“No, other things. But he got it. He really did. I’m saying it badly because I can’t get into it all. For ethical reasons…”
“Ethical reasons? Was he sick? What was going on with him?”
He is quiet, and I know he is holding back from saying what he thinks he can’t share.
“He wasn’t sick. I just… I’m just trying to say that he knew how much you loved your mother,” he says. “He knew how loyal you were to her. And he valued that.”
Jonathan’s words come into my head: Your father was nothing if not loyal.
“I think the important thing is that he loved you so much, Nora,” he says. “He didn’t blame you for pulling back from him. He didn’t blame you for anything.”
“Who did he blame?”
“At the end of the day? Just himself.”
Thirty Years Ago
“You’re losing the thread,” Cory said. “She’s awful.”
“Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”
They were sitting at a small restaurant near Rockefeller Center, the ice-skating rink busy outside the windows, the Christmas tree lit up and bright. Cory had just met Sylvia for the first time. Sylvia, who had interviewed Liam for a luxury travel segment she was doing for her morning show and with whom he was subsequently spending too much time. It wasn’t a planned meeting, between Cory and Sylvia, of course. Not that it would have gone better if it had been.
“Not to point out the obvious, but you’re the one who decided we shouldn’t be together,” Liam said. “Get married, the traditional way.”
“Spare me. I didn’t want to marry you the way that you’re capable of being married. And apparently, I was correct about that. Sylvia doesn’t hold a candle to Rachel. Wow, what a cliché you are.”
“Never been like that with you.”
“Only because I refuse to allow it to be.”
She pushed her plate out of the way. They were sharing a bowl of seafood pasta, a bottle of house wine. She wasn’t touching any of it. Her hair was piled into a bun on top of her head, her eyes tired and puffy. And, now, they were narrowed in anger. But she looked beautiful. She looked impossibly beautiful every time he was lucky enough to be sitting across from her. If anything made him a cliché, it was that he felt that way.
She leaned toward him. “You don’t see the way Sylvia is coming for you, but she is,” she said. “And you are going to move to the dark side before you even know you are there.”
“We should be together. Really together.”
“You’ve got to be joking.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re serious? Okay, I’m married, and you’re married, and all you’re focused on is your new friend who is not going to stand for you being married for much longer. Mark my words on that. And just to be clear, I don’t blame Sylvia for that. You’re the one letting it happen. Correction, you’re the one making it happen, Liam. Because it’s easier than admitting it.”
“Admitting what?”
“I’m not doing this,” she said.
“Admitting what, Cory?”
“The reason this works, that we still work, is that you don’t owe me anything. That we don’t owe each other anything.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Maybe for the first time, you’re actually wrong. We owe each other everything.”
She motioned to the waitress for their bill. And then she stood up. She was done sitting there with him. She was done with this part.
“Where are you going?”
“To the Carlyle,” she said. “To get a proper drink.”