Second Chances (16 page)

“I don’t understand,” Amelia said again, massaging her suddenly throbbing forehead. “If you’re his mother, why would Tim be such a jerk to you? I just told you that nothing is more important to him than knowing who his parents are.”

Reaching for a nearby box of tissues Pashmina dried her tears. “Except having your parents want to find you maybe?”

“What do you mean?”

She explained, “When you joined us for dinner Tim already knew the truth about me. George told him. But he didn’t say anything. I don’t know why, maybe he was too nervous, and then my comments about adoption must have struck a bum chord. So he left without saying anything. This morning he must have thought twice about it and he came to see me, to tell me.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Amelia her pleasant voice suddenly harsh.

“You think I’m lying?” Pashmina was taken aback. Of all the possible ways Amelia might have reacted, she hadn’t considered this. From the moment they met, she’d felt a connection to the young woman, an unexpected kinship and warmth, and an overwhelming need to protect her. Now she felt the painful sting of her accusation.

“Amelia, I’d never do that, I’d never lie to you,” she promised.

Amelia didn’t know what to do. Find Tim and make him explain everything or keep listening to Pashmina’s crazy but not implausible stories. A chilling thought washed over her; one of them was lying but which one?

“If you’re telling the truth,” she said releasing the words slowly one by one, “that would mean Tim has been lying to me. He told me about George, about meeting his dad, nothing about you.”

“I’m not lying.” Pashmina said firmly.

That meant it was Tim, but why would he lie to her? So they weren’t perfect but what couple was? On any given day, one person always gave more than the other and it all balanced out in the end. Usually. She’d been carrying the ball for so long now it felt like she didn’t even have a partner anymore.

“You have to be,” Amelia begged. “Please.”

Hearing her tearful plea, Pashmina’s heart broke. “I’m sorry, I wish I was. That would be easier than hurting you like this.”

“But why…?” her voice cracked but the question was clear.

“I blame myself,” Pashmina said. “If I’d acted differently, made the right choice all those years ago maybe Tim would be a different person too.”

“Spoken like a true mother,” Amelia sniffed, using the backs of her hands to wipe away her tears.

Pashmina smiled in what felt like forever. “Thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment. I’m just sorry it took me this long to start acting like one.”

“I still can’t believe he’d keep something this big, this important from me, it’s as bad as lying in my book. What does it say about our relationship?”

Pashmina shook her head. “Only Tim can answer that I’m afraid. And he has a lot more explaining to do too. I told him everything, every last dirty, shameful detail about my life and he shared nothing of his. No more throwing stones at glass houses. It’s his turn to talk now.”

“Amen to that,” Amelia prayed. “So how do we make that happen?”

“Well, he’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want to see or speak to me again, so for now at least I need to give him some space.” Tapping her fingernails rhythmically on the cherry end table beside her, Pashmina considered their options. “But there is something I can do. I’ll need your help Amelia. I hope you’re ok with that.”

“Absolutely.”

“Perfect. Can you come see me tomorrow? I need to talk to you about the book.”

Surprised Amelia asked, “What’s the book got to do with anything?”

The unmistakable sound of a dial tone signaled in her ear and Amelia shrugged. The conversation was over, for now at least. It had been a long, drama-filled day and she was one hundred percent drained. With a yawning stretch she settled back against the pillows, her mind weary but still busy with thoughts of Tim, Pashmina, and George. Theirs was a complicated triangle for sure but what bearing could it possibly have on Pashmina’s book? She twitched suddenly, her reflexes startling as Pashmina’s face came into focus behind Amelia’s sleep-heavy eyes.

“Everything,” said the author fervently. “Everything.”

*   *   *

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

He walked purposefully with long, even strides that quickly brought him to Caesar’s. Waving off the excessively cheerful hostess he headed straight to the bar for a drink. “Hey, Brett.”

Glancing up from washing glasses at the sink, the short, muscular bartender walked over to Tim, grateful for the reprieve from his mundane duties. “Hey Tim,” he greeted his regular customer with a friendly handshake and cheerful smile. “Where’ve you been?” He placed a cocktail napkin and a small bowl of peanuts in front of him. “I haven't seen you in a while.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy.” He grabbed the napkin mindlessly folding the edges. “It's been a hell of a few weeks.”

“Sorry to hear that man.” Like most bartenders Brett was both a drink server and a confessor for his patrons when they needed to get things off their chests, which was most of the time. “So what can I get you to ease the pain?” He smiled sympathetically.

“Give me a Stella and a shot of tequila and keep them coming.” Brett frowned and Tim assured him, “Don’t worry I walked here. Just keep them coming and there’s a big mother fucking tip coming your way.”

With a nod Brett went in search of beer and tequila wondering just what kind of hellish happenings called for the alcoholic power of two to set things right. Tim was a conservative drinker, never lost control and never let his guard down, but this deadly duo was going to set him on his ass in no time. He grabbed a beer, poured a generous shot of tequila and placed them both in front of an expectant Tim.

“Bottoms up!” Raising the shot glass in silent salute he tipped it quickly down his throat.

The Red Sox game was on t.v. and Tim watched it, sipping on his beer. Things must really be bad if he was watching baseball but it was better than the alternative. Thinking about Pashmina was painful, thinking about Amelia was complicated. Better just to drink, watch baseball, and not think at all.

*   *   *

“Jesus Tim, where’ve you been? I've been looking for you everywhere.”

The familiar voice seeped into his drunken consciousness barely seated after many hours and several rounds at the bar. He turned slowly allowing his vision to steady until he saw only one Ben. “Hey man. Let me buy you a drink.”

Taking a seat next to him, Ben regarded his friend with a critical eye. “How many have you already put away?”

“Who’s counting? Brett!” Waving a hand at the bartender he motioned to bring them two more. “This round’s on me,” he slurred as Brett set two beers in front of them. “To Ben, you’re a good man,” he toasted clinking his bottle with Ben’s. “So tell me what’s it like Golden Boy?”

“What what’s like?”

“What’s it like to shit gold, to have
eeeveryone
love you?

Ben chuckled. “I wish I knew.” He glanced at Tim’s humorless face and sobered immediately. “What’s this all about? What’re you doing here alone, bombed out of your mind?”

Sprawled across the bar, his head resting heavily on one arm Tim was barely lucid. “I resemble that remark,” he declared struggling to lift the concrete weight that was his head.

“I’m serious Tim. What’s going on with you? You’re picking fights with famous people, avoiding your girlfriend and ditching me. You’re not always the easiest guy to be around but you’re better than that. It’s not you.”

“What makes you so sure?” Ben moved closer struggling to hear him better. “Maybe it’s in my genes.”

What?
Taking a stab in the dark he asked, “Does this have anything to do with George?”

“Ding, ding, ding, ding,” Tim tapped his finger to his nose signaling a winner. “Very good Golden Boy, but don’t forget we all have a daddy
and
a mommy. Do you know who my mommy is?”

In another minute Tim was going to fall off the bar stool. “Ok, Big Guy, I think you’ve had enough let’s get you home.” Pulling some money from his wallet Ben paid the bill.

“No! You haven’t answered my question yet.” He was insistent. “Do you know who my mommy is?”

“Mrs. Smith. She’s your mother.”

“Buzzzz, wrong answer. My mother is the beautiful and talented Pashmina Papadakis.”

“Yeah right, c’mon let’s go” he said attempting to pull Tim off the stool who was waving his hands wildly trying to slap him away.

“No seriously, Pashmina’s my real mother,” he enunciated the syllables, “my bio-logi-cal mother.” Ignoring Ben’s dubious look he rambled on, “Yep, I know you don’t believe me but it’s true, George told me so and then Pashmina told me. But she doesn’t want me. Nobody wants me.”

Hunched over the bar like a deflated balloon, Tim babbled softly to himself while Ben tried to sort it all out. Some things did kind of make sense now like why Tim had hightailed it out of their apartment this morning and why he’d left him to calm Amelia. One more thing he’d kept from her. Honestly, if he lived to be a hundred, he’d never understand Tim’s obsessive privacy and secretive ways.

“All by myself, don’t wanna be all by myself,…” Ben cringed. That had to be one of the worst songs of all time.

“Ok, Eric Carmen, where are you coming up with this bullshit? Not only do you have your adoptive family but now you’ve got your birthparents too.”

“Birth father,” Tim corrected. “I’m serious. Pashmina doesn’t want me.”

Ben was more than skeptical. “She said that?”

“Not in so many words but I could tell.”

“You could tell. And I suppose you can just tell your parents don’t want you either. Because they couldn’t make it to Parents’ Weekends or graduation? They explained all that to you—your dad had business out of the country and your mom went with him. But we had some good times with my family right?”

“Sure.”

Ben felt bad for him. “Look, they may not have always been there when you wanted them to be but I know your parents love you.”

“You don’t know Jack shit.” His drunken haze was dissipating.

Ben countered quickly, “I know you wish your parents were around more, that they were more involved and I'm sure they did the best they could. If you asked them...”

“Can’t do that.” He cut him off mid-sentence. “Wanna know why?” Leaning close to Ben he whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, “Because they don’t exist. Ha!”

Expecting shock or disbelief, he peered at Ben, and saw disappointment written all over his face. “I don’t know what kind of a bullshit story you’re telling but you need to stop. Now.”

“I’m not bullshitting you, it’s true. There were never any parents. I made them up. I made all of it up.”

“What do you mean you have no parents? Everybody has parents.”

Drunk and tired, Tim was quiet but Ben wasn’t about to let him clam up now. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to talk until Ben had all the answers he needed. Signaling Brett, he ordered water and coffee for both of them. They were going to be here a while.

“Ok buddy, start talking. I don't care if you slur every last God damned word. If you're telling me that you made everything up, I sure as hell want to know why.”

Tim nodded, relieved. He’d been stoic for so long, keeping up the charade. It was exhausting and he didn’t want to do it anymore. He was just going to let it all out and let whatever happened happen.

“Well, to use an old expression, I was born out of wedlock and my mother, Pashmina, gave me up for adoption. Until a few weeks ago when George told me, I never knew who my birth mother was or the circumstances of my birth. In a nutshell, I was never adopted. I lived in an orphanage and then a group home until I was eighteen and earned a scholarship to college. I’ve been on my own ever since.”

He’d never seen Ben at a loss for words before. “I lived in a few foster homes but no one ever wanted me permanently, they always sent me back to the orphanage until another foster home became available.” In and out, in and out, he’d gone to every new home full of hope that this time it would stick that this time he’d find his family. By the time he was eight his faith was shattered. He became a juvenile delinquent, raising hell, getting into trouble, rejecting anyone who might have helped before they could reject him.

“College was my reward for eighteen years of solitary confinement. After all that time alone in a system that couldn’t have cared less about me, I was finally on my own with the power to do what I wanted, to make my own decisions.”

“So there you have it. Storytime’s over,” he announced sliding off the stool, holding onto the bar for support. “I’ve gotta take a leak.”

Ben stood in stunned silence and concurred, they could both use a break. “Let’s go home. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

*   *   *

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Bright sun streamed through the window creating a symphony of light that set the dust motes dancing and tickling Amelia’s nose until she sneezed fully awake and alert. It was seven o’clock. Shaking off the remains of sleep, she savored the early morning quiet of her room, her mind blissfully blank and carefree.