CHAPTER 24
I sort of feel bad for Arthur being trapped in the car with me for the ninety-minute drive home. I have a lot of mom things to say about his feelings and what happens when you misdirect your anger. We talk about the truth and how precious it is and about lies and how they can spread and take over your life. I have a lot to say about his dad that I probably should have said sooner.
“You know that your dad leaving had nothing to do with you, right?” I don’t know how it’s possible that it’s taken me two years to say this.
“I could have been better at shortstop,” he says to the window.
“You could have been Derek Jeter at shortstop and your dad would still have left. He loves you and Bernie, but he just doesn’t know how to love his own life. You’re good enough, Arthur. The problem is your dad doesn’t think he is.”
Arthur’s looking out the window still, and I know I’m not being entirely honest. “When your dad and I were married, I kind of felt like you do. I thought that if I could do everything perfectly, we’d be happy.”
“But you are perfect, Mom.”
“Right?” I say, and we both laugh. “Love isn’t something you need to earn. Dad left because of Dad, not us.”
Arthur cries a little, says he’s sorry a lot. I talk about the beauty of coming clean and giving and receiving forgiveness. It’s a lot of talking, so much talking in fact that there is no room for the second set of thoughts that want to introduce themselves: Leo was coming back. Leo’s heart was broken too. I tuck these away like I would a Wednesday crossword puzzle or a bag of chocolate pretzels. I will take them out and enjoy them when I am alone.
We pick up Bernadette at Kate’s, and I promise to text her later with the details. We go home, we start homework, I make meatloaf. We read a chapter of the last Harry Potter book, and I insist everyone goes to their own bed.
When I’ve cleaned the kitchen and locked the doors, I pour myself a glass of wine. I feel as if I have to run the past ten months through a new lens. Leo thought I was back with Ben, that my kids had their family back. He thought Ben came back and my feelings turned on a dime. He even sent the money to make it look like he was a renter all those extra nights.
I hold my phone like it has a pulse. Leo should have texted by now: Wow that was crazy. Kids these days! Am I right? But no, he’s really upset, and there’s no text. Maybe just too much time has passed. Maybe in that time he’s fallen in love with someone else. That’s hardly a stretch of the imagination.
I type a dozen texts and delete them. I feel like I should be apologizing, because Arthur is an offshoot of me. If I was a better mother, maybe he would have worked through all this anger by now. Maybe if I was a little less guarded, I wouldn’t have let Leo walk away so easily. After all, I could have left a voicemail. If he’d known I was falling apart, he would have known it was all a lie.
I am startled by a text. Leo: Do you have something you want to say? I’ve seen text bubbles appear and disappear for the past 20 minutes.
Well, that’s embarrassing. Me: I guess I don’t really know what to say. I’m sorry this happened.
Leo: The whole thing?
Me: No just the end part
Leo: I’m leaving for New Zealand tomorrow for three months. Maybe we talk when I’m back
Me: Okay
And that’s it. I hold my phone for a while to see if there’s more, but there’s not. It’s okay, actually. I finish my wine and look at the black February night through the sunroom windows. The tea house is invisible tonight, but I know it’s there.
* * *
? ? ?
It’s morning, and I’m feeling careful. There’s a potential new reality out there, and I want to let it incubate. If I open my heart to it too fully, it will surely disappear. I have plenty of evidence to suggest that could happen. I decide not to tell my parents. I decide not to tell Penny. I decide that I’ll just tuck it away like a fortune cookie that says, “Something nice might happen.”
I will tend to Arthur and remember to check in on Bernadette to see if she’s harboring that kind of hurt and anger. The thing about Bernadette is that she doesn’t really harbor. She feels it, lets it out, and moves on. With Bernadette, the explosion usually happens in real time.
I creep downstairs and throw on my heaviest coat while the coffee brews. The February sunrise feels quicker somehow, like maybe the sun knows it doesn’t have much time to get its work done.
I walk out onto the porch just as it’s in midrise, and there on my swing is Leo. He’s bundled up in a peacoat and a navy wool cap. He has a thermos and a hot mug of coffee. “Good morning,” he says.