Marie Sexton - Coda 06 - Fear, Hope, and Bread Pudding (13 page)

Cole bit his lip, as if debating how much to divulge. Finally, he said, “I’m terrified, George.”

“Of what?”
“What if I make a mistake?”
“Oh, no ifs about it. You will.”
“Dad!”

“It’s the truth, Jon. He’ll make mistakes, and so will you. Every parent does, without fail.”

I sighed in frustration. “That’s not exactly encouraging.” “It’s not meant to be, but it’s the truth. The trick is to learn as you go. And to minimize the damage.” He smiled at Cole. “If the worst thing you ever do to her is use a cold cloth to wipe her bottom, you can chalk it up as a win.”
Cole wasn’t reassured. “I want to get this right.”
My dad smiled. He put his hand on Cole’s shoulder. “Listen to me, son.” That word, in and of itself, spoke volumes. I wondered if I’d ever heard him address Cole as “son.” He leaned close to look into Cole’s eyes, to emphasize how serious he was. “You’re going to be a
wonderful
father. And I’m not saying that to make you feel better. I mean it.”
Cole smiled at him hesitantly. “Even though I’m a fruitcake?”
My dad laughed. “Are you kidding?
Because
you’re a fruitcake. She’s going to be loved and cared for and doted on. She’s going to have

fun. She’s going to grow up with an open mind and a billion possibilities ahead of her. She’ll be strong and smart and unafraid. She’s going to know she has two fathers and a grandfather who will do anything for her. Do you have any idea how amazing that is?”

Cole ducked his head and put his hand over his eyes. I suspected he wanted to hide, but there was no place to go. I started to go to him, but it was my dad who pulled him into a reassuring hug. “You’ll be fine, son. Don’t you worry. You don’t need to redo the nursery. You don’t need another goddamn toy. And youdon’t need the wipe-warmer. You have everything you need right here.”

I swallowed against a lump in my throat. I could have kissed my dad at that moment, but I didn’t want to interrupt. I didn’t want to take his attention away from Cole, because Cole needed it more. Still, as I watched them, I found myself debating the goofiness of a group hug.

“Listen, Cole,” my father said, without letting go. “I’m glad this came up.”

“What?” Cole asked. He pulled away enough to meet my father’s eyes, wiping his cheeks as he did. “The fact that I’ll screw up?”
“No,” my dad said. “The fact that all parents screw up. Not just yours.”

Cole went very still, his fingers frozen on his damp cheeks. My dad went on, unaffected. “Your mother has asked if you’ll allow her to come when the baby’s born.”

Cole took a step backward, away from my father. He flipped his hair back, off of his face. “She’s asked who?”

“She’s asked me to discuss it with you.”
“And you’re telling me I should?”
“No, but I’m asking you to consider it.”

It surprised me that the request would come through my father. Why hadn’t she called Cole herself? “What, are you her advocate now? She won you over?”

He barely glanced at me. He was focused on Cole. “This isn’t a contest, Jon. I had a lot of time to get to know her in Munich after you left and—”

Cole backed up so fast that he ran into the dresser behind him, knocking a green-and-pink lamp with a hand-painted lampshade to the floor. The lightbulb shattered. He didn’t seem to notice. “Oh dear God, I can’t believe this is happening. I know I suggested it when we first met, but you had to know I was joking. I never thought it would actually happen! George, how could you?”

I’d been surprised by my father’s sudden uptake of Grace’s cause, but Cole’s outburst surprised me more. “What?” I asked.
Cole turned to me. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Cole,” my father said, interrupting before Cole could answer. His cheeks had turned bright red. “Don’t change the subject. This is about you and Grace.”

I saw several emotions flash across Cole’s features. Anger first, and resentment, then doubt, and finally, wary curiosity. But last came hope, and with it, fear. Always, the two together.

“I’ll think about it,” he said. “That’s the best I can do.” My father nodded. “It’s good enough.”
“I HAVEno idea what came over my father,” I said to Cole that night
as we got ready for bed.

He was already undressed, and he laughed and sat down on the bed to look at me. “Isn’t it obvious, Jon? It’s the same thing that’s been ‘coming over’ men since the dawn of time.” He threw himself backward on the bed and sighed. “Straight men, at any rate.”

I stopped with my shirt halfway off, considering his words. It actually took me a moment to piece it together. “Are you saying—”

“We left them in that condo, like some kind of sweet German love shack in the middle of the cold Munich winter. I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised.”

The idea of my father having sex was bad enough. The fact that it was with Grace? “Oh my God. Let’s not talk about it anymore. It’s too horrific to consider.”

“If it were anybody but my mother, I’d be happy for him. I wonder who made the first move?”

 

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Let’s never speak of this abomination again.”

“It’s funny when you think about it.”
“‘Funny’ isn’t the word I’d use.More like, nauseating.”

“Jonny, don’t be cruel. Are you telling me we’ll be done having sex in another twenty years?”

 

“I hope not.”

“Exactly.” He grinned at me. “Just think how horrified our daughter will be.”
It was easier to laugh about it when he put it that way. Still, my father and Grace? The thought made me shudder.

I finished undressing and lay down on the bed next to him. He moved over to rest his head on my shoulder. “What are you going to do?” I asked.

“About us having sex?”
“No, smartass. About your mother?”
“I don’t know. What do you think I should do?”
“I don’t know either.” I felt lost. I wanted to help him, but I had

no idea what to suggest. I couldn’t imagine how it must feel to have to weigh one’s need for a mother against the ability to forgive them, or to balance being alone against being right.

But I knew somebody who did.
“Maybe you should call Angelo.”

Cole pondered it for a moment. “He probably can sympathize more than most.”
“Zach told me in Paris that Angelo’s mom had gotten back in touch with him.”

Cole nodded. “You’re right. He avoids the subject, but….” “But I’m sure if you asked, he’d answer. Especially for you. Especially if he knows why you’re bringing it up.”

 

“His situation is different—”

 

“I know. And he probably doesn’t have the answer either, but it might be nice to talk to somebody who knows how this feels.” “You’re right.”

 

“Wow,” I laughed. “Really? That doesn’t happen very often, does it?”

“Just often enough, and far more often than I like to admit.” “So you’ll call him?”
“Tomorrow.” He turned to kiss me. “But for now?”
“Yes?”

He slid his hand down my stomach to caress my groin. “Let’s do things that would horrify our parents.”

 

“Sounds good to me.”
Chapter Nine

Date: January 28
From: Cole
To: Jared

The baby is due in one week. I’m so nervous and excited, I can barely sit still for more than a minute at a time. Of course Thomas and Jonathan keep warning me not to get my hopes up. After all, Taylor has three days after the birth to change her mind. She’s a lovely girl, and I know she’s sincere about this adoption, but everything could change when she sees her daughter. I know Jonathan worries about that possibility constantly. He’s cautiously optimistic. Me, on the other hand? I can barely keep my feet on the ground. It’s good he’s here to keep me grounded.

I told you about George’s request that I try once again to reconcile with my mother. He swears that she’s sincere in her desire to mend our relationship. I was hesitant at first, but then I talked to Angelo. That conversation changed everything.

For Angelo’s part, he pointed out to me that agreeing to spend time with her doesn’t mean the past is magically forgiven. It just means I’m willing to consider the future. But what really changed my mind was simply listening to what he’s been through. I’ve often felt my mother abandoned me, but hearing his story, I realized I’ve been kidding myself for years. Real abandonment is something far more painful. It’s true my mother has never been perfect, but as George pointed out to me, no parent is. As difficult as things have been between my mother and me, at least I always knew where she was. I was fifteen when my father died—not quite an adult, but not so far off either—and I already knew more of the world than most people learn in a lifetime. I had a house (several, in fact), and the means to care for myself, and most importantly, I still had adults around who watched over me. I scoffed at it for years. After all, they were only housekeepers and accountants and nannies. They were being paid to care. And sure, my mother took me in after he died, but I was angry and childishly determined to be misunderstood. Meanwhile, Angelo was being shipped from one foster home to another with nobody to watch after him at all. I wish I could go back in time and slap myself for being so self-centered. I suddenly feel the need to contact every nanny I ever had and thank them.

Maybe someday I will.
As for my mother?

Well, sweets, that brings me back to Angelo again. He’s been reading a lot, and he mentioned this quote by Mark Twain:

 

Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do.

Those words made me consider the future. I imagined what it would be like to be eighty or ninety years old (still more than twenty years away, thank goodness). Grace and George will both be gone. When I look back on my life, am I likely to say, “Boy, I sure regret trying to get to know my mother after my daughter was born”? Probably not. But, “I wish I’d made peace with my mother when I had the chance”?

That’s something I don’t want to take to my grave.

I
N EARLY February, Cole and I celebrated our one-year anniversary. Grace was due in the next day. We of course no longer had a spare bedroom, so I assumed she was staying in a hotel. It was with no small amount of derision that I learned she was staying with my father.

“Jesus, Dad! You barely know her!” I snapped.
“I know her well enough.”
“What, after one week of screwing like kids in Munich?” “It wasn’t like that.” He winced. “Not completely.”
“Do you love her?”

“Not the way I loved your mother, if that’s what you want to know.”

“So, what? It’s just sex?” Funny to be having this conversation. I remembered clearly having him ask the same questions about Cole.
My father sighed in exasperation and rubbed his forehead. “Not that it’s any of your business, Jon, but I like to have help with the crosswords, okay?”

I decided to drop the subject. I couldn’t help wondering if the crossword thing was some kind of euphemism, but I decided I’d rather not know the details. Besides, it was probably much as mine and Cole’s relationship had been when the conversation had been reversed. Not love. Not merely sex. Something in between.

It usually is
, my father had said at the time, and he was right.

Grace’s flight didn’t get in until 7:00 p.m., which made the day feel longer than ever. I was impressed at how calm Cole was about the whole thing. Partly, his conversation with Angelo had helped him reframe his expectations of his mother, but what really helped was simply hope. Hope for the future. Hope of being a father. Hope encapsulated in the bright, sunny room at the end of the hallway. The door was open. We were ready for a new life to begin.

It gave him all the strength he needed.

My first thought when I saw Grace again was how different she looked. She’d traded her upscale pantsuits for jeans. Her sweater was undoubtedly still expensive and a bit overstated, but it was casual. She also had her hair down. Her resemblance to Cole was unnerving.

Cole dodged her hug much as he’d done in Munich and kissed her cheek instead. “Come in,” he said. “Sit down. I’ve opened some wine. Are you hungry? You must be after that flight. They never feed you anymore if it’s not an international flight, and I’m sure those pretzels didn’t do you any good. I have some olives and cheese, or if you’re really hungry, I could make you a sandwich—”

“Cole,” my father said, sounding both amused and exasperated. “For heaven sake, son, sit down. The first thing we’re going to do is have a little talk.”
“But it will only take me a minute.”

He disappeared into the kitchen, and my father sighed and sank into a chair. Grace smiled at him shakily. “Wine might help, actually.”

Cole came back out with the glasses in one hand and an open bottle in the other. I noticed that he took as long as he possibly could to hand them out and fill them up. Then, despite my father’s protests, he went back for the cheese and olives. I suspected even Grace could tell that he was stalling on whatever “little talk” my father had planned. But finally, he had no more excuses. The food sat on the coffee table between us, although nobody moved to touch it. Cole sat down and laced his fingers together around his knee, watching them expectantly.

My father looked at Grace. They’d obviously planned this out, and the next line in the script was hers, but she was hesitant to actually say it. She fidgeted with the ring on her finger until my father stuck his foot out and nudged her ankle.

She sighed and met Cole’s eyes. She took a deep breath, as if preparing for a dive, and said, “I remember the bread pudding.” Cole blinked at her, although his face was otherwise unreadable. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Grace hung her head. It was my father who spoke. “Yes, you do.” Cole turned to him in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Dad—”

“Shut up, Jon.” He kept his eyes on Cole. “Stop lying, son, and stop pretending. I know you’re doing it to protect yourself, but the time for that is past. We’re trying to make some progress here, and we start by being honest.”

Now it was Cole’s turn to hang his head. My father turned to Grace.

 

“Start again.”

She took a deep breath. She wiped her eyes and looked up at Cole. Her chin quivered, but she pushed forward. “It was the midmountain lodge in Vail. We’d tell your father we’d skied the whole day, but really, we’d sit in the lodge and drink hot chocolate and have the bread pudding until we were practically sick to our stomachs. He was always starving after a day on the slopes, and he couldn’t ever figure out why we weren’t hungry.”