She Has Your Eyes (32 page)

chapter forty

Thanksgiving Day

I had expected the day to be one of forced happiness, when you dig past the myriad of realities—a mother wearing a wig to hide the effects of chemotherapy, a fiancé missing a newly discovered teenage daughter, and a certainty that one would be here for the next Thanksgiving, and one would not. I thought my fears and sadness and anger would usurp any scintilla of gratitude.

The gratitude was that I was wrong.

I don’t remember ever laughing so much with my family in the presence of my mother. Silly things, like making sculptures with our mashed potatoes and bringing the turkey back to life with a soliloquy about the virtues of veganism (to which the salad revolted). Things that forty- and fifty-somethings have no business laughing at. And Mom, shaking her head and rolling her eyes in feigned exasperation with our immaturity, a smile plastered on her face the entire time. She ate very little, picked around the edges of her plate while the rest of us were gluttonous, almost in an act of defiance. She seemed more content to watch each one of us, taking snapshots for the soul, something to carry with her into the afterlife. I imagined that if she could choose moment to live in throughout eternity, this
would be it. Although I’m sure she’d somehow arrange it with God to get my father into the picture as well.

David called Wylie earlier in the day; their phone conversations were lasting longer with each call, I noticed. I thought about my conversations both with my mother and David the night before, about asserting myself more into Wylie’s life and the situation, and at one point I asked David to hand me the phone, but he made an excuse that she had to get back to dinner, mouthing the word,
Janine
.

So much for me asserting myself.

After dinner, Joey went to pick up his girlfriend, Carmen, and her daughter, Lisa, and brought them back for dessert. Mom went into the living room, sat in her reading chair, and closed her eyes while Tony, David, and I cleared the dishes and cleaned up. When Joey returned, Mom attached herself to Lisa for the remainder of the evening. I’d never seen her so alight, so affectionate with anyone. She bombarded Lisa with question after question, and Lisa took it all in stride, basking in the attention, I could tell. She reminded me a little bit of David’s niece Meredith when she had been Lisa’s age.

Following dessert, Mom beckoned Joey and Tony to take out the guitars. “Are you kidding?” asked Tony. “I’m so stuffed even my fingers are bloated.” But we all knew it wouldn’t take further coaxing. Joey played Lisa’s favorite first—“Blackbird” by the Beatles—followed by the usual suspects: the Doobie Brothers’ “Long Train Runnin’,” John Lennon’s “Watching the Wheels,” and another Beatles song, “Oh Darlin’.”

“Play ‘Two of Us,’ ” said Mom to Tony. “You and Andi.” My heart moved into my throat. Ever since that awful night following chemotherapy, I had been singing it to her, just a verse at a time, either in person or on the phone before or even after she went to sleep. She avoided eye contact with me as she made
the request. Tony and I exchanged glances as he finger-picked the opening bars, and I picked up the rhythm by tapping my foot on the floor. I took the melody while Tony took the harmony, and we laughed as we stumbled through the song, Tony forgetting some of the words or my throat closing up and missing a note. Mom seemed to appreciate the ineptitude more than if we had performed it flawlessly. And I was grateful for the levity; otherwise I couldn’t have gotten through the song intact. I caught a glimpse of David watching me, his expression a hybrid of enchantment and pride and desire and wistfulness, and that, for some reason, unhinged me as tears pushed themselves to the surface. When we finished the song, he clapped, and I dabbed my eyes with the cuff of my sweater sleeve.

“Thank you, Andi,” said Mom, not acknowledging Tony. “That was the best one.”

I laughed and cried simultaneously, muttering, “You’re crazy,” to which she responded with a chuckle of her own.

“Dear, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” she said, a mix of sarcasm and affection, and she and I laughed even more, as if we’d just shared some private joke. I excused myself to use the bathroom, shut the door behind me, and burst into tears, covering my mouth to prevent myself from erupting into a wail.

I didn’t say two words during the ride back to the inn—just stared out the window at the scenic woods, on the lookout for deer and solace, sobbing quietly while David drove, no doubt his own inner cogs spinning. Later, when we were in bed,
waiting in the dark for sleep, I felt for his hand and laced my fingers into his when I found it.

“Euro for your thoughts,” he said his standard line softly.

My eyes were still wet. “I have a mother, Dev. Finally, after forty-three years.”

“I know.”

“And she’s leaving me.”

“I know.”

“This is the way it felt when I lost Sam. Like I just found happiness, found a sense of peace and purpose and myself, and it was ripped out from under me.”

He squeezed my hand, but didn’t say anything for several minutes.

“I fell in love with you again while you were singing,” he said, as if it were something routine. “You should sing more often. I so rarely hear you do it.”

I fell in love with him again just for saying the words. I let go of his hand so I could turn to face him, and repeatedly caressed his cheek and hair.

“And I wanted…” He hesitated, but I somehow already knew what he wanted to say. “I wished Wylie was there. I know it’s too soon, but I wished we were a family: the three of us, your brothers and Genevieve and Carman and Lisa, and my sisters and mother and—” For perhaps the first time, I realized just how much he longed for the same kind of love between his siblings as I had with mine. How much he longed for a family. “Two of us” was him and Wylie, I thought. I saw them in my mind’s eye, standing side by side, those identical sienna eyes smiling. I couldn’t stand between them. I could only stand on the outer edge.

I sat up in bed and flicked on the light. “There’s something I haven’t told you. The day I tutored Wylie, Janine issued me
an ultimatum. If I made any trouble, tried to see Wylie, then Janine would forbid
you
from seeing her. And if I made any trouble about that, she threatened to out you as an escort.”

David sat up as well.

“God, Andi, why didn’t you tell me this? I mean, I knew she wanted you to back off, but I didn’t know she blackmailed you.”

“I tried to tell you. But you’d already taken her side. I understand that Wylie comes first now, and that everyone’s better off without me in her life, but—”

David interrupted me. “How could you think Wylie would be better off without you in her life? How could you think
I
would be better off without you in Wylie’s life?”

Something inside me snapped. “Stop it, Dev. We both have to stop this. We’ve done a crappy job at managing this situation, and managing
us
, too.”

“Andi, I wasn’t—” he stopped himself, and I wasn’t sure if it was because he was censoring himself or because he didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.” His tone softened. “Janine had reservations about you from the start. That was one of the things we had talked about early on. She didn’t want you spending time with Wylie alone, without me. You didn’t put up much of a fight, so I figured you were OK with it. And when you were adamant about not inviting her for Thanksgiving… I guess I didn’t know what to think anymore. Then there was everything going on with you and Andrew.…” He stopped himself there. I didn’t say anything else either.

I turned out the light again and we lay in bed, silent and motionless. Our silence wasn’t out of secrecy or resentment or worry; no, this time we were processing all that had transpired—not just then, but during the last twelve weeks. Perhaps even longer than that. He spooned me, his arm draped
over my midriff in a protective clasp, locked by my own hand over his, and I felt warm and protected, like wearing a fur coat in the dead of winter.

“I don’t want to lose my mother, Dev,” I murmured.

“I know,” he murmured back.

“And I don’t want you to lose Wylie.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to lose her either. I care for her deeply. I did the moment I met her, I think.”

“Me too,” he said.

I said one more thing before drifting off to sleep: “I don’t want to lose you either.”

“Nor do I want to lose you,” he said. “So let’s make sure it never happens.”

chapter forty-one

I felt guilty about leaving my mother so soon (I had originally promised to stay the entire week), but when I told her about David’s and my plans to see Wylie and talk to Janine and Peter on Saturday, she practically pushed me out the door.

David called Janine the day after Thanksgiving to ask for a sit-down with her and Peter before we took Wylie out for lunch. To my surprise, she acquiesced. During the drive David and I planned how to approach the conversation—we didn’t want to ambush Janine, and we didn’t want to say anything that could irrevocably damage Wylie. I incessantly played out various dramatic scenarios in my head, few of them ending well. By the time we arrived I was a ball of nerves. David gently laid his hand on my back as we walked to the door, as if to anchor me. “It’s going to be OK,
cara
,” he said. “It’s not us against them. Just remember that. We’re a family now.”

He was right. We were a family. All five of us. For better or worse. Expected or unexpected. And we were all on the same side.

Peter answered the door and greeted us cordially.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” I offered. We had picked up a bouquet of flowers along the way, and I presented them. He seemed touched by the gesture, and for the first time in our presence, a receptive smile appeared.

“Thank you,” said Peter. “Same to you. How was dinner with your family?”

“Very nice,” I replied.

“Wylie told us your mom isn’t doing well. I’m sorry to hear it.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“My father died of cancer a few years ago,” said Peter.

“Mine too,” said David. Peter turned to him, and in another first, looked at David not in a way that was guarded, but almost of solidarity.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Peter.

“I’m sorry for yours as well,” said David.

Peter called for Janine as he took the flowers into the kitchen. “Wylie went Christmas shopping with her sister first thing this morning. They’re not back yet.”

Janine entered the room. “Well, the gang’s all here,” she said without exchanging formal pleasantries. Instead she motioned to the seating area in the living room. “Shall we?”

We all took our unofficially designated places—David and I on the love seat, Peter and Janine on the sofa.

David took the lead. “I respectfully want to clear up some misconceptions and miscommunications.” He turned to Janine. “What really happened following Andi’s tutoring session with Wylie last month?”

I had warned David not to corner Janine, and was surprised he took this approach. And just as I had anticipated, her defenses shot up. “Are you accusing me of something?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I just want to get the facts straight.”

Before he could go any farther, I jumped in. “Janine, can you show me your kitchen?” The three of them looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.

“Why do you want to see my kitchen?” she asked.

“Please?” I said again. “I’d really like to see it.”

Janine shot me a skeptical glare; yet, in similar Wylie form, placated me with a “Sure, whatever.”

As I stood up to follow her, David whispered in my ear, “What are you doing?” but I didn’t answer him. Then I turned to the men. “Would you both excuse us?”

Peter and David exchanged awkward glances, as if to say,
What in hell are
we
supposed to do while they’re in there?
But they allowed us to go.

The kitchen was open and spacious, with an island and two bar stools in the center, and the bouquet of flowers resting comfortably there. I took in the surroundings. “It’s lovely,” I said. I pointed to the island and asked if I could sit; she gave me her permission and I invited her to join me.