Catch My Fall (46 page)

I felt muscles in my face pulling and twisting as misery tried to etch itself across my face. I was still trying to hide it from her. God, if she’d knew how sad I’d been – how sad I still was. My life was about to be perfect – great job, gorgeous man at my side.

I’d tried to pretend I didn’t know why my stomach still hurt all the time. I knew exactly why. My stomach hurt day and day out for ten fucking years. I knew exactly why I was so unhappy.

Her eyes were watery, but there was a serenity there that couldn’t be argued with. “You are not a burden to me, sweet girl.” She brushed my hair behind my ear, staring at my face. She’d always had a magic touch for moments like these. No wonder I’d tried to hide from it for so many months.

“I feel like one, Mom.”

She shook her head. “Never feel that way. Never. I’d rather you here and happy than somewhere far away and miserable.”

I took a deep, shuddering breath.

“I want you to be happy.”

I shut my eyes so tight, my head almost hurt. “Happy doesn’t pay bills, Mom.”

“Bull shit. You give it a try, then tell me that.”

I laughed, nearly dripping snot all over the floor as I did. “No one’s going to pay me to eat like a walrus and draw cartoons all day, but that might make me happy.”

She chuckled. “Why wouldn’t they? The cartoons part anyway.”

“It’s a pipe dream, Mom. Nobody makes a living drawing car -”

“Walt Disney. Isn’t that what you used to say?”

That was my answer. That had always been my answer – back before I’d become the biggest critic of my own dreams. “I’m a thirty four, mom. People who do what I want to do start when they’re like fifteen.”

“That is when you started.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, but then they don’t stop for ten years in the middle.”

“Then be the first of your kind, lady. Why are you so adamant to quell this creative spark of yours? There are millions of people who would give anything to have a fraction of your talent. Myself included.”

I stared at the floor. “I don’t want to turn out like Dad.”

“What? What do you mean?”

My face contorted, but I got hold of myself before tears could take hold. “I’ve redirected every single goal I ever had to avoid it.”

She inspected my face a moment, then she gave a sad sigh. “That’s why? Because of your father?”

I nodded, sucking on my lower lip to steady myself.

“There are worse things in this life than being like your father,” she said, then she paused. “That’s why you walked away from art school?”

I nodded and inhaled a harsh sob. Hearing her phrase it like that resurrected every pang of guilt and regret and lost hope I’d been forced to contend with as I said goodbye to my professors.

Leaving my dreams behind was the worst heartbreak I’d ever known. Give me another Cole. Hell, give me a thousand Coles – Cole I could handle again. The anguish of that choice I made when I was nineteen made Cole look like a hangnail in comparison. I wouldn’t wish it anyone.

Yet I’d been wallowing in it for weeks, feeling that pain all over again at every mention of the job at Chalice.

She squeezed me. “Damn it Chuck, I told you to keep it light.”

“What?”

She took a slow breath. “When he came to see you, he promised he’d -”

I pulled from her. “You knew?”

She nodded, giving me an almost piteous smile.

I shook my head as though I might be able to loose the thoughts. “You talked to him?”

She touched my hair. “Honey, I’ve always been talking to him.”

If the earth had split beneath me at that moment, I would have happily let it swallow me. I glared at her. “What? You’ve just been grabbing coffee with a known drug addict who just so happens to be the source of my genetic material, and you didn’t think to share that information?”

“He
is
an addict, no one would say otherwise. He’ll tell you that himself, but he has been clean for fifteen years now.”

“Fantastic! That just makes him a deadbeat, absentee father! When did you start talking to him again?”

She touched her face. “You were eight.”

“What?! What about those years that you couldn’t sleep because you thought he was going to show up in the night and take me or something?”

She settled back onto her hip, curling her legs under her. “I was scared for a while. He was a different man when he was using. When he started to get clean, we started talking. Your grandmother almost killed me for it.”

I clenched my fists, took a deep breath, and paused. The words I wanted to ask were dragging through my throat like hot coals. “Why didn’t he come see me?”

She frowned. “He didn’t want to take the chance of disappointing you.”

I laughed. “Yeah, because not having a father wasn’t a disappointment in and of itself.”

She wiped her eyes, and I thought to rein in my snide, but there was no guarantee it could be curtailed. I felt certain that anger was the righteous response to this news, but somehow instead of angering me, it deflated me.

She touched my arm. “He didn’t want you to get attached and then fail you if he relapsed. And he did. Many times.”

“So he waited until I was fucking nineteen?”

She nodded. “It took that long for him to feel sure he wouldn’t relapse again.”

I scratched my head roughly.

“He tried to convince me so many times it was his fault. That he’d caused your – your crisis. Said he shouldn’t have sprung on you like that, but I thought you would have told me if -”

“I thought it would upset you!”

She shook her head. “I wish I’d known. He’s stayed away ever since because he felt he’d done you harm. I’ve tried to convince him that wasn’t the case, but now - I don’t know what I would have done to change your mind, but – I just wish I’d known.”

We sat quietly for a moment.

“You still talk?” I asked, finally.

She nodded.

“Where is he?”

She smiled and gestured to the painting on the wall. “He teaches at Mass Art. Fuller is one of his.”

I turned toward the painting, suddenly seeing it anew. Part of me wanted to rally against the painting, as though it were some interloper sneaking into my otherwise perfect world. The other part of me wanted to soak it in with new eyes.

My dad taught this painter. My dad.

“Is he still married to that lady? Have you met her?”

She had a far off look for a moment, but she smiled. “Oh no, that intolerable woman – she’s long gone. And I never met her, thank god.”

“Why ‘thank god?’”

She gave me a half smile, signifying that she expected me to know the answer to this question.

I did.

“Because I love him, Faye. Always have.”

At that, I began to sniffle again. I wiped my hand across my nose. Gross, I know, but better than letting it drip down my face.

“I don’t know what to do, Mom.”

She ran her hand over my hair “Yes you do. And anything beyond that, we can figure out later.”

Familiar footsteps clomped up the porch steps, and the door opened. Stellan crouched right down beside us.

I glanced at him, but kept my eyes down. I wasn’t angry at him anymore. Not sure I ever really was. Mom said something about clouds lifting and shifted out of the way so he could collect me and move me to the couch. After a moment of him snuggling me into the crook of his neck, softly whispering how much he cherished me, my mother returned from the kitchen with a cup of tea and tissues. She set them next to the crackers and cheese on the table.

“Tell me you’ll call them tomorrow. Promise me that,” she said, hovering by the arm of the couch.

I felt like a child being given permission to come home from a miserable week at camp – freed and protected, not a desperately stumbling adult about to blow off the best job prospect she’d seen in a year.

I stared at my hands in my lap, watched as Stellan interlaced his fingers with mine. Could I do it, could I choose just the possibility of something better over a paycheck? Could I say I had enough hope?

She offered me a cracker with cheese. I took it, and I nodded.

We ate Brie and Butter Crackers, sipped tea, and spent the afternoon on the couch watching a Monty Python marathon on PBS as the snow fell outside. And we laughed.

Stellan and I woke the next day to another snowy morning. Mom left for work, taking my Santé Fe with four wheel drive to battle against the snow. I had nowhere to go that day, and there was no way she wasn’t going in to work. She had curating to do.

After breakfast, and a couple hours of internal struggle, I finally called Chalice. Dennis seemed sincerely disappointed when I broke the news, even tried to change my mind. Somehow, my mother’s words had given me permission to say no.

“I’ve decided to pursue something else,” I said. Felt like a complete jackass when he asked me what that was and I answered, “I haven’t actually figured that out yet.”

Oddly enough, he seemed to respect it. He left the door open, saying to check in with him if I ever changed my mind.

I smiled. I knew that such a day would never come. Even if I decided to work at Arby’s, I knew I’d be happier.

As I sat there with the phone in my hand, I felt a sudden inspiration.

I pulled up a blank message for Jackie.
Think you might like some help down at the bakery? Looks like my calendar just opened up, and I’m told I make a mean Swedish Apple.

Jackie responded within second with pure elation, promising to call after dinner. I smiled and searched for the words to send my mother, telling her the deed was done.

Yet, before I could press send, my phone lit up – incoming phone call from the 617 - Boston. I stared at it a moment, contemplating letting it go to voicemail. Was my mother calling me from a museum phone to celebrate the momentous joy of my life as a mooch?

I made my way down the hall toward the living room, watching my phone. I finally answered.

“Hello?”

“Is this Faye?”

The man’s voice was soft, almost cautious.

“Yes?” I said.

“Hey, Fayebell.”

I froze by the fireplace holding the phone to my ear.

I swallowed. “Hi, Dad.”

Stellan moved on the couch, closing his laptop and turning toward me. I leaned against the fireplace for support, letting it warm my legs.

“Your mother tells me you’ve decided not to go back to that marketing job.”

Wow, they really do talk.

I pressed my finger to my other ear as though there was some cacophony I was trying to drown out. Hard to do when the din is in your own head, ladies and gents. “Well, it’s not the same job, but yeah – yeah.”

He mumbled something to someone on the other line, then shuffled a moment. “Well, I talked to a couple people and – I hope you don’t mind your mother talking to me about it. You can tell me to fuck right off.”

Before I could say anything, my phone buzzed again – Evan was calling. I ignored the call. “No. No, it’s okay.”

He whistled, softly. “Okay – uh. Okay. Well, I talked to a few people and, if you had the notion, you could always come take a few classes. Get back into the swing, maybe.”

My mouth fell open, but it took a moment to speak. Whose idea was this, and why did it feel like I could fly? “I can’t afford them.”

“Honey -” He paused. “That’s not an issue. I know you’re more into the cartoon side of it all, so my classes might not be your cup of tea, but Jerry would love to have you back. And you might not know this, but your Dad works here so – there’s that whole free tuition thing. I know your Dad’s a flaming asshole, but why not milk nepotism for all it’s worth, right?”

I laughed. I really laughed.

He heard me and chuckled back. “I’ll send home a schedule with your mother. You can have a look and decide. No pressure, ok?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“Alright. Alright, yeah. Okay, kiddo. Alright. You be good.”

I swallowed. Did I have more to say? Did I have a million things I wanted to say? “Okay,” was all I could manage.

He was gone, and I was left with the phone to my ear like a toddler on an imaginary call with Big Bird.

I knew the Jerry he spoke of – Jerry Hallowell. He’d been a teacher of mine, and one of the professors I found hardest to say goodbye to. We shared many of the same heroes, and in some cases, my heroes shared drinks with Jerry Hallowell. He was head of his department now.

I stared at the wall, finally taking the phone away from my ear.

I turned and smiled at Stellan, who had been perched on the edge of the couch, watching me for the duration of the conversation, as though readying himself to run across the room and catch me.

I didn’t move. Instead I pulled up Evan’s number and pressed send. I needed to talk to someone who didn’t know about the bomb that had just gone off in my chest before acknowledging the look on Stellan’s face.

There were no pleasantries when Evan answered. “Do you think Patty would mind if I called her?”

I laughed. “Well, hello to you to. No, I’m sure she would love that.”

“Fantastic.”

“You hoping to catch up, or you hoping to maybe make out?”

He scoffed. “Definitely make out.”

“Nice! How’d you get her number?”

Evan coughed. “You were about to give it to me.”

“Oh, you dick!”

I hung up, texted him her contact info, and finally turned to face my honey.

“You alright?” He asked as I approached.

I thought a moment.

Yes. I was.

I nodded.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I took a moment, mulling over what it was I was feeling. “Not yet, if that’s okay?”

He nodded and gestured for me to come to him.

I did, getting pulled down for a few kisses and a long, deliberate hug. I snuggled into him and grumbled from the folds of his shirt that he forgot deodorant that morning. He then proceeded to try mashing my face in his arm pit as I screamed.

Ah, l’amour.

I pulled free of him, and he grabbed my hand, tugging me back down for a kiss.

I let him return to his work. He was putting the final touches on
Gorilla Warfare
, hoping to be ready to go ‘live’ with it in the next week or so.