Page 75 of A Happy Catastrophe

He looks down at Fritzie, who turns over in her sleep, curls herself up. He wipes his eyes. What the hell is happening to him? Love has sneaked up on him and zapped him so hard that he’s down for the count. He’s got some fairly serious demons to stare down. He needs to say good-bye to Anneliese. Send her away.

And call Marnie. The thought of that makes his head hurt. He’s been such an idiot.

Before he does that, though, there is a thing. Some unfinished business he needs to take care of, something that he’d avoided for too long. He needs to call Anneliese’s parents. Just to talk to them. To let them say whatever it is they need to say to him. They should hear from him that he loved her, that he tried to save her, that he hopes they’ve found peace.

Tomorrow.

That’s what he’ll do tomorrow. He still has their phone number in with his things that he’s kept and moved from place to place. Grace and Kerwin will probably cry, and maybe he will, too. But he owes them this.

Fritzie Peach. He looks down at her sleeping and smiles, shaking his head at that name.

“My daughter,” he says.

And then—well, after he talks to Grace and Kerwin, then he’ll figure out how to call Marnie. See if he can make things right.

If Marnie doesn’t come back, if she can’t love him anymore—well, that’s unimaginable. He’ll grovel. But if he has to, he’ll raise this girl alone. He listens to her breathing for a long, long time and then he tiptoes away and closes the door. He feels like he wants to sit outside the door with a shotgun, if need be, keeping anybody out who’s going to try to take her away from him. And meanwhile, he’ll think of what to say to Marnie.

Grace is surprised to hear his voice on the phone.

“Patrick,” she says, and he tries to gauge by the way she says his name if she’s angry that he waited so long. But then when he stammers out his apology, she says, “Oh, Patrick! No, no, no! No apology necessary. It is so good to hear your voice. We so hoped you’d call when you were ready. You’ve been through so much, my love.”

She always called people “my love.” He remembers that—and her warm brown eyes. She puts Kerwin on speaker, and they tell him they live in California now, with their other daughter. They trade off telling him things: They are grandparents now. They have a little shrine to Anneliese and they talk about her every day, they say. They’ve told their grandchildren about her. She stays alive in their house, and with her artwork and her stories.

The Anneliese who visits them is their loving daughter, he realizes.

But what surprises him even more is that they are grateful to know that he’s well, that his life has continued. He remembers hearing that they had visited him in the hospital when he was in a coma. They have said prayers for him, Kerwin tells him.

“It’s so good to hear from you, Patrick,” says Grace before they hang up. He apologizes again for not calling sooner, and she says, “We’ve often wondered where you are, if you’ve healed. It’s lovely to hear that you’re moving on with your life. I’m so relieved, my love.”

After he hangs up, he takes Bedford for a walk in the cold air and crunchy snow. Funny thing: he hadn’t told them he was moving on with his life. They just knew that that’s what people do. Because they are healthy and loving, they didn’t want to think of him suffering any longer. Funny how that thought had never occurred to him before.

“You’re different somehow,” says Ariana to him the next evening. “What’s happened to you?” She is studying him, squinting her eyes and chewing on her lip. Thinking hard about him. He meets her scrutiny with a good-natured shrug, a first for him.

“Hey, I’m just cleaning the house is all,” he says. “That’s not so out of character for me, is it? I’m a clean guy most of the time.”

He had invited her for dinner earlier, when he’d seen her out on the sidewalk. A spontaneous invitation for dinner. Something he can’t remember ever wanting to do before.

“Nooo, I don’t think that’s it,” she says. “You’ve got like something else going on. It’s like you disappeared for months into that studio, and then you emerged as a big old grouch—excuse me for saying it, but it’s true. And now you’re like normal again.”

“I’m never all that normal,” he says.

“Hey, by the way, thanks for not giving me a hard time when I let Janelle move in. She’s going through some heavy shit.”

He’s in such a good mood that he doesn’t feel the need to point out that he didn’t even know that Janelle had officially moved in. He’s just assumed the basement apartment is filled up all the time with tons of kids.

“Just a ballpark estimate, how many would you say are living down there these days?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Basically there’s just the two of us. Janelle and me. Although occasionally somebody else might need a night away from home, you know.”

“Everybody staying safe and legal?”

She laughs again. Just then Janelle shows up at the door to the kitchen. She has dark brown hair, a blue plaid shirt and jeans leggings, and an enormous belly sticking out in front of her.

“Hi, Patrick,” she says. She has a stricken expression on her face, and she’s telegraphing something to Ariana with her eyes.

“Wow. Won’t be long now!” Patrick says, which is the line he always uses upon sightings of pregnant bellies. He has hoped that it conveys the perfect amount of observation, respect, and even perhaps a sense of optimism.

“Sorry to interrupt. Ari, can I talk to you?”

“Oh, God. Who is it this time—your father or Matt?” Ariana says. “Come on in and sit down. You can tell me about it with Patrick here. He’s not a typical guy. He knows how awful men are.”

“What?” says Patrick. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” He looks over at Janelle. “Come on in and have a seat. I just made some tea. You look like you could use a cup of tea.”

Naturally she bursts into tears.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” he says, but Ariana says, “It’s okay, Patrick. She cries all the time, don’t you, Janelle? It’s a combination of pregnancy hormones and also the fact that her parents are being kind of shitty about things. And Matt wants her to put the baby up for adoption and for neither of them to ever see it again. And this is after he said he’d help her raise it.”

“Okay,” Patrick says. “Tell me the whole thing.” He feels he owes it to the universe to listen to any story a woman wants to tell him about pregnancy.

Janelle sinks down in the kitchen chair he holds out for her and sticks her legs out as far as they will go. “Well, so even though we’re not really a couple anymore, we had decided we were going to do this cool experimental thing, where we’d live together. It was going to be Matt and his girlfriend and me, and we’d all raise the baby together in Boston while the three of us took turns working and going to school—”

“But the girlfriend, Lulu, now doesn’t think this whole arrangement works for her,” supplies Ariana. “Which we are not judging her for, are we, Janelle? It would be a tough go if you only later found out she wasn’t really into it.”

oks down at Fritzie, who turns over in her sleep, curls herself up. He wipes his eyes. What the hell is happening to him? Love has sneaked up on him and zapped him so hard that he’s down for the count. He’s got some fairly serious demons to stare down. He needs to say good-bye to Anneliese. Send her away.

And call Marnie. The thought of that makes his head hurt. He’s been such an idiot.

Before he does that, though, there is a thing. Some unfinished business he needs to take care of, something that he’d avoided for too long. He needs to call Anneliese’s parents. Just to talk to them. To let them say whatever it is they need to say to him. They should hear from him that he loved her, that he tried to save her, that he hopes they’ve found peace.

Tomorrow.

That’s what he’ll do tomorrow. He still has their phone number in with his things that he’s kept and moved from place to place. Grace and Kerwin will probably cry, and maybe he will, too. But he owes them this.

Fritzie Peach. He looks down at her sleeping and smiles, shaking his head at that name.

“My daughter,” he says.

And then—well, after he talks to Grace and Kerwin, then he’ll figure out how to call Marnie. See if he can make things right.

If Marnie doesn’t come back, if she can’t love him anymore—well, that’s unimaginable. He’ll grovel. But if he has to, he’ll raise this girl alone. He listens to her breathing for a long, long time and then he tiptoes away and closes the door. He feels like he wants to sit outside the door with a shotgun, if need be, keeping anybody out who’s going to try to take her away from him. And meanwhile, he’ll think of what to say to Marnie.

Grace is surprised to hear his voice on the phone.

“Patrick,” she says, and he tries to gauge by the way she says his name if she’s angry that he waited so long. But then when he stammers out his apology, she says, “Oh, Patrick! No, no, no! No apology necessary. It is so good to hear your voice. We so hoped you’d call when you were ready. You’ve been through so much, my love.”

She always called people “my love.” He remembers that—and her warm brown eyes. She puts Kerwin on speaker, and they tell him they live in California now, with their other daughter. They trade off telling him things: They are grandparents now. They have a little shrine to Anneliese and they talk about her every day, they say. They’ve told their grandchildren about her. She stays alive in their house, and with her artwork and her stories.

The Anneliese who visits them is their loving daughter, he realizes.

But what surprises him even more is that they are grateful to know that he’s well, that his life has continued. He remembers hearing that they had visited him in the hospital when he was in a coma. They have said prayers for him, Kerwin tells him.

“It’s so good to hear from you, Patrick,” says Grace before they hang up. He apologizes again for not calling sooner, and she says, “We’ve often wondered where you are, if you’ve healed. It’s lovely to hear that you’re moving on with your life. I’m so relieved, my love.”

After he hangs up, he takes Bedford for a walk in the cold air and crunchy snow. Funny thing: he hadn’t told them he was moving on with his life. They just knew that that’s what people do. Because they are healthy and loving, they didn’t want to think of him suffering any longer. Funny how that thought had never occurred to him before.

“You’re different somehow,” says Ariana to him the next evening. “What’s happened to you?” She is studying him, squinting her eyes and chewing on her lip. Thinking hard about him. He meets her scrutiny with a good-natured shrug, a first for him.

“Hey, I’m just cleaning the house is all,” he says. “That’s not so out of character for me, is it? I’m a clean guy most of the time.”

He had invited her for dinner earlier, when he’d seen her out on the sidewalk. A spontaneous invitation for dinner. Something he can’t remember ever wanting to do before.

“Nooo, I don’t think that’s it,” she says. “You’ve got like something else going on. It’s like you disappeared for months into that studio, and then you emerged as a big old grouch—excuse me for saying it, but it’s true. And now you’re like normal again.”

“I’m never all that normal,” he says.

“Hey, by the way, thanks for not giving me a hard time when I let Janelle move in. She’s going through some heavy shit.”

He’s in such a good mood that he doesn’t feel the need to point out that he didn’t even know that Janelle had officially moved in. He’s just assumed the basement apartment is filled up all the time with tons of kids.

“Just a ballpark estimate, how many would you say are living down there these days?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Basically there’s just the two of us. Janelle and me. Although occasionally somebody else might need a night away from home, you know.”

“Everybody staying safe and legal?”

She laughs again. Just then Janelle shows up at the door to the kitchen. She has dark brown hair, a blue plaid shirt and jeans leggings, and an enormous belly sticking out in front of her.

“Hi, Patrick,” she says. She has a stricken expression on her face, and she’s telegraphing something to Ariana with her eyes.

“Wow. Won’t be long now!” Patrick says, which is the line he always uses upon sightings of pregnant bellies. He has hoped that it conveys the perfect amount of observation, respect, and even perhaps a sense of optimism.

“Sorry to interrupt. Ari, can I talk to you?”

“Oh, God. Who is it this time—your father or Matt?” Ariana says. “Come on in and sit down. You can tell me about it with Patrick here. He’s not a typical guy. He knows how awful men are.”

“What?” says Patrick. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” He looks over at Janelle. “Come on in and have a seat. I just made some tea. You look like you could use a cup of tea.”

Naturally she bursts into tears.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” he says, but Ariana says, “It’s okay, Patrick. She cries all the time, don’t you, Janelle? It’s a combination of pregnancy hormones and also the fact that her parents are being kind of shitty about things. And Matt wants her to put the baby up for adoption and for neither of them to ever see it again. And this is after he said he’d help her raise it.”

“Okay,” Patrick says. “Tell me the whole thing.” He feels he owes it to the universe to listen to any story a woman wants to tell him about pregnancy.

Janelle sinks down in the kitchen chair he holds out for her and sticks her legs out as far as they will go. “Well, so even though we’re not really a couple anymore, we had decided we were going to do this cool experimental thing, where we’d live together. It was going to be Matt and his girlfriend and me, and we’d all raise the baby together in Boston while the three of us took turns working and going to school—”

“But the girlfriend, Lulu, now doesn’t think this whole arrangement works for her,” supplies Ariana. “Which we are not judging her for, are we, Janelle? It would be a tough go if you only later found out she wasn’t really into it.”

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