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That afternoon she took me to her yoga class. Her friends were dying to meet me. It would be good for me to get out of the house. She had a whole bunch of reasons, and I figured I owed her one. She was being pretty decent putting up with all my moping around, eating her out of house and home.
I gave new meaning to the phrase “fish out of water.” A huge, gangly thing in the midst of a whole bunch of 50 and 60-something women who could still practically touch their noses to their knees, we all had moments of laughter. Afterward, the instructor gave me a little talking to about the importance of taking care of myself now that I was transitioning into a new phase of life.
“You don’t want to sit around on the couch all day!” she cautioned me. “Keep moving!” I shot my mother a look and she gave me the “I didn’t say a word” innocent look back. Because, yes, that was exactly what I had been doing.
Later at the house, she made us some tea. I watched her putter around, humming to herself. Maybe she’d changed. Or maybe I’d been wrong. I might have been buying into my father’s portrayal of her. She seemed so much happier now. I guessed in the past I’d seen her so frequently with my father, fighting her way through that incendiary battleground. Without him, in her own context, she was much more peaceful.
“Blow on it, it’s hot,” she warned me, as if I weren’t 26 with years of experience living on my own. I smiled. I guessed once a mom, always a mom.
Then, all casual, as if it were a continuation of a topic of conversation, she said, “She hasn’t published a story on you, you know.”
I looked up at her, wondering if she was talking about what I thought she was.
“I’ve been checking,” she continued, stirring a drizzle of honey into her tea. “There hasn’t been a single post on that blog.”
I’d been checking, too. Every morning—or afternoon, sometimes I didn’t really make it out of bed until after noon—wondering if I was going to go online and find a play-by-play account of the accident. But I never did.
My father hadn’t thought to ask. He assumed I’d never told Emma a word about it. I wasn’t supposed to, and I knew he never would have opened up like that. He wasn’t that kind of a guy.
My mother had made the opposite assumption.
“Have you spoken with her since Rio?” she asked.
“No.” I had not picked up the phone. Emma had sent me an email that I childishly hadn’t opened yet. And a text that said, “I miss you.” I hadn’t responded.
“You seemed happy with her, Chase. Happier than I think I’ve ever seen you.”
I didn’t have much to say to that. Out in my mother’s yard, a bunny was hopping in the bushes. I watched it, thinking that would be much easier, being a rabbit. Then you just had to worry about food and shelter. And bobcats and cars. Maybe being a bunny wasn’t such a great idea.
“I know you’re probably not going to like me saying this.” She paused, as she got my attention. “Chase, don’t be like your father. He holds on to grudges like nobody I’ve ever met. And he’s never happy unless he’s on the hunt, after a new woman, a new business deal that’s going to take him to the next level. But he’s never satisfied. Never.”
She was right. I didn’t like hearing it from her. I’d never liked being put in the middle while they badmouthed each other. But now, at 26, there was another reason I didn’t like listening to her. I knew what she said was true.
I had a lot of my father in me. The relentless drive, the constant striving for an ideal of perfection. He was a restless, unhappy man, always focused on the next rung, never enjoying what he had around him.
“You need to figure out what makes you happy,” she continued advising me, giving me pearls of wisdom I didn’t quite know what to do with. “And the good thing is, you have so many options. You’ve got a degree from one of the top universities in the world. You’ve proven that you’re one of the best athletes of all time. I’m sure people are tripping over themselves to get you on board with any number of ventures. You just need to pick the right one.”
I nodded, still silent in the face of her eloquence. I knew, in my heart, what she said was true. But I felt strangely adrift, unable to articulate my next step. I guessed that might be expected when you’d had tunnel vision for so long. Once you finally got out of the long, dark stretch, what had once been a pinpoint of light engulfed you. It could feel blinding and disorienting.
“Why don’t you go visit Liam?” she suggested, moving to the pantry to take out some biscuits. “You’re welcome to stay here, but I think a visit would do you good. Liam’s a true friend.”
Of all the things she said, I found that the most surprising. I’d always thought she didn’t approve of Liam, so working class, so uncultured. But, maybe I’d been wrong? Or maybe she’d changed? Either way, she was right. I should head out to Naugatuck. Where it had all begun.
§
“Mom! Your boy’s back!” Liam announced my presence to his mother, who was in the kitchen as usual.
“Hello Mrs. Connolly.” I followed him in.
“Look at you!” She came at me, wearing an apron, a full foot shorter but reaching up to pinch my cheeks. “So big!” she marveled, taking a step back.
Looking between me and Liam, who was a big guy himself, almost my height, she shook her head. “I remember you two when you came up to here.” She motioned to her shoulder. “And neither of you ever once asked me if you could get so big. I never gave my permission.”
“Hi, Ma.” Liam gave her a bear hug and she shooed him off, telling him she had to go stir the sauce.
I delighted her, as usual, with my third and then fourth helping. “I made extra knowing you were coming!” she declared. She loved how much I ate, though I knew I should probably start dialing it back. I wasn’t swimming and working out for six hours a day every day anymore.
Afterward, Liam and I retired out back. Technically, Liam lived with his mother, a fact I liked to tease him about. Logistically, he had his own place, a converted barn right on the water. His family had lived on Naugatuck for generations, and they’d snapped up a prime piece of real estate back before the island was developed into its current upmarket tourist destination. Now, the Connolly property, over an acre right on the ocean, was likely worth at least five million. But they weren’t selling.
“How’s your mom doing?” I asked him as we settled out on the deck with beers. The ocean breeze on a warm summer night, the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, it was a bit of all right.
Liam took a swig before he answered. “She’s a trooper. But I worry about her.” That was another reason he was living there with his mom. His father had died of a sudden heart attack about a year ago. A big man with a voracious appetite for all the good in life—food, drink, laughter, family, friends—I was sure he was sorely missed. I’d flown back for the funeral, but I hadn’t exactly been around much to see how the family was coping in his absence.
“How’s your mom?” Liam asked. “Did she make that face when you told her you were coming to visit me?” He twisted his face like he was sucking on a lemon. The Liam face, we’d called it. I swear, my mom used to be much more uptight. She’d never liked how much time I spent with the Connolly family over the summers.
I surprised him by telling him how much she’d mellowed out. “She actually was the one who suggested I come visit.”
“No.” He shook his head, refusing to believe it.
“Scout’s honor,” I swore.
“You never were a scout.” He called me on that one. That was the problem with old friends, they knew you too well.
We sat out for a while, shooting the shit, sometimes not saying much of anything, and then he came out with it. “So, have you given her a call? Or are you being an idiot?”
“Jesus, you too?” I knew exactly who he meant. First, my mother had defended Emma, suggesting I give her another chance. Now it seemed Liam was on the same bandwagon.
“I’m not going to ride you,” he assure
d me. “I’m just telling you you’re being an idiot.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“How do you know I haven’t called her?”
“Because I know you, Chevy.”
I reminded him of the circumstances. “She lied to me. The whole thing was a lie.”
“Don’t go all drama queen on me.”
I huffed and puffed, my feathers all ruffled like…a drama queen. I took a sip of my beer, trying to keep an open mind instead of defend myself. “So what do you think, then?” I asked. “Do you think it was all made up? Because she told me herself, she’s a blogger.”
“I think she did something stupid.”
I snorted. What she’d done was more than stupid. She’d been purposely deceitful, lying to me for weeks. She only came clean because a blog forced her to do it.
