Chapter 31
I charge across the patio, swerving between revelers and picnic tables. My determination turns a few heads. Adelaide is outright staring as I stride by. Caleb follows, asking questions I can’t answer.
When I reach my target, Mom grabs my hand, and I can’t tell whether if it’s for physical or emotional support.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, not bothering with niceties.
“I told the young man at the bed-and-breakfast I was looking for you, and he said everybody would be here tonight. He was nice enough to give me directions. But I admit, I got a bit lost.”
“No.” I shake my head, and it feels like I have marbles jostling in my brain. The sight of him here is unnatural, dissonant. “What are you doing in Grand Trees?”
“Well”—he smooths the collar of his shirt, running a hand along the buttons—“I thought it was long past time for your mother and me to talk.”
“Dad,” I say. “You should have told me you were coming. That’s not an easy drive.”
“I’m not an invalid, Edie. And you weren’t very happy with me when we spoke yesterday. I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome, actually.”
We stand in silence for a moment, because he’s right. I’ve finally made progress with Mom, and I don’t need him showing up, potentially dredging up more difficult memories and launching Mom back toward self-flagellation.
What is he doing here? Other than forcing a reckoning of long-suppressed heartbreak just as I hoped to slip outside its clutches. Caleb clears his throat, and I startle.
Oh no. If Caleb hated me on introduction, how will he treat the man who drove my mom from her home with an epic-length silent treatment?
But Caleb extends his hand. “Mr. Hawthorne, I’m Caleb. Welcome to Grand Trees.”
I do a double take. Who is this polite man without any hint of aggression?
Dad offers a polite smile. “Please, call me Len.”
“It’s great to meet you, Len.” Caleb waves over to the buffet tables. “You’d be doing us a favor if you make yourself a plate. We always have way too much food. My buddy Ian is manning the bar. If you like your drinks stiff, you’re in luck.”
Dad chuckles. It’s slightly frayed, but he’s nothing if not painfully polite. “That’s kind of you. I think I will in a bit.”
I take Dad in—pressed slacks, dress shoes, his thinning hair tamed with gel.
He’s a slight man, and he looks older, feebler standing beside Caleb.
But Dad always stands tall, his posture honed by years of ballroom classes as a kid.
He’s out of place in this casual crowd, and it triggers a pang of protectiveness.
Mom escaped his silence to come to this boisterous place, and it was never more apparent the punishment she fled—and the refuge she found—than with Dad standing in the center of it.
Mom is gripping my forearm like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.
I can’t remember the last time they saw each other.
My wedding? I sat them at the two farthest points of the ballroom.
And if they spoke, I didn’t witness it. Mom came alone, but that was a lifetime ago.
She was able to walk on her own two feet.
She went home to Sonny afterward. The frailty of their old wounds is more apparent without the armor of their youth.
And now I know how painful the split was for Mom. I didn’t have empathy for her then, but I do now. Because betrayal is painful, but regret is debilitating.
“Nicki, do you need to sit?” Caleb asks, but his words are coded. Are you okay? Do you want me to ask him to leave? Caleb’s internal guard dog is leashed, but it’s not tamed.
“I’m fine. I think Len and I are going to spend some time catching up.”
And then she slips her arm in his, and some wheel slips loose in my brain, stuttering to a stop in disbelief.
After all this time, my parents—who haven’t spoken to each other in two decades—are going to have a long-overdue chat?
I did all the hard work, knocked down walls, opened doors, and now Dad gets to walk through and make himself at home?
Fourteen-year-old me thinks this is bullshit.
How different would our lives have been if they had been adults all those years ago?
Instead of now, in the middle of my night, my epiphany, my commitment to move on and create a beautiful new life—damn all the broken pieces of me.
A bigger person might welcome this. But I’m not feeling particularly big right now, and I don’t want to risk our fragile progress on my dad’s emotional experiment.
“You’re just going to catch up? All of a sudden?” I ask.
Caleb steps back—his guard dog upstaged by my feral dog.
Dad’s face falls, but Mom squares her shoulders. “There’s no statute of limitations on a conversation. Now is as good a time as any.”
“Twenty years after your divorce?” My voice cracks on the last word. Caleb is beside me, here to protect me, to protect Mom. Here to be the bigger person, just like he’s done in his own divorce for his daughter. I wish my parents had done that for me.
Perhaps it’s because the last few days have been so emotional, but this casual chat after years of silence is throwing me for a loop.
Dad looks at me, his eyes soft but his words firm. “I told you, Eden. Your mother and I are not divorced.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I look to Caleb for confirmation that this is crazy, but his expression doesn’t console me, because he doesn’t seem surprised by my dad’s words.
Mom places her hand on my forearm and gives me a gentle squeeze. With a wary glance over her shoulder, she leads Dad to a secluded picnic table under a shroud of trees.
“What the hell was that?” I ask as Caleb leads me away, far from the tinny speakers blaring bubblegum pop. “They aren’t divorced?”
Caleb’s silence says everything.
“How did you know but I didn’t? Wait, how is that possible? Sonny and Mom got married.” I remember when Mom told me Sonny had proposed and they were planning to elope. I was in college and didn’t handle it well. Or perhaps I didn’t handle it at all, because I changed the subject.
“They wanted to, but your dad never signed the papers, and Nicki felt too guilty to press him about it, like it was her way to atone for leaving. Sonny was so grateful to have her here, he didn’t want to push her or make her feel worse about her choice.
They were all . . . stuck. She still wears Sonny’s engagement ring, but no, they weren’t married. I assumed you knew.”
This new piece of history is baffling. I acknowledge that my family’s ability to communicate is stunted, but this brings our dysfunction to new levels.
Did Dad think he could wait it out and give Mom a couple of decades to come to her senses?
Was he going to win her back with silence?
My empathy for Mom grows. Dad wouldn’t forgive her, but he wouldn’t let her go.
At least Jeff gave me a clean break, as cold and sudden as it was.
It was an end, which enabled a new beginning.
And yet, I don’t understand how any of them—Dad, Mom, or Sonny—was willing to live in relationship purgatory for so long.
Perhaps it was the penance they all paid for how terribly they messed everything up.
Mom’s betrayal, Dad’s denial, Sonny’s complicity.
Something comes back to me about Mom’s reaction to my divorce. She was relieved it was mutual—that there was no lingering love or regret. She mentioned starting over was easier when you hadn’t left half your heart behind. I assumed she was talking about me.
But perhaps she was talking about Dad after all. She literally left her marriage behind, intact, while she built a life with another man.
“Do you know why he’s here?” Caleb squints at them across the courtyard sparkling with white lights and beaming dancers.
There’s a commotion on the far side of the patio, where a group of people is huddled around the buffet table.
But it sounds like cheering, so I ignore it, even though my senses are on high alert.
“No. I’m beginning to think I don’t understand anything about their relationship.” The night is cooling, and I shiver. I cross my arms over my chest. “You were surprisingly polite.”
Caleb cocks his head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
I snort. “You chased me off my mom’s porch when I showed up uninvited. And he’s my mom’s evil ex.” Although he isn’t her ex-husband, apparently.
Caleb steps closer and his shadow bathes me in warmth and his spicy scent. “He’s also my girlfriend’s dad, so I’d like to make a good impression.”
My heart leaps at the admission. I haven’t been anyone’s girlfriend in so long, and something about it thrills me.
By the end of my marriage, the wife title felt obligatory, but girlfriend is a choice—a youthful, giddy, romantic choice.
I glance at him, wishing I could see his expression, but he’s backlit and opaque, a Caleb-size shape cut out of the evening canvas.
“Dad!” Abby runs toward us at a full sprint, weaving in and out of the crowd and gesturing like she’s shipwrecked and waving down a plane.
“What’s wrong?” There’s an edge of panic in Caleb’s voice, a crack I haven’t heard since the earthquake.
“Mom’s water broke!” Abby releases a hysterical laugh. “All over Bob’s shoes!”
“Points for style,” Caleb says under his breath.
“I’m going with them to the hospital.”
“It could be hours,” he warns, but it’s futile. Abby loves hospitals. It’s the only place she doesn’t feel pulled in two.
“It’ll be fast. It’s her billionth kid. But either way, it’ll be fun.” She beams before dialing down her smile into something sweeter, more playful. “You know I love you, right?”
“How could you not?” Caleb asks. He’s kidding, but I feel the rhetorical question like he’s drilling into my soul. Not loving Caleb is beginning to seem like an impossibility.
“Mom has a go bag in the car, but”—she gestures to her outfit: denim shorts, a tank top, and flip-flops—“I have nothing. I’ll freeze in the AC, and my phone will die, and I won’t be able to post photos of my new sister.”
Caleb’s voice is dry as dust. “Is this your way of asking me to pack a bag and drive two hours round trip to the hospital to drop it off?”
“Oh, Daddy, you’re the best! That’s such a good idea,” she says, as if it weren’t hers at all. Clever girl. Abby wraps her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek before jogging away, returning to the mayhem across the courtyard.
Caleb slumps. “Eden, I . . .” He sneaks a peek at my parents—huddled in the shadows—with an apology hanging on his lips.
“Go.” I place my palm on his chest. “I’m fine. Let me deal with my dysfunctional parents. Abby needs you.”
“I’ll swing by afterward.” He searches my face for signs that I’m as fine as I say I am, then places his hand over mine.
I shake my head. “It’ll be late. But text me to let me know you’ve made it home okay.”
“Of course.” He scans the perimeter before leaning in for the swiftest, sweetest kiss, which stabilizes me, and reminds me of the promise held in that discreet act of affection.
Whatever my dad has come to say, whatever the fallout is for my mom, this time I won’t have to deal with the aftermath alone.