The next day with my parents was a little better. My mom gave me a big hug at the door and planted a kiss on my cheek. I scrubbed at it, feeling the lip balm coat my skin slightly. She just shook her head at me, smiling. “Come on in and say hello to your father. He’s parked in front of the television.”
I hung my jacket on the coat rack near the door and slipped out of my shoes. It was a habit my mom had instilled in me by the time I was six. I still looked around friends’ places the first time I was over, checking to see if wearing my shoes around the house was acceptable, or taboo. I made my way to the couch, coming to sit next to my dad. The smile he turned on me forced me to reciprocate. It was the first legitimate smile to hit me since before the news came. He was having a good day. “Hey, Dad. Who’s playing?”
My dad just shrugged, the same movement I used. “Hell if I know. I’m just killing time until the Lakers play. Keep me company while your mother finishes in the kitchen. You know how she is. Can’t step more than a foot in there without being chased out most days.”
I smiled again, unforced. I remembered. Another lesson from early in life—never bother Mom when she was preparing food. “Right.”
We watched together for a while, through the first game and part of the next. At halftime, my dad turned to me, a slightly troubled look on his face. “So, your mother tells me you got some bad news from the doctor the other day.”
I could feel my face tighten. So she’d told him. I’d meant to ask her about that. “Yeah.”
“Cancer, huh?”
“Yeah.” I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat and was unsuccessful on the first try. I finally got it.
My dad clapped a hand onto my shoulder. His grip was still firm, but I knew that it used to be stronger. “You’ll lick this thing. I know you will. We’re a family of fighters.” The look on his face flickered from set to sad for just a moment. Still, it was better than that look of pity. “We Renaults never give up. I never will, and I know you won’t either. Even the women we marry are fighters. Look at your mother. Never a tougher broad on earth. Speaking of, how’s your young lady? Sarah?”
I hadn’t told my mom about that. “We’re not together anymore.”
“Hm.” My dad had met Sarah a few times. I’d been worried about introducing her (or any new person, really) to my parents. Especially my dad. I never knew what he’d think, or what he’d remember, or what kind of temperament he’d be in. He’d been more irritable for the last four or so years, something the doctors weren’t surprised by in the least. It may have been a common symptom to them, but I’d had a hard time reconciling it with the experience with my dad. He’d always been such a laid back guy before, full of jokes. I could barely remember him yelling at all throughout all the time I was growing up. “Shame, I suppose. She seemed nice enough. But you’ll find someone better. Prettier. And tougher. That’s the kind of woman you should have.” He gave my shoulder an affectionate squeeze before excusing himself and heading down the hall to the bathroom.
I thought that over for a second, then got up and stood outside the kitchen, watching my mom frost a cake. I didn’t quite dare enter and risk getting in her way. “Dad’s having a good day, it seems like.”
She nodded, not looking up from her task. A lock of blonde-gray hair fell across her forehead and she brushed it away with the back of her hand and her wrist. I got most of my looks from my mother—the cheekbones and the eyes, especially. “Yes. He was a little off this morning, but he’s been fine for the last several hours. I take it where I can get it.” She finished the frosting with one final swirl, then held the knife out to me. I took it as I always had as a kid, licking the last of the vanilla frosting off before lobbing it gently into the sink, where it landed with a splash. “Why didn’t you tell me about you and Sarah?”
I shrugged, aware it was identical to the one my dad had given me earlier. “Didn’t seem as important as that other thing.” I hated using the actual word. It was easier to deny it was really happening if I didn’t have to say it.
“I guess I can see that. Are you sure there’s no chance you will be getting back together?”
“Positive. She’s moving to California for school. And I’ve been realizing lately that we didn’t have a bad relationship, but we didn’t have a good one, either. I think it was just a comfortable routine we’d settled into. Maybe out of laziness, at least on my part.”
My mother nodded again, covering the cake with the cake stand’s etched glass dome lid. This particular set only came out for the winter holidays. She’d had it for over thirty years, and I didn’t think it had ever missed a Christmas. “I understand what you mean. If I had to tell the truth, I’d say that I never thought you were right for each other.”
Was this something everyone said once a couple broke up? Maybe that’s why she’d asked if there was a shot at reconciliation—so she wouldn’t say something she couldn’t take back later, if we did get back together. Fat chance of that happening. Even if she asked, I wouldn’t say yes. We really weren’t right for each other, and I had bigger things on my mind, anyway. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t get me wrong, Cole. She was a nice enough girl, and always very polite to us. I don’t have anything negative to say about her as a person. But watching the two of you together just gave the impression that things weren’t right. There was something missing when you were together, some connection, or a spark of some sort that should have been obvious, but wasn’t. I don’t know if there’s a word for it, but it’s one of those things you can see, if it’s there.”
I supposed she was right. There had always been something missing. Maybe it was like the difference between loving someone and being in love with them. That wasn’t it, exactly, but it felt close. At least, sort of close. It was always so hard to put my exact feelings into words. I could get close sometimes, but never exactly there. Maybe it would have been better if we’d talked about how we felt more often, but I wasn’t used to it. I’d never been good at it. I especially didn’t like talking about my weaknesses. I was a guy—we weren’t supposed to have any. “I guess.”
I left the house feeling full and content, but it wasn’t long after I arrived at home that everything seemed to hit me again. My mom had mentioned that if I found I couldn’t afford to keep my own place, they’d always have room for me there. At the time, sitting near the fireplace and sipping hot chocolate with a miniature candy cane, I’d just nodded, thanked her, and glossed over the idea. Lying alone in bed, it was harder not to think of these things and what they might mean for my life in general.
I hadn’t lived with my parents since shortly after my eighteenth birthday. There was the year on campus in the dorms, and then the few years after that in Boulder, with other students as roommates, but since the year after I’d graduated, I’d been on my own. Sometimes, it was great—especially the privacy and never having to worry about upsetting another person’s schedule or using someone else’s food or other products. I was realizing now, though, just how easy it was to feel alone, and more than just physically.
I felt the hot tears well up in my eyes and tried unsuccessfully to blink them back. One ran down the side of my face, coming to rest in a crevice in my ear, then another. Rolling over onto my stomach, I pressed my face into my pillow, crying quietly. At least there was no one here to see me like this. I was slightly glad for that. But it also meant there was no one here I could confide all of these worries to and receive comfort back from if I wanted to, even if all I got was a murmured word or a gentle hand on my back.
I slept after a while, but it was an uneasy sleep, full of those fragmented, overwhelming dreams again.
I hung my jacket on the coat rack near the door and slipped out of my shoes. It was a habit my mom had instilled in me by the time I was six. I still looked around friends’ places the first time I was over, checking to see if wearing my shoes around the house was acceptable, or taboo. I made my way to the couch, coming to sit next to my dad. The smile he turned on me forced me to reciprocate. It was the first legitimate smile to hit me since before the news came. He was having a good day. “Hey, Dad. Who’s playing?”
My dad just shrugged, the same movement I used. “Hell if I know. I’m just killing time until the Lakers play. Keep me company while your mother finishes in the kitchen. You know how she is. Can’t step more than a foot in there without being chased out most days.”
I smiled again, unforced. I remembered. Another lesson from early in life—never bother Mom when she was preparing food. “Right.”
We watched together for a while, through the first game and part of the next. At halftime, my dad turned to me, a slightly troubled look on his face. “So, your mother tells me you got some bad news from the doctor the other day.”
I could feel my face tighten. So she’d told him. I’d meant to ask her about that. “Yeah.”
“Cancer, huh?”
“Yeah.” I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat and was unsuccessful on the first try. I finally got it.
My dad clapped a hand onto my shoulder. His grip was still firm, but I knew that it used to be stronger. “You’ll lick this thing. I know you will. We’re a family of fighters.” The look on his face flickered from set to sad for just a moment. Still, it was better than that look of pity. “We Renaults never give up. I never will, and I know you won’t either. Even the women we marry are fighters. Look at your mother. Never a tougher broad on earth. Speaking of, how’s your young lady? Sarah?”
I hadn’t told my mom about that. “We’re not together anymore.”
“Hm.” My dad had met Sarah a few times. I’d been worried about introducing her (or any new person, really) to my parents. Especially my dad. I never knew what he’d think, or what he’d remember, or what kind of temperament he’d be in. He’d been more irritable for the last four or so years, something the doctors weren’t surprised by in the least. It may have been a common symptom to them, but I’d had a hard time reconciling it with the experience with my dad. He’d always been such a laid back guy before, full of jokes. I could barely remember him yelling at all throughout all the time I was growing up. “Shame, I suppose. She seemed nice enough. But you’ll find someone better. Prettier. And tougher. That’s the kind of woman you should have.” He gave my shoulder an affectionate squeeze before excusing himself and heading down the hall to the bathroom.
I thought that over for a second, then got up and stood outside the kitchen, watching my mom frost a cake. I didn’t quite dare enter and risk getting in her way. “Dad’s having a good day, it seems like.”
She nodded, not looking up from her task. A lock of blonde-gray hair fell across her forehead and she brushed it away with the back of her hand and her wrist. I got most of my looks from my mother—the cheekbones and the eyes, especially. “Yes. He was a little off this morning, but he’s been fine for the last several hours. I take it where I can get it.” She finished the frosting with one final swirl, then held the knife out to me. I took it as I always had as a kid, licking the last of the vanilla frosting off before lobbing it gently into the sink, where it landed with a splash. “Why didn’t you tell me about you and Sarah?”
I shrugged, aware it was identical to the one my dad had given me earlier. “Didn’t seem as important as that other thing.” I hated using the actual word. It was easier to deny it was really happening if I didn’t have to say it.
“I guess I can see that. Are you sure there’s no chance you will be getting back together?”
“Positive. She’s moving to California for school. And I’ve been realizing lately that we didn’t have a bad relationship, but we didn’t have a good one, either. I think it was just a comfortable routine we’d settled into. Maybe out of laziness, at least on my part.”
My mother nodded again, covering the cake with the cake stand’s etched glass dome lid. This particular set only came out for the winter holidays. She’d had it for over thirty years, and I didn’t think it had ever missed a Christmas. “I understand what you mean. If I had to tell the truth, I’d say that I never thought you were right for each other.”
Was this something everyone said once a couple broke up? Maybe that’s why she’d asked if there was a shot at reconciliation—so she wouldn’t say something she couldn’t take back later, if we did get back together. Fat chance of that happening. Even if she asked, I wouldn’t say yes. We really weren’t right for each other, and I had bigger things on my mind, anyway. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t get me wrong, Cole. She was a nice enough girl, and always very polite to us. I don’t have anything negative to say about her as a person. But watching the two of you together just gave the impression that things weren’t right. There was something missing when you were together, some connection, or a spark of some sort that should have been obvious, but wasn’t. I don’t know if there’s a word for it, but it’s one of those things you can see, if it’s there.”
I supposed she was right. There had always been something missing. Maybe it was like the difference between loving someone and being in love with them. That wasn’t it, exactly, but it felt close. At least, sort of close. It was always so hard to put my exact feelings into words. I could get close sometimes, but never exactly there. Maybe it would have been better if we’d talked about how we felt more often, but I wasn’t used to it. I’d never been good at it. I especially didn’t like talking about my weaknesses. I was a guy—we weren’t supposed to have any. “I guess.”
I left the house feeling full and content, but it wasn’t long after I arrived at home that everything seemed to hit me again. My mom had mentioned that if I found I couldn’t afford to keep my own place, they’d always have room for me there. At the time, sitting near the fireplace and sipping hot chocolate with a miniature candy cane, I’d just nodded, thanked her, and glossed over the idea. Lying alone in bed, it was harder not to think of these things and what they might mean for my life in general.
I hadn’t lived with my parents since shortly after my eighteenth birthday. There was the year on campus in the dorms, and then the few years after that in Boulder, with other students as roommates, but since the year after I’d graduated, I’d been on my own. Sometimes, it was great—especially the privacy and never having to worry about upsetting another person’s schedule or using someone else’s food or other products. I was realizing now, though, just how easy it was to feel alone, and more than just physically.
I felt the hot tears well up in my eyes and tried unsuccessfully to blink them back. One ran down the side of my face, coming to rest in a crevice in my ear, then another. Rolling over onto my stomach, I pressed my face into my pillow, crying quietly. At least there was no one here to see me like this. I was slightly glad for that. But it also meant there was no one here I could confide all of these worries to and receive comfort back from if I wanted to, even if all I got was a murmured word or a gentle hand on my back.
I slept after a while, but it was an uneasy sleep, full of those fragmented, overwhelming dreams again.
