come home to him, to keep their promise, nor live through the utter devastation of realising you were never enough for someone.
‘I haven’t kept any of her rings. I sold them all when I turned twenty-one.
Privately, so it wouldn’t turn into a circus, and split the funds between my favourite charities.
’ He would have made more money from a public auction but hadn’t had the stomach for it.
‘Not only is that generous, it’s a thoughtful way to bring new life to them, rather than just sitting in a vault, and I’m sure the charities were grateful.’
Like a balm to his wounds, her words helped. ‘Thanks.’
‘Do you regret selling them? Now you’re older?’
It had been surprisingly hard to get rid of them.
It had been like losing another piece of his mother, especially as the only time he could ever remember having her full attention, when there’d been no camera crew around, was one day when his father had been sick in bed.
Ethan and his mother had gone into the cinema room to watch her latest movie, which in hindsight was totally inappropriate for a child of his age, and he’d sat next to her, playing with the rings on her fingers as she cuddled him.
He’d waited years for that to happen again, constantly looking for clues that it had meant something special to her as well.
But it was never repeated, never mentioned, and the rings had simply become another painful reminder that he’d never been enough.
Selling them had meant the funds raised would help people in need.
‘Not at all.’
‘What was your mum like, other than a bell lover?’ he asked, wanting to hear more about her family, her upbringing, and not only because he wanted to stop thinking about his own.
‘She was so messy. The kitchen after she cooked, my goodness, what a sight.’ She shuddered and made a funny face. ‘Dad was the opposite.’
He glanced around her room, spotless, except for the clothes they’d torn off each other, which were strewn over the floor. ‘So, you’re more like your dad.’
She grinned. ‘Yep, Mum was devastated I wasn’t messier. She sorely wanted an ally to counteract the neat freak.’ She slanted him a teasing look. ‘You, Ethan, are more like my mum, but nowhere near as bad.’
He pressed a hand to his chest. ‘That’s a relief.’ He sighed dramatically.
She snorted.
‘What about your dad, what was he like?’ he asked. Now he’d started with the questions, he couldn’t seem to stop. Relaxed, but not sleepy, wallowing in the aftermath of unbelievable sex, he reasoned, questions were completely allowable.
She brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them.
‘He loved science fiction. He knew each movie of a certain well-known franchise word for word, which drove my mum and me totally bonkers. But on his birthday, we’d do a movie marathon, and he’d recite every line until we could take it no more and we’d start ad-libbing.
I’ve got to say we were quite inventive.
’ She laughed and so did he, completely transfixed by her memories of a family totally opposite to his own, and her animated face as she recalled them.
It was like another layer of Annie had been peeled back, and he liked it, a lot.
‘They were happy?’ he asked, unable to hide the thread of amazement and intrigue at such an idea. Of course, he knew some couples seemed so, but then again so did his parents, on paper.
‘Very. Every year from the age of ten, I made them dinner for their anniversary and then we’d all share dessert, which was always pavlova.
Looking back, I imagine they probably didn’t want me hanging around, but they never made me think that at the time.
Anyway, over dessert, they’d recount the tale of how they’d met, volunteering at an animal shelter in Sydney.
They were rostered on the same shift and that was it.
Love at first sight over hosing out the enclosures. ’ Her eyes watered and she sniffed.
He passed over the box of tissues from the table beside him.
‘I’m alright,’ she said, looking anything but, as she took a few tissues, dabbing them against her eyes before picking up her own water glass and taking a long sip.
He ached to console her; she’d clearly adored her parents and vice versa, and he couldn’t help wondering what that would be like.
To have such an honest devotion to each other, and to your child.
To be part of a safe, loving family where you were a priority not a prop.
It gave him an even deeper understanding of how crushing their deaths must have been and why, in her grief, she’d hidden behind Ivy.
‘How did your parents meet?’ she asked, turning the glass around in her hands.
His lips twitched. ‘Okay brace yourself for this. My dad was a jeweller.’
She choked on a mouthful of water, and her eyes misted again, thankfully for a completely different reason.
‘Really?’ she asked.
‘Really!’
‘Do you think he made any of the rings?’
‘Unlikely. I did some investigating before I sold them, discreet investigating, but there was no definite answer without contacting some of my mother’s ex-lovers, and that was one rabbit hole I definitely didn’t want to go down.
And he pretty much gave up working once they got together.
He didn’t have a studio at home, and I never saw him do any work. ’
‘Did he ever go on location with her?’ She put the glass back on the table and pulled the quilt up under her chin.
He shook his head. ‘He always stayed at home.’
‘Oh, right. To be with you?’
‘No. That was long before I came along. I’m not sure he knew I existed when Mum was there, and when she wasn’t…
’ He searched for a word to describe how it had seemed like the light had been turned off inside his father when she wasn’t there, and it only came back on when she was.
Ethan had been completely the same. A chill went over him at the reminder. ‘He struggled.’
‘Who looked after you?’
‘I had a nanny.’
‘The same one?’
He shook his head again. ‘They’d change about every six months. Ironically, my mother would get jealous of my father becoming too close to them.’
‘Your mum was constantly away, your dad was mentally absent, and you had a different nanny twice a year? That’s appalling.’ Anger flushed her cheeks and compassion coloured her voice, but no pity.
That he couldn’t stand.
‘I learnt never to get too attached to them,’ he assured her.
It had made for a lonely first ten years, but it wasn’t until he was older that he realised how completely lacking in love and friendship that period of his life had been.
And how it wasn’t that way for everyone.
That not everyone’s mother would disappear for months at a time and then only be interested in you because of a brief role you had to play.
He twisted towards her to see her hazel eyes brimming with an empathy he felt deep in his core, spreading warmth and hope throughout him, easing some of his anguish.
Because years later it still stung, as much as he tried to pretend otherwise.
His parents had been the polar opposites to Annie’s.
How excruciating it must have been to lose the kind of love and support and absolute foundation her parents had provided her with?
How would that change you? How would you ever recover from the loss?
‘What were your parents thinking, not making you a priority?’ She pushed her hair off her face.
‘No idea. And whenever my mother was at home, there was usually a camera crew for photos in the staged bedroom.’
‘Staged bedroom? Not your own?’
‘My real bedroom was next to the nanny’s and miles away from my parents’ one. I liked it more.’ He shrugged. ‘I didn’t have to worry I’d break some priceless artefact, not suitable for a kid’s room in the first place.’
She shook her head, her eyes wide and reached over and took his hand, linking their fingers.
‘How could they…? I don’t know what to say.’
What more was there to say, other than they hadn’t loved him, or made him a priority? But he’d already revealed too much. He needed to pull back. And he would, in a minute, but he couldn’t seem to let go of her hand, so instead he raised it to his lips.
* * *