Page 71 of One True Loves

“I think,” he starts slowly, “we need to talk to Mom andDad. Be brave. And open with them. Finally.”

Right at that moment I hear Dad’s booming voice in the lobby, Mom’s commanding tone that she uses in donor meetings, demanding to know where Wallace Bennett is located.

“Looks like we’re up,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I actually am.

Chapter Nineteen

Thewhatquestions come fast.

What happened to you, Wally?

What tests have they done?

What have they given you?

What’s the diagnosis?

But after those are all posed and answered, we’re forced to face thewhyand thehow, and my parents are not about to address all that—family business—in front of prying eyes. So those questions are put on pause until Wally’s released with instructions to rest, and we all make our way to my parents’ room, marching down the hallway in a silent, straight line.

Wally lies down on the pull-out sofa that doubles as Etta’s bed, Mom and Dad sit on their bed, and Etta leans against the sliding glass door to their balcony. I can see her fingers itching to grab a book from her stack on the coffee table. But either she can read the room and see that it’s clearly not the time, orshe just doesn’t want to miss the scene that’s for sure about to go down. I ease myself into the tiny armchair, studying my parents’ faces.

Finally, Mom exhales and looks around at each of us. “Should we eat first? I feel like no good is going to come from talking about all this on empty stomachs.”

“Mom,” Wally says from the couch. I can see the frustration on his face. “I really don’t think I can go to the Crown Room right now.”

“Oh, I know, baby.” She walks over to him and sits in the little curve of sofa by his stomach, stroking his hair. He softens, leaning into it.

“Room service,” Dad says, clapping his hands together. “I think this calls for room service.”

He walks over to the nightstand and pulls out a leather menu. “What do you think? Burgers? Chicken Caesar salad? That’s always a good room service bet.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Hold up,” I say. “We could have been out here doing room service this whole time? And y’all didn’t think to mention that when I was dying of seasickness in my room?

Dad arches an eyebrow. “Correction,we—as in your mother and I—could have been out here doing room service.Youwere gratefully eating the gourmet food in that there fancy dining room that we already paid for.”

He cracks a smile, and my face curves into a matching one.

“Uh-huh, well, in that case, order me a cheese pizza. And some crème brûlée.”

“You got crème brûlée money?” he chuckles, flipping through the menu. I shake my head and laugh too.

We all pick out what we want, and Dad places a massive order over the phone, cracking jokes with the operator about getting a discount. But once that is handled, we’re met with the reality of what happened again. And it’s clear that my parents—usually so straight to the point, tackling challenges head-on—aren’t going to bring it up. Are they scared? I saw Mom’s hand rise to her mouth, my dad’s pained expression when Dr. Ademola said the words “panic attack” to them. Should I start the conversation, to take the burden off Wally?

But he sits up on the couch, leaning forward onto his knees, and glances between them. He looks tired, but sure. “Mom, Dad... I have something to tell you.”

As Wally explains what’s actually been going on the past semester, Mom gasps and starts to cry. Dad’s face hardens as he takes in the news, and when Wally’s done, he leans forward with his head in his hands.

Finally, after the longest minute there ever was, Dad gets up and sits next to Wally, putting his arm around him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice, son,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry we weren’t here for you.”

There’s talk of therapy, of seeing a doctor about the right medication. Dad, to my surprise, brings up deferring law school until next semester, maybe even until the following year.

“I love you, Wally,” Etta says, leaping off the floor to hug him. And I join in for the tight family hug too, marveling athow little this happens, that we’re all together, this close.

It all goes much better than I expected. We’ve cleared this hurdle together, as a family. And I’m fine leaving it at that. My issues can wait for another time, once we’re back home. But Wally taps my foot with his and nods in my direction. I shake my head, and he nods even more aggressively.

“Lenore,” he says urgently, and then everyone’s eyes are on me.

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