Gabe’s eyes swept over to me. “What can I say? I don’t know if it’s so much that I’m an optimist, but I like to think if something was that great once, it can be again.”
Dad nodded. “Well, up here in Red Sox country, I’d prefer to believe that ’98 was the end of an era. Speaking of, don’t let the missus see that hat in the house . . . she’s liable to incinerate it in our wood burning stove! I don’t know if you remember, but she’s more die hard than half our neighborhood.”
“Oh, I remember,” Gabe teased back.
“Hey, since I got you both here, want to help me film a few Insta Stories and post the Biedermeier on the Gram?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Insta Stories? The Gram? Who are you and what have you done with my father?”
“Just trying to keep pace with the rest of the world, is all.”
“If I’d known, I’d have offered to bring along my roommates. Now they could really give you a crash course in social media. I’d say next time, but you guys’ll probably already be off living the RV life by then.”
Dad offered a small laugh and turned away. “I’ll grab the ring light and tripod attachment for my phone from downstairs and meet you in the back. I think we have some time before we need to head out. Hope you’re hungry. Mom has her world-famous lasagna waiting for us for dinner back at the house.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
During a deliciously carb-filled dinner full of four-cheese lasagna and fresh buttery rolls, Gabe filled my parents in on all his accomplishments since they last saw him. Now, as a director working for the New York Urban League, Gabe was living his dream of ensuring those in underserved communities had a seat at the table. If there were obvious differences between Adam and Gabe before, recent revelations made that contrast starker than the bright light of day and pitch black of night. Mom, famous for her ability to hold a grudge, had spent the better part of the last decade referring to Gabe as the “bleeding heart who broke my heart,” so it was a relief to see her rewarming up to him. I could only imagine how she’d refer to Adam moving forward. Judas? The Grinch? Or just “that greedy asshole”？
After dinner, Mom showed Gabe to the guest room on the second floor that doubled as Dad’s office. She picked up a decorative pillow, shook it out to fluff it, and said, “I added a featherbed topper to the pullout to make it a little more comfortable.” She pointed to the sofa bed that had to be at least as old as I was that she’d made up with fresh linens before we arrived.
“This will be great, Mrs. Lawrence,” Gabe said graciously and moved inside to set his things down on the floor next to the bedside table.
“I’m gonna go drop my bag in my room. When you’re done settling in, just come down the hall. You remember which one it is, right?”
“I think I can find my way.”
A few minutes later, Gabe knocked lightly on my bedroom door and popped his head through the doorway. I motioned for him to take a seat while I finished unpacking my toiletries.
“Come on in, nothing to see here but a Barbie Dreamhouse and my collection of Troll dolls. My parents haven’t touched this room since the day I left for college. It’s like a strange time capsule full of One Direction posters and hot-pink emoji throw pillows. Mortifying.”
“No, it’s great. Is that an actual DVD player over there?” Gabe, en route to the bed, took a brief pause to scan through my bookshelf, which housed a handful of DVDs among tattered paperbacks and old play scripts. “Ooh, Good Will Hunting? Great movie,” he commented, running his finger along the spines as he read aloud.
“Ben and Matt are a New England institution. Well, Boston, but New England by extension, so I feel like we can claim their success as our own. Oh! Wait, stop looking! I’ve got it!” I yelled and bounced off the mattress to reach around him to grab the romantic classic I hadn’t watched since before we broke up.
He glanced at my selection, and his eyebrows danced in delight. “Is that who I think it is?! Mr. Leonardo DiCaprio?! And the heart of his ocean, Dame Kate Winslet?!”
“Should we? I know this is just a twin bed and not a bathtub in Hell’s Kitchen, but I guarantee we’ll be a lot warmer snuggled under these covers than we were freezing our icebergs off in that tub!”
“‘You jump, I jump, right?’” he said, quoting Rose’s famous line from the movie.
We hit play on the DVD and dove under the covers. Within seconds of the haunting first notes of the eerie melody, Gabe was cocooned around me, his breath warming my neck, the intermittent rush of air like the rhythmic rolling of ocean waves.
Somewhere between Rose living it up in steerage and the steamy make-out scene in the back of the classic Coupe de Ville, Gabe fell asleep nestled up against me, his arms holding on to me tighter than Rose was clinging to her floating door （which totally had enough space for her and Jack, not even a question!）。 I carefully peeled Gabe off my shoulder, wiggled out from his embrace trying my best not to wake him, and went downstairs for a glass of water.
I carefully tiptoed through the house, but it didn’t matter. Squeaks and creaks reverberated out of the old maple floors, bouncing off every door and window. Bernadette （Peters）， our grumpy basset hound, asleep in her usual spot by the fireplace, slowly raised her big droopy eyes to see who was there before curling back into her dog bed completely unperturbed.
I grabbed the handle of the refrigerator and wrenched it open, the small bulb inside bathing me in a cool white light. Catching my eye were two large Tupperware containers filled with some of our dinner’s leftovers stacked next to the pitcher of water. Maybe just a little snack? Grabbing one container with my left hand, I wedged a fork between my teeth, and grabbed a cup of water before making my way to the couch. Only, just as I leaned back into the cushion, a loud and resounding yelp sent me at least two feet into the air and the Tupperware of lasagna, as well as the water, flying across the room.
I slowly lifted the blanket off the couch. “Mom, is that you?”
“Of course, it’s me,” she said, kicking the blanket off her legs.
“Jeez, you scared the hell out of me. What are you doing down here?” I asked.
“The RLS makes your father impossible to sleep with. I end up on the couch at least four nights a week,” she managed through a yawn.
“I thought the doctor said Dad didn’t have restless leg syndrome?”
“What do they know? I’m the one who’s been sleeping next to the man for the past forty years.” Mom pointed to the far corner of the room. “Hey, Ave, you might want to pick the lasagna up off the floor before Bernadette finishes it all.”
I turned to look behind me. Bernadette had slurped up most of the mess and was polishing off whatever remained in the Tupperware.
“NOOO!” I cried, and rushed over to scoop up the leftovers until I realized that Bernadette was doing a better job of cleaning it up than I could, so I just let her go to town, while I found a spray bottle of disinfectant and some paper towels to do a final wipe down after she was done.
Without even having to be asked, Mom tightened the tie of her faded navy terry cloth robe, pushed up from the couch, and headed into the kitchen. Reaching into the fridge, she pulled out the second Tupperware and set the microwave to three minutes. When it finished, she pulled out the piping-hot dish and set it on the table. She poured a tall glass of milk, placed it beside the plate, and pulled a chair out, gesturing for me to take a seat.