She Has Your Eyes (34 page)

He shook his head. “That’s not home either.”

“David,” I said, putting my thumb and pointer finger to his chin, gingerly turning it to face me, “I wanted to marry
you
today. Just you, with no one else there. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

He didn’t answer me.

“Sam’s not here right now,” I said. It was the oddest feeling, but it really was as if he’d suddenly stepped out of our aura, left the space, and for once I didn’t feel guilty, didn’t feel as if I was turning my back on him. It was OK to close the door on him once in a while, I reminded myself. In fact, it was imperative, for David’s sake.

“If Sam were here right this minute, in the flesh, and you had to choose between the two of us, who would you choose?” David asked.

He was asking the impossible. He was asking me to sacrifice one of my children, save a Rembrandt versus a Monet. He was giving me an ultimatum. He knew it. I knew it.

I also knew that I had to give him an answer, and whatever answer I gave him was going to change our lives forever. When I watched the second tower crumble to the ground on television on September 11, 2001, watched it disappear into its own cloud of ugly dust, I had a numbing realization:
We now live in a world without the Twin Towers. The skyline is never going to
be the same.
And ever since, when I saw the gaping hole in the Manhattan skyline, I instantly felt the same gaping hole in my heart. As a New Yorker, I lost a piece of home. I lost a little piece of me, perhaps. God knows how it felt for people who actually lost a loved one that day.

Sam was my Twin Towers.

I never did like the Freedom Tower. I didn’t like its look, didn’t like its shape and its purpose. It didn’t seem to fit in that space. It didn’t fill the hole. It didn’t belong.

But David did. He belonged.

I never saw it coming. Never believed it was possible. He wasn’t a replacement. He wasn’t a runner-up or a stand-in. He was neither better nor worse. It wasn’t that enough time had passed, or I’d finally gotten over it, or shed the mythological image of Sam I’d formed over the years. But now was now, and nothing else mattered.

I looked at him, and spoke with more truth and conviction than I ever had in my entire life.

“You.”

And sure enough, life changed on a dime.

“Let’s get married and sell the house,” I said. “Let’s start over completely, reinvent ourselves.”

His face glowed, as if he just saw an angelic vision. And then it turned devilish and playful.

“And I know just how to do it,” he said.

chapter forty-four

Wylie, David, and I sat at a table in her neighborhood pizza parlor with our slices and Cokes.

“So,” David started, and he looked about to burst, “Andi and I would love to see you for Christmas. We’re going to be on Long Island with Andi’s mother, and we thought either we could pick you up on Christmas Eve and then drop you off at your grandmother’s in Commack on Christmas Day, or pick you up on Christmas Day. We already spoke to your parents, and they were agreeable with either-or, but of course it’s your decision.”

Wylie looked away, and I somehow knew what was coming.

“I figured you were going to invite me,” she said. “And I’m really, really sorry, but I can’t.”

David’s glow was doused. “Why not?”

She took in a breath. “I totally love you guys, but it’s weird. Like, you guys aren’t quite my parents, but you’re more than just friends. My mom and I had a long talk, and what she said… about my tearing the family apart, and being afraid that I’d choose you… well, that got to me, especially since I really did want to spend Thanksgiving with you.”

A wave of guilt crested over me. “That was my fault, Wylie. With my mother being sick, I didn’t want to invite—”

She cut me off. “It’s OK. No way my parents would’ve allowed it. Anyway, it made me realize that I might be rushing things a bit. And when I thought about Christmas—you know, like, all the things we do—our traditions and stuff—I realized I’m not ready to let those things go.”

I understood all too well, and I told her so. David, however, couldn’t speak.

“I know you’re disappointed, David, and I know you want to be all father-daughter, and I kind of want that too, but, I don’t know, I just want to slow down for a bit.”

David looked crushed. I’d seen that look before. Hell, I’d
caused
that look before. It reminded me once more of how vulnerable he could be sometimes, what a sharp contrast it was to the invincible Devin the Escort.

Wylie took notice of it too. “Are you mad? Please, please don’t hate me,” she begged.

David smiled wistfully. “I’m not mad, Wylie. And I’ll never, ever hate you, so please don’t ever think that, and don’t ever be afraid to tell me anything, even if you think it’ll hurt my feelings.”

I brought my hand to his back and rubbed it.

“I’m disappointed, that’s all,” he said. “Not in you,” he quickly added. “Just in general. I guess I pushed too hard.”

“You didn’t mean to,” she said. “And it’s not like I never wanna see you again. Just not for Christmas. Not
this
Christmas,” she clarified.

As bad as I felt for David, I was also secretly relieved. Even though David and I had both discussed it, both wanted to see Wylie for Christmas, I couldn’t help but not want to lose even one extra minute with my mother.

David didn’t respond, so I piped in. “We understand about Christmas, but would you consider New Year’s Eve instead?
We’re having a party, and we really want you to be there. We’ve invited our family and close friends.”

“Please?” said David. “It would
really
mean a lot to us if you came to this party.”

“I’ll think about that one,” she said. “And I’ll ask my parents.”

After Wylie excused herself to use the restroom, David looked at me. “What if she doesn’t come?”

“Don’t worry,” I said, giving him a quick kiss of assurance. “She will.”

After lunch, we brought Wylie back to her house. When she went inside, I leaned over and hugged David in the car before he put it in gear again. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you’re more than disappointed.”

He held me close. “You know, isn’t it funny that I was the one who was so resistant at first? I was afraid of being a father. Scratch that—I was afraid of being
my
father. Now all I want is to be her dad.”

“You are,” I said. “And you will be. You heard her. Just not
this
Christmas.”

chapter forty-five

Christmas week

Joey, Tony, Mom, and I decorated the tree together. With every ornament we hung, we told a story: last-minute shopping trips; caroling in the neighborhood, complete with kazoos and matching Santa hats—we blew all the other neighborhood carolers away; cookie-baking with my playmates and their mothers; staying up as late as we could, sitting at the top of the stairs, waiting for Santa to come; and more. And we reminisced about how every year we found a new ornament in our stockings: miniature guitars, books, action figures, pop-culture reminders of the times—Rubik’s Cubes, Millennium Falcons, Coke bottles, and baubles with names and dates.

We played all Mom’s favorite Christmas music: Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole, Andy Williams, and
The Nutcracker Suite
. We watched
Miracle on 34th Street
and
It’s a Wonderful Life
and the Baryshnikov version of
The Nutcracker
and all the classic cartoons and stop-animation. I made tins of cookies for Wylie’s family, David’s mom and sisters, Jeff and Patsy Baxter, Maggie, Miranda and Kevin, my students, and Sam’s brother. I even offered to take Mom shopping but she said she already finished. Moreover she insisted, practically threatened, that we
not buy her anything. But she had made a request of me in private, shortly after Thanksgiving.

“I’d like for you to write about three times in your life in which we shared something good. And not just recently. And I don’t want anyone else to read it. Just keep a copy for you and me.”

I worked on it almost every day since. When it was finished, I uploaded it to a publish-on-demand website and printed two bound copies, using a photo of my mother holding me when I was born on the cover. I titled the memoir
Daughters
.

Mom’s house smelled like pine and nutmeg, and even my happiest childhood Christmas memories couldn’t compare to how good this Christmas was with my mother. The underlying notion that this was our last Christmas together, omnipresent as it was, didn’t hamper our spirits, although we cried a little bit longer and a little bit harder throughout
It’s a Wonderful Life
.

Mom asked David and me to take her to Christmas Eve mass, and I couldn’t help but watch her throughout, couldn’t help but try to read her thoughts, especially as a solitary tear rolled down her cheek. I kept my arm locked in hers for most of the service. And when it was time for the sign of peace, I turned to
her
, not David, first. We looked at each other, took hold and held on tight.

“I love you, Mom,” I whispered in her ear.

“I love you too, Andrea,” she whispered back.

I don’t remember us ever saying those words to each other with so much sincerity. They were filled with remorse, with forgiveness, with appreciation. They were full of joy and sadness.

We didn’t let go until the priest and congregation said, “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.”