Page 74 of Kiss My Glass
“I kept barriers up between me and Dad for years, because I thought I needed to protect myself,” she says. “From his ridiculously high expectations and his disappointment when I failed to reach them.”
Possibly unconsciously, she reaches for Cam’s hand, and he engulfs it in his giant manly mitt.
“But Iput up those barriers, not Dad,” says Ava. “And they stopped me from letting me accept that he really did love me, expectations or not.”
I remember, at the end of last year, a dinner at Mom and Dad’s that got pretty emotional. Dad told us that he loved us and was proud of us. Have to confess, I didn’t believe he meant me. What Ava’s saying might be true for her, but I know Dad is disappointed in me. He’s said so often enough.
“Dad’s not great at showing love,” says Nate. “Yeah, I know, understatement of the year. But do you think you might want to give him a chance? For both your sakes?”
Give Dad a chance to show he loves me. Sounds so reasonable, doesn’t it? But – and this is true for Frankie, too – her mom and my dad were adults when they parented us. Sure, they might have been doing their best, but they must have been aware that they had choices. They chose to treat us the way they did, and I didn’t see why we should be the ones who need to do the heavy lifting to rebuild our relationships. If they want us to love and be close to them, then they should be the ones to make the first move.
I won’t say any of this to Nate and Ava. It’ll only buy a fight, and I’m not in the mood.
“I should check on Frankie,” I say, getting up from the table. “Leave the dishes. I’ll do them later.”
“I’ll do them,” says Nate, but he says it to my back. I’m through with this conversation.
Upstairs, of course, I realize that I’ve never been in Frankie’s room and have no idea which one it is. I wander the hallway, past closed door after closed door. Right at the end, I spy one sporting a faded hand-written sign that reads, “Don’t even think about it”. Bingo. I listen outside. Can’t hear anyone in there. I try a tentative knock. No answer.
“Hey,” I call softly. “It’s me.”
Still no answer. “I was about to come up but Cam insisted on speaking to you first,” I say. “And he’s bigger than me.”
It’s not the time for jokes, but I’m embarrassed now that I didn’t tell Cam to wait. I should have gone to Frankie first. I should have been the one who comforted her. I feel like I let her down. Regrets – okay, so Idohave a few.
The door opens to crack to reveal half of Frankie’s face. It looks a little tear-stained. “I’m over talking for today,” she says. “Just so you know.”
“Me, too,” I agree. “Talking sucks.”
More of Frankie’s face appears. “You can come and lie on the bed with me if you want. But no fooling around. For one thing, I’m wrung out, and for another, it’s too creepy-weird to have sex in my childhood bedroom.”
“Lying on the bed with you sounds like heaven,” I say, sincerely. “Lead me to it.”
After all us Durant kids left home, Mom redecorated our rooms. Removed our sports and popstar posters, packed away our old toys, repainted the walls. Bought new bed linen and covered the beds with more pillows than anyone who’s not a multi-headed Hydra needs. Someone who didn’t know my mom might accuse her of a lack of sentimentality but she did itbecauseshe’s sentimental. If she didn’t have to look at constant reminders, she wouldn’t miss us so much. She stored all our stuff in boxes in the attic for us to take back whenever we wanted. Not sure I’ll ever want my Queens of the Stone Ageposter again, but nice to know it’s there if I have a sudden hankering for psychedelic skulls.
Frankie has a Warhol Marilyn print and a Pink poster on her walls. Her bed is a double, with a crocheted coverlet. There are Powerpuff girl stickers on her desk. I’m swamped by a huge wave of affection, swiftly followed by a need to protect young Frankie from all the hurt she felt when she was living here.
Frankie’s already lying on the bed. I slip off my sneakers and join her. The old bed sags in the middle under our combined weight, and we slide closer together.
“Sorry I wasn’t here for you,” I say. “I should have been.”
“Cam looks like a gentle giant,” she says, “but he knows how to get his way.”
There’s an edge to her voice, so I leave the subject there. It’s remarkably relaxing, lying here next to Frankie, staring at the ceiling. No one here but us.
“Want to go go-karting tomorrow?” I say, after a while. “It’s Saturday.”
“Is it? I’ve lost track of the days.”
“We don’t have to. Don’t have to do anything.”
There’s a pause. “Is it true you’re extremely competitive on the track?”
“Is a bear Catholic?”
Frankie’s shoulders shake with silent laughter.
“We could go to a karaoke bar afterwards,” she suggests.
