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“It was never about any of you,” I said flatly. “Everything can’t always be about you, you know.”
“If you’d gone to MIT, I wonder if any of this would’ve happened.”
I bit my lip, trying to hold in my anger. To my surprise, my family were stunned by the release of the book, but not in a good way. It didn’t matter that I’d accomplished something none of them had done. It was “mindless writing,” “words that could’ve been put to better use in a research setting.” It still wasn’t good enough. I still wasn’t good enough.
“Your father and I are going to fly up to see you for lunch next month. We want to discuss the best way to attack this head on. We need to figure out a way to field questions our colleagues have about your...Your book.”
“You know what?” I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Don’t bother coming to visit me. Ever. Until you and everyone else in the family gets your heads out of your asses. I published two books. Two. And instead of having relatives who say, “Congratulations, we’re proud of you.” You still manage to make me feel like a disappointment.”
“Gillian, I’m impressed with all you’ve done, I’m just trying to make a connection with you.”
“I’ll send you my signing schedule. If you want to see me, buy a ticket...Since none of you have even bought a book yet, that would be nice, I think.” I hung up before she could say anything else.
My phone immediately vibrated and I saw that she’d sent me a text.
Mom: I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you...Not at a signing though. One on one. So I can apologize in person. So we **all** can apologize in person...
I started to text her “No thanks,” but another text from her came through. A series of pictures of my sisters, my brother, and she and my father holding my book.
I stared at the pictures for several minutes, failing to hold back tears because I didn’t want to believe that the pictures were real.
Me: I would like that very much...
GATE C48
JAKE
New York (JFK)
I STEPPED OFF THE ELEVATOR at my condo, ready to get some sleep after a particularly long flight, but my cell phone rang before I could open my door. Unknown number.
“Who is this?” I answered.
“Is this Mr. Weston?” It was a male voice.
“Depends on who’s calling.”
“This is Dr. Armin from Infinity Assisted Living. Is right now a bad time?”
“No.” I swallowed, fearing the worst.
“Great. I was actually calling because—”
“Are you calling my Jake?” My mother’s voice was in the background. “I’ve told you to stay the hell out of my room unless he’s with you. I don’t trust you or your staff, and I swear to God if you’re talking to someone other than Jake right now, I will make sure he sues you for malpractice.”
“Mr. Weston.” The doctor sighed. “Are you by chance close enough to get to Newark right now?”
I hung up and took the elevator downstairs, catching my car before the valet could put it away.
I sped toward New Jersey, toward the care facility, without a second thought, nearly getting in several accidents along the way.
When I arrived, I didn’t stop at the visitor’s desk. I walked right by the receptionist, giving her a look that dared her to get in my way. As I approached my mother’s room, I hoped she’d still have a few more minutes, that I hadn’t missed her in that state yet again.
I opened the door to her room and she sat up, staring at me.
Tilting her head to the side, she furrowed her brow.
“You look terrible, Jake,” she said. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
Exhaling, I walked over and hugged her.
“Jake?” She squeezed my arms. “Are you okay? You don’t normally hug me for so long.”
I hugged her for a few more seconds before letting go. “How long have you been up?”
“Since six this morning. Why?”
“No reason. Do you know what year it is right now?”
“2014.” She shrugged. “2015, maybe.”
“Close enough,” I said. “How old do you think I am right now?”
“Depending on the year you’re thirty-eight or thirty-nine.”
“And what do I do for a living?”
“From the way this conversation is going, you host a version of Jeopardy.”
I laughed and she smiled.
“You fly planes like you should, Jake,” she said. “You also get angry so often that you’re considering a way to be paid for testing stress balls.”
“I’ve never considered that.”
“You should.” She laughed, patting a spot on her mattress. “Sit down.”
I took off my jacket and obliged.
“My questions are far more interesting than yours. Is it my turn?”
“Yes. Ask away.”
“Are you trying to have any babies yet?” she asked. “Any mini-Jakes I need to look forward to?”
“No. Can we talk about something else? How you’re feeling perhaps?”
“I’m great,” she said. “For now, anyway. Not sure how long this will last.”
