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She claps her hands together. “Oh, Carter. That’s great….or not?” She raises a quizzical brow.
“It used to piss me off. Now that he’s gone, I feel guilty choosing the piano.”
“Oh honey… I know your father pushed you toward the drums, and I know you wanted to make him happy. But you don’t owe him anything. Play the piano and write music if that’s what you really want.”
She walks over to the small loveseat and eyes it the way she would a rickety bridge.
“Have you ever had this thing cleaned?”
“No.”
“You should. There’s a place in the East Village…”
“It’s from Ikea. I’m not taking it downtown to have it cleaned.”
“I need to tell you something,” she says, changing the subject. When I turn to face her, she looks downright scared.
I lean my hip on the edge of my counter and eye her warily. “Do I need to sit down?”
“I’m putting the brownstone on the market.” She slaps a hand over her mouth as if she can’t believe she said it out loud.
I can’t believe it either. “I thought you said you’d leave there in a coffin or not at all.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and tenses. “That’s when I was sure your father would outlive me. He’s the one who ran marathons, slept well, and ate like he was still an elite athlete. He said it was karma, that all the running in the world couldn’t possibly make up for the hearts he’d broken.”
That’s the most candid thing Penn has ever said to me about my father. Growing up, it was ‘your father is a good man.’ Or, “You did change us. In many ways for the better.’ It was that last thing she’d say that hurt. Because it meant in a few ways, not for the better.
My parents’ relationship was strained and cohesive at the same time. They made decisions based on what was best for the greater good, but that always meant one of them making a sacrifice that cast a long shadow of resentment over their relationship.
“I know you love me, but do you think that if he hadn’t brought me to live with you, you would have been happier?”
Penn jerks her head back, her eyes widening and her jaw dropping. “Oh, Carter. Do you think I would trade you for anything? Or even contemplate it? No. The answer is no. We couldn’t have been happier. We were so very happy.”
“But, he cheated on you.”
She gives a sheepish shrug. “Yes. He did. I was hurt, but I never thought about leaving him. And I didn’t want us to be miserable if I stayed either. So, I chose to be happy. The tension between us was driven more by his guilt. He couldn’t forgive himself. I think you get that from him.” She pats my cheek. “I want you forgive yourself for whatever it is you think you’ve done. Your father knew you loved him. He wanted the best for you. He wanted to protect you from the world.”
“You really forgave him.” I shake my head in wonder.
“Yes. He was a shitty lawyer and a very flawed man. But he was also a visionary who built a television empire. He loved life and loved his family. I loved him so much. It’s why being in the house is hard. We moved there to start over at the lowest point in our marriage. It was exactly what our family needed. But that family is so different now, and there are too many memories. It’s been a year, and I will always miss him, but if I stay there, I’ll never be able to move on. It’s self-preservation. I know this is going to sound selfish, but…”
“You’ve still got your whole life ahead of you,” I finish for her.
She gives me a pained smile. “It’s terrible, isn’t it?” she asks.
“No, It’s not. You deserve to be happy. Dad wouldn’t want anything less.”
Suddenly she walks across the room, her expression fierce with tenderness. She cups my cheeks and pulls my face down to hers. Her eyes are bright with tears.
“Thank you for saying that. My mother and your siblings think I’m selfish for selling the brownstone.”
“They don’t mean it. You loved him. We all know that. You deserve to move on. I hope when you’re ready you’ll date again. I know how much you like being part of a couple.”
“I do…” she admits with a wistful, bashful smile that makes me happy. And envious.
“Unlike me, you have a track record of getting people to stick around for longer than a night. My relationship switch is broken.” I laugh to mask how vulnerable saying that aloud makes me feel even though I know she sees through it.
Her eyes pierce mine, “That is not true.”
