Rom-Com Collection

“Oh, right. So it’s my fault now,” my mother said, disdain dripping from her voice.

Mae twitched in her sleep. “It’s in the left drawer,” she said, then resettled herself and gave another gentle snore.

“No, it’s not your fault. Of course not,” Dad replied in a softer voice. “I did a horrible thing, Eleanor. I broke our marriage vows, and I hurt you.” His voice became firmer. “I’ve admitted that, and I’ve been apologizing for decades now, and I’ve told you again and again that I’d do anything to make it up to you … which I think I’ve proved by dragging these women back into our lives.”

Mom didn’t answer, just gripped the stem of her wineglass. Her shoulders were tense, the only indication that she was listening.

“But maybe you should take some responsibility, too, Ellie,” Dad went on, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “The minute we moved to Georgebury, it was like I was just … some … appendage or something. You had the family business, you had the girls, you had your work, and on the nights when I was home, I was just someone who messed up your routine. You couldn’t wait for me to go back on the road again!”

“Oh, Dad, nobody felt like that,” I attempted. “We loved when you were home.”

“Hush, Callie,” he said.

“Why don’t I just go to the bar and have a nice drink?” I suggested.

“Stay where you are,” Mom ordered. “We might need you if she wakes up.” She gave Dad an icy look. “And it wasn’t like that at all, Tobias.”

“Wasn’t it?” he asked fiercely. “Callie, did you ever feel neglected or overlooked because your mother was so obsessed with her dead people and creating the perfect send-off and comforting and coddling everyone but her husband and kids? Did you, honey?”

“I’d like to invoke the fifth amendment,” I said, waving to Dave. “Can I get a drink over here, Dave? Something large?” Dave pulled a face, rightfully wary of approaching.

“She did, Eleanor,” my father said. “And so did Hester, and I’m sure Freddie has as well. And as for me, Ellie—” here my father’s voice cracked “—you barely remembered who I was.” His eyes were wet.

“I remembered enough to get pregnant with your child,” Mom said, but her voice was not quite as certain as before.

“Yeah. The first time we’d had sex in a year and a half.” I closed my eyes. Would that aliens would abduct me right about now. “And I was so happy about a new baby,” Dad continued. “But you weren’t, were you? This was just a great inconvenience.”

Mom blinked. “I was thirty-nine years old, Toby.”

She hadn’t called him that in a long, long time.

“It was a baby, Ellie. Our baby. But every time I brought up the subject, what should we name him, should we take another vacation before he came, you just gave me a dirty look and left the room.”

“I love Freddie,” Mom said, opening her hands up in an appeal.

“I know. But you stopped loving me. I don’t know when, but you did, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make you love me again, and yes, I had three one-night stands, and I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, and I’m so damn tired of being sorry.” My father’s face crumpled. “I wanted to be needed. I wanted to be appreciated, and I was an idiot, and I’d take it back if I could, I’d cut out my heart if it would make you forgive me, but for Christ’s sake, Eleanor, it didn’t happen in a vacuum.”

My mother was silent, her mouth slightly open, eyes wide.

My father stood up. “I’m sorry, Poodle,” he said to me, wiping his eyes.

At that moment, a young man came over to our table. “Hey. You guys done with Goggy?” he asked.

Neither of my parents answered. “Um … yes! We are! She’s lovely,” I said, cringing as the words left my mouth. “Do you need help getting her into the car?”

“I’m all set. Thanks for inviting her out! She’s usually in bed by seven. Big night for her.”

He backed his sleeping ancestor away from the table and left. Without another word, my father followed. I watched him go, his shoulders slumped, then turned to my mother. “You okay, Mom?” I whispered.

My mother blinked and closed her mouth. “Yes. I’m fine, Callie.”

If “fine” looked like “slapped,” then I guess she was fine. Not knowing what to say, I took her hand. She squeezed back gratefully.

“Where’d she go? Where’s Dad?” Hester boomed. “Sorry about the phone call. Did I miss everything?”

“Not now, Hes,” I said. “Come on, Mom. We’ll take you home.”

“I didn’t even get to eat,” Hester protested.

“So order a pizza,” I hissed. “Now is not the time.”

I DROPPED HESTER BACK AT her house, promising to call her later, then took Mom back home. Fred, who’d just popped open a beer, set it down when we walked into the foyer.

“Mom, you okay?” he asked, his dark eyes, so like our dad’s, filled with concern.

“Rough night,” Mom murmured, patting his shoulder absently. She wandered into the Tranquility Room and sat in the back row.

“What happened, Callie?” he asked, and I briefed him in low tones.

“Poor Dad,” he said when I was done, then glanced toward our mom. “And Christly, poor Mom.”

“Tell me about it,” I murmured. “She looked like he slapped her. And Daddy … Fred, he was crying.” My own eyes filled up.

“Now don’t you start,” Freddie said, sounding a lot like Noah. “Twenty-two years divorced, and they’re still making the kids miserable. Come on.” He gave me a quick hug. “Ma! You want a grilled cheese?”

“Sure,” Mom said after a minute.

“Go,” my brother said to me. “I’ll get this one.”

“Thanks, buddy,” I said, kissing his stubbly cheek. Strange to have my brother needing to shave. Stranger still to have him acting like an adult.

I drove over to my dad’s, but his little house was dark, and he didn’t answer the door when I knocked. I sat on the porch for a minute or two. This was the same place he’d been renting all these years since he first moved out—he could well afford to buy it, but he never did. An owl called from a nearby tree, and the air was cool with the promise of some late-night rain. Cozy under other circumstances. Lonely under these. With a sigh, I got up and returned to my car.

A half hour later, I was rocking in my chair, waiting for the magic, listlessly eating some Betty Crocker Supermoist Cherry Chip batter. Come on, chair, I thought. Do your thing. I remembered those ads from my youth … Calgon, take me away! the beleaguered housewife would cry, and seconds later, she’d be ensconced in bubbles up to her ears, reclining in some gorgeous bathtub. Funny that I had such a tub but rarely used it. No, it was the chair for me. My happily-ever-after chair. But happily-ever-afters seemed in short supply these days.

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the smooth maple. Sometimes it seemed like my life was spent shoveling fog … trying so hard to be that adorable hedgehog everyone liked. Some days, optimism was an ill-fitting wool coat, heavy and uncomfortable.

Bowie whined from the floor, then raised his head and licked my ankle. “Thanks, Bowie,” I whispered. “You’re the best.”

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make you love me again.

The last time I’d seen my father cry was just before my eighth birthday when he moved out. Hester was in her room, furious; she hadn’t spoken to him for weeks, and Mom was in the basement, losing herself in preparing the dead, so I was the only one to see my father off.

“I’ll see you Wednesday, Bunny,” he called up the stairs to my sister. His voice cracked.

“Don’t you fucking call me that ever again!” Hester shrieked, her voice clearly audible through the closed door.

Dad flinched, then turned to me. “It won’t be so different, Poodle,” he lied, standing in the hallway, surrounded by suitcases. “I’ll just be a few streets over.” He smiled, a horrible smile because it wasn’t a smile at all, just a contortion meant to fool his child.