Chapter 13 Dominic
Dominic
"I should issue an apology for my family, but I don't know if there is an apology big enough." Ophelia settles on a stool on the far side of the island, smiling at me kindly. An elegant bun at the nape of her neck holds her gray and white hair.
I wave off her words. "No need. Cecily and I were..." My mind trips, parsing through my vocabulary for the best fitting word that doesn't give away the truth. "...hasty. I expected nothing less than what I walked into."
This is only partially true. I'd anticipated a protective father, thundering at me for marrying his daughter. He delivered on that, but only in part. His blustering was more on his own behalf, or that of his image. He certainly wasn't taking up any swords for Cecily.
It makes me angry, but I'm trying not to show it. It would embarrass Cecily, to know I am disgruntled on her behalf.
"Still," Ophelia insists, "my son made a very poor showing.
Not surprising, honestly. He hasn't been himself in years.
Not since he became successful. All that pressure, I guess.
Sometimes, pressure makes diamonds." She shrugs.
"Other times, it crushes you. It doesn't help that his father died when he was nineteen.
He could have used his dad to help guide him in his own parenthood.
I don't know that my son will ever go back to the person he used to be.
And now that I'm preparing to take a dirt nap, I'll never know. "
I stare at her, wide-eyed.
She points back at herself. "Savage."
A smile pulls at my lips, but I'm not sure if I should let it break out fully. It's a morbid topic, there is no place for a grin, right?
"Will you be able to join us on the road trip I've planned?"
I'm not sure I have a choice, even though I suppose I do. I could say no. I could choose not to care.
"I'm not sure," I say haltingly. "I need to check with my boss. I'm a literary agent," I explain, before Ophelia can ask. "My work is portable. There are some meetings I would miss, but as long as I have an internet connection or Wi-Fi, I can do them through video."
Ophelia nods slowly, palms steepled under her chin.
"Dominic, I realize this is a lot to put on you when you're new to marriage.
New to the family." She licks her lips, weighing her words carefully.
"My granddaughter is going to need you. She can be, well, I guess you could say she's a bit of a brute sometimes.
The only way to survive the house she grew up in was to erect a barrier.
She developed quite an attitude until she was old enough to put physical distance between her and her parents. "
Ophelia's words strike a chord within me, hurtling down into the depths of my soul. I know what it's like to run away from family. I ran all the way to New York City when I was eighteen, and that's where I stayed.
"I'm aware of Cecily's protective shell," I say to Ophelia. I might be aware of it, but I don't know it. Not really. I don't understand the ins and outs, the nuances, the reasons behind it all. I probably never will.
An unexpected and odd feeling ripples across my chest. Not sadness, because how could that be? If forced to name the emotion, I'd identify it as melancholy. Cecily, it turns out, is a complicated person, and there is nothing I love more than a challenging puzzle.
"I'm worried about Cecily," Ophelia admits. "About how she'll handle my passing. We've always been very close." She aims a wistful smile at me. "Knowing she'll have you in the hard moments is an enormous relief."
Guilt trickles through me, and though I try to hide it, I cannot stop the way I gulp at Ophelia's words. "Cecily will have me to lean on," I tell her, and it's true. Whether Cecily will allow herself to lean on me is a different story.
Ophelia thumbs over her shoulder, saying, "We should probably get back out there. Make sure they haven't torn each other to shreds. Concrete is porous, you know. I don't want bloodstains on my pool deck."
She sees whatever expression is on my face and smiles sympathetically. "You look uneasy."
I'm feeling a lot of different things right now, and uneasy is only one of them.
Ophelia slides off her stool, crossing the kitchen and opening a drawer. From it she pulls a glass canister, and from that she removes a clear plastic bag.
"I pop one of these sometimes, to take the edge off.
Even on our best day, this family is challenging.
Why be sober around them when you can be high?
Or at least, you know, a little high." She plucks a gummy bear from the bag and tosses it in her mouth.
"They're out there drinking wine. What's the difference? "
She chews, and I watch her, unsure what to do.
I should say no, but my reason for declining isn't one I can share.
Sorry, I have to stay sober so I can get an annulment from your granddaughter.
I suppose I don't need a reason for saying no, but one gummy won't hurt.
How much THC can there be in a single bear?
Besides, I'm a big guy. It probably won't affect me at all.
"See if you can make it into my mouth. Just one." I widen my stance, hands balancing in the air at my sides, and open my mouth.
Ophelia fishes a gummy from the bag and takes aim. "Fire," she says, and lets go.
It sails directly into my mouth, and she shouts, "Bullseye!" Her arm lifts in the air, triumphant.
Cherry flavor hits my tongue as I chew. I offer Ophelia a high-five, and she smacks my hand.
Eyes sparkling, she says, "Now we can face my family."