The End of All Things Beautiful (20 page)

I’m certain I kissed Benji at least a million times, clinging to
him like a teenage girl as he dropped me off at the airport. Jack told me he’d
pick me up, but there’s just something about a goodbye at the airport that made
me say no. Maybe it’s the fact that I can say goodbye up until nearly the final
moment or maybe it’s the selfish part of me that wanted as much time with Benji
as possible before I had to leave. All I know is I’m sure I looked ridiculous. But
I really don’t care. I’ve spent too much time away from him to worry how stupid
I looked saying goodbye to him or what other people thought. I feel like I have
to spend the rest of my life making up for our time apart and I figured I might
as well start with a goodbye at the airport. Although I’m only going to be gone
for two days, actually it’s more like only a day and a half, but that doesn’t
matter to me. It’s still time away from Benji.

I thought I would be more nervous as we neared landing, given I’m
about to share everything with my parents, but I’m honestly not. I guess the
fact that Benji and I finally have everything out in the open has helped, and
also the reaction we’ve gotten since we’ve finally come clean.

Jack’s reaction to the accident, my involvement in it, and my
behavior afterward was sympathetic, but not so much that it made me
uncomfortable. It’s almost like he knew too much would cross the line and I’d
have a hard time dealing with my emotions. I’m glad he didn’t push it, and I’m
also thankful he agreed to come with me. Maybe his presence has played a part
in my lack of nerves. It’s nice to have him along for support.

I think there comes a point with a situation like this that the
relief of sharing it outweighs people’s reactions or my own nervousness and
guilt. If anything, this is about absolution and forgiveness for myself, and
the hope there is an understanding from friends and family. But if there isn’t,
I know I’ve done what I can. There is no greater correction than honesty.

The plane lands and as soon as we can switch our phones on, we
both do, and find a group text message from our mother.

Mom: Your father is playing
golf. Take a cab. I’m not going out in this heat.

We obviously both read it at the same time, because the look on
Jack’s face has to be a mirror image of mine. I’m not sure why we both have a
what-the-fuck face on. This shouldn’t come as a surprise to either of us.

“Seriously?” Jack asks, clearly annoyed.

“At least she sent a text. Normally we’d have to call her after
waiting outside for an hour.”

“Guess you’re right,” Jack responds, but still lets out a
frustrated huff as he grabs our bags from the overhead bin.

Unloading the plane takes longer than usual and Jack is getting
more and more pissed off. It seems like he’s more stressed about this whole
thing than I am. When he practically shoves into the elderly couple in front of
us, I put my hand on his shoulder.

“Jack,” I whisper-shout, and he turns to look at me. “Relax. We’ll
get off the plane. And I don’t want you running down grandma and grandpa to do
it.”

“Fine,” he says, rolling his eyes at me. I don’t get what his
problem is. Maybe he decided he didn’t want to come after all and this is now
just a huge inconvenience for him.

“What’s your problem?” I ask, just as annoyed with him as he is
with whatever is bothering him. I didn’t ask him to come with me; he
volunteered.

“Nothing, Campbell,” he says, shaking his head as the line
finally starts to move. This is the Jack I’ve known all my life—the
crabby, irritable and unpredictable one. The one who is my boss and runs his
company like a well-oiled machine, leaving little time for pleasantries. This
is the way it’s always been and I shouldn’t think our relationship would change
overnight just because he was understanding and sympathetic after I told him
about the accident. I’m sure he’s still processing everything, too.

I blow it off. No sense in making a big deal out of something
that would’ve been normal to us in the past.

Jack hails a cab as soon as we’re outside, not even bothering to
wait in the cab line and when one speeds up to the curb, he barely waits for it
to stop before he whips open the door. Tossing in his bag, he doesn’t even let
me get in first, just climbs in and slides over.

“Okay, seriously, Jack. What the fuck?” I ask, as I slam the cab
door and bark out the address to the driver.

He lets out a long exhale before he turns to me and says, “You
know how she’s going to react, right?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Mom. You know she isn’t really going to care.” He looks away
from me, his head turned and looking out the window now.

“That’s okay, Jack. This isn’t about her,” I tell him, as I now
understand why he’s been behaving the way he has.

“You’re right. This is about you and I don’t want you to be hurt
by her reaction,” Jack says sharply, and again he exhales hard.

“Why are you worrying about this?” I question, wondering why
this is suddenly bothering him.

“Because I worry about you, Campbell. I always have, even when
you didn’t think I cared. I did. I still do and now given everything you’ve
told me, I don’t want you to be let down by Mom’s reaction to it. She doesn’t
care.”

“Jack,” I say, but it comes out sorrowfully. “Mom does care.
This is just who she is.”

“I’m glad you can just so readily accept that.”

His tone is harsh and I understand why he’s upset, but this is
the way it’s been all our lives. He can’t expect her to change. She loves us in
her own way. The only way she knows how and while it might not be conventional
or normal, I’ve always been okay with it.

We were well cared for and she made us laugh and she read to us
at night and made us hot chocolate after we played in the snow. She made our
lunches every day and was home when we got off the bus, but she wasn’t a hugger
and a kisser. She didn’t write us notes about having a good day and stuff them
in our lunchboxes, she didn’t profess her love for her children or brag about
our accomplishments. It wasn’t in her nature and it still isn’t.

I haven’t set myself up for anything in my choice to come here.
I know what her reaction will be, but she and my dad are another group of
people on my list of acceptance and self-preservation. They need to be told
what happened, just as I had to tell Jack. It’s part of moving on.

I reach over and run my hand down Jack’s arm. I’m eternally
grateful that he’s come to support me and help me see this through, but I can’t
have him upset over what he thinks our mother’s reaction will be.

“It’s okay, seriously,” I say, trying to reassure him that I’ll
be fine. “If anything, I’m pretty much geared up for no reaction, so anything
beyond that will be a miracle.”

Jack looks back over at me, this time a weak smile on his face
and I shrug my shoulders casually.

“Sometimes you amaze me, Campbell,” he says, but that’s as far
as we get, because the cab pulls up outside our parents’ house.

“Let’s do this shit and then get drunk,” I say, as Jack opens the
door to the cab.

“Hell, yes.”

We don’t bother to ring the doorbell. Using our key, we let
ourselves in, but find the house empty.

“You told them you had something important to talk about, right?”
Jack asks, as he walks through the house.

“Yeah. Maybe she thinks we’re here to talk about nursing homes
so she’s avoiding us.”

Jack laughs at my lame attempt at a joke. “She gets to live with
you,” he retorts. “I’ll take Dad.”

Just as I’m about to argue, the back door slams and we both stop
and see our mother walking toward us.

She’s ridiculously tan and she smells like coconut and sea salt.
Not a bad combination, but paired with her pastel Lily Pulitzer outfit and
overly blonde hair, she looks like your typical Floridian. Jack laughs out loud
when he sees her and I smack his arm. It has to have been at least three years
since we’ve seen her and six years since she and our father moved down here. I
can see she’s fitting in nicely.

“Oh good, you’re here,” she says in the way of a greeting. “Did
you put your stuff in the bedrooms?”

“Not yet, Mom,” Jack says before adding, “By the way, it’s nice
to see you too.”

“Oh Jack, don’t be a crab. Of course it’s nice to see you both.”
She steps over and hugs us both awkwardly, which really only adds to the
hilarity of the situation as she says, “Robert should be home any minute.”

I chuckle under my breath at her use of our father’s name. She’s
always called him by his first name, like if she called him dad, we’d suddenly
have no idea who she was talking about.

“Dad’s playing golf?” I ask, as I emphasize his name jokingly.

“Yep. I don’t even know how in this heat.” She sighs
dramatically and both Jack and I laugh this time.
 

“Ma, it’s like seventy-five degrees. That’s not hot. Back home
it’s in the thirties already,” Jack says.

“See, that’s why I left Chicago. Too damn cold. But here, now it’s
too hot.”

I look at Jack and he nods his head toward the bedrooms and we
leave her grumbling about the heat and our father playing too much golf.

“You sure you want to do this?” Jack asks as he shakes his head.

“Yeah. And I know, she’s ridiculous, but whatever.” I wave a
dismissive hand in the direction of where we left our mother as we both retreat
to our bedrooms.

A few minutes later our father arrives home and we all meet in
the kitchen. He hugs us both and it’s entirely less awkward than our mother’s
useless attempt. Sitting around the table with our mother still sighing
dramatically about the weather and golf and something about a bakery being out
of her favorite cookies, our father interrupts her.

“So what’s going on?” he asks. “You said you needed to talk to
us about something?” He’s looking at me rather than Jack. I’m the one who
called to say we’d be visiting, but gave them little after that.

Jack folds his hands on the table and looks over at me, giving
me a soft smile as if to encourage me on, so I decide just to lay it all out
there. Parents are supposed to love their children no matter what.

“Remember the car accident when Sam died?” I ask, and even I
realize how idiotic that sounds. Of course they fucking remember. My father
nods and my mother continues to inspect her no-chip manicure. “I was in the car
when it happened. Actually we all were: Benji, Kelly, Tommy and me. And we left
the scene after the accident. For the last nine years I’ve lived with the guilt
of what I did and how it affected more than just my own life.”

“Oh, Campbell,” my father says, my heart breaking at the sound
of pity in his voice. “We always knew something was up, but we never wanted to
pressure you to talk. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

I knew my father would respond this way. He was always the more
sympathetic of the two, but still reserved.

“Thanks, Dad. I’m dealing with it now and things are getting
better,” I say, truly appreciating his response. “Benji and I are back
together, so that’s helping a lot. Having someone who understands it has helped
me cope.”

My mother looks up from her nails, but her expression hasn’t
changed. “I wish you would’ve told us, Campbell. You know I would’ve found you
a great therapist.”

And that’s that. Her way of solving things is to pawn it off on
someone else. Hire a gardener to maintain the lawn, get someone to plow the
driveway when it snows, enlist someone to clean the house, find someone to help
your kid through a crisis.

I wonder if I should feel hurt or put off by her nonchalant
approach, but the more thought I give it, the more I realize this is how she
would respond. I’m learning you can’t base your feelings on someone else’s
reaction, because if I did, something like this would definitely hurt. I think
her response is actually comforting in a way. People would say she’s callous,
even cold, but to me, it’s normal.

“Yep,” Jack lets out on a hard exhale and I laugh out loud. It
is what it is and when she starts talking again all I can do is shake my head.

“Did you know they want to build a Perkins here?” She slams her
hands down on the table and sighs. “In Marco Island, can you believe it? This
is not a chain restaurant kind of town.”

“Ma, there’s a Little Caesar’s here,” Jack deadpans, and his
ability to challenge her makes me smile.

“You know what I mean, Jack,” she replies, annoyed with both of
us already.

It is what it is
, I think as we all leave
the table without any more discussion.

As Jack and I are walking back toward the bedrooms, he throws
his arm around my shoulders, but this time there’s a smile on his face.

“Went exactly as I expected,” I say to him. “Guess that’s a good
thing.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Now let’s go get some drinks.”