Home. If he had asked me that a few days ago, my answer would have been so different. I’d miss small luxuries, like the internet or my coffee maker. But after these last few days with Charlie, it’s hard to answer what I miss about home when home is what I see when I look at him. I look into his eyes and feel like I’m exactly where I should be. Home is the space between his arms. I try to think of another answer, something without my powerful feelings attached. I suppose I could say I miss my work, or my house, or Bruins hockey games. But after a few days aboard this ship, in this century, the answer is more meaningful.
“My liberty.” I pause for a moment before continuing. I know we grew up in different times, with different customs, and that some freedoms I am used to having may be hard for him to understand. “I have freedom over my voice, my body, my entire life. I have an education, a career, and I own my home. I vote and I make my own choices. I don’t need anyone’s permission to do the things I want to do. I’ve taken that liberty for granted. This week has surely shown me that. Does it bother you if I talk about this?”
“Not at all. I like you like this.” He listens intently, soaking in everything I say.
“What do you mean,like this?”
“When you’re Alice. Just Alice.” He sits back in his chair, almost as if he’s marveling at me. I feel so relaxed in his presence. It’s like the truest, most honest version of me is safe to exist with him.
“You know, I’ve spent a lot of time this week with my great-great-grandmother talking about the expectations put upon women and the confines they live in, and it’s made me realize something about my mom.”
“What’s that, love?”
“I’ve been trying to make her the villain in my story for so long, and maybe she is. But I guess I never stopped to consider that maybe she was a victim too. I think what I’ve learned is that both things can exist side by side. She was clear that she didn’t want children, that it wasn’t the life she saw for herself. They got pregnant with me by accident, and her family's expectation was that she would wed and do things according to what they saw as the proper way. And she tried. I really think she did. I’ve always thought her leaving was because of the contempt she had for me, like resentment for the life I stole from her. But maybe… maybe it was love? Maybe she loved me enough to realize she couldn’t give me what I needed or deserved?” My voice shakes, years of suppressed feelings finally bubbling to the surface. “That’s what I believe. That’s what Ichooseto believe. And honestly, I think I… I…”
“What, Alice?” Charlie’s voice is soft and concerned. He instinctively grabs my hand.
“I forgive her.” I lean back in my chair, surprised at the words that I’ve just said.
Fuck. This must be what Dr. Kassen’s epiphany felt like the day she finally got me to explode. The lightbulb went off. It’s as if I’ve been in a darkened tunnel for years, trudging through, never knowing when it will end, and then suddenly there’s light. There’s a way out. It all makes sense. I can finally let the pain go. I didn’t need any kind of revenge or confrontation. I just needed to understand and forgive.
Charlie was right. Iamenough. I can see it now as clearly as the magnificent man sitting across from me, with pride bursting from his eyes.
“Fuck,” I laugh quietly with surprise, wiping a tear from my eye. I am not healed, or cured, or anything grand and miraculous. But this is something I now know how to live with, not run away from or ignore. My pain is a part of me. It broke me to pieces, but those shards have been put back together, like a stained glass window. The glass is broken, the cracks are clear to see, but they are rearranged into the most beautiful kaleidoscope of colors. And aren’t we all broken in some aspect or another? What I’ve learned this week is that it’s okay to be broken. It’s okay to feel lost or overwhelmed. Life is hard. I don’t need to have all the answers. It’s okay to not have a brave face on all the time. Take it off. Let it rest. Letyourselfrest. Cry. Scream. It’s okay to let yourself fall apart, because putting yourself back together is what makes life beautiful. The past will only control me if I let it. I’ve learned to let go of what Ishouldhave done and focus on what Icando. Just show up and try. It’s that simple. Just keep trying.
“Do you think you’ll ever try to find her again?”
“Honestly?” I shake my head. “No. I think a part of me will always want to have some kind of relationship with her, or some kind of resolution. I’ll always want to know her. And I’ll always want her to want to know me. But now, I realize I don’tneedto know her. If you live your life looking for closure, you’re not really living it, are you? I used to think I needed some finality with her to close that door and move on with my life. But I don’t think it was ever about her. It’s always been me. I can’t rely on anyone else to make me feel better, or healthier, or more complete. I had to find it for myself.” I straighten my posture slightly. “And in forgiving her, I’ve realized I had to forgive my dad too, which was far more complicated because I didn’t even realize I was angry with him. That’s something I’m only realizing now after talking with you. I’ve never told anyone all this before.”
“Well, I’m glad you are. You can tell me anything, Alice.”
I feel empowered to keep laying my heart on the table. He makes my pain feel safe in his hands and, for once, I actually want to talk about all this.
“I think I felt like I was a monster if I had anger toward him. When everything happened with my mom, he stayed. He picked up the pieces. I put him on this pedestal because he was the parent that didn’t leave. But I’m realizing now that even though he didn’t physically leave, he wasn’t emotionally there either. He was at every school function or soccer game, but he always had a case file in his lap. He probably missed the best part of my piano solos and most of the goals I ever scored just because he wasn’t looking up. He was there, but he wasn’tpresent, you know? That’s the thing about my childhood that hurt the most. Feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere, or to anyone. Mom left. I didn’t belong to her. Dad stayed, but he never fully let me in. We existed together, our lines parallel but never crossing. The loneliness of being alone I could manage. But having someone with me and still feeling lonely? God, that almost killed me.”
Charlie refills the glasses of wine and raises his eyes to meet mine. “It’s understandable though, Alice. You stopped everything to take care of him when your mother left. It’s natural to be angry at him. You were a child. You resent him for the loss of your innocence. I know he stayed, but you’re still allowed to feel like he failed you. You can be angry and grateful, Alice. You need to give yourself the space to be both.”
“You’re right. Sometimes it feels like we went to a restaurant. They ordered the most expensive things on the menu and then walked out. But I’m still sitting at the table trying to find a way to pay for the bill. They both loaded me up with as much trauma as possible, and then left me to figure out how to fix it.” I laugh to myself, surprised at how honest and fluid this conversation has been. “You know, normally conversation doesn’t get this deep and emotional on a first date. Though I suppose we have a pass on that for special circumstances.”
“What is a date like in your time, then?”
I laugh. “Well, it’s a lot different from here. Not that I have gone on a lot of them. But there’s no courting or chaperones. I guess the stereotype is dinner and a movie, drinks and dancing, that sort of thing.”
“I’m sorry we don’t have any music in here.” He looks disappointed.
“This is perfect.” I reassure him with a smile. This night with him is enough. I don’t need any of that. I pause for a moment and quickly realize I actually can remedy the situation. “Wait, hold on, I may have something.” I get up and walk over to my trunk. He follows me curiously. I open my lockbox and see it: my phone. “I forgot I brought this.” I pull it out and he stares at it with a confused expression.
“What is it?” His eyes carefully examine the phone before looking back at me.
I chuckle to myself. How can I explain something that is so simple to me but probably seems so complicated to Charlie?
“Well, it’s a telephone, but also a computer, I suppose.”
“A computer?” His brow turns quizzical.
“It’s kind of hard to explain,” I laugh.
He smirks. “Harder than this already is? Explain it to me. I’ll try to keep up.”
