Page 91 of Catch a Kiwi
“Yeh.”
“I was married before, too,” Hemi said. “Unsuccessfully. It made a splash. Maybe you saw it.”
“Uh … yeh,” I said. “Hard to miss.”
“I was both,” he said. “Bad at choosing, and bad at being married. That anger thing I mentioned. Pride. Control. My marriage was chaos, was what it was. I thought it was excitement. That ring any bells?”
“Well, no,” I said. “Probably just didn’t know how.”
“How to let her in,” Hemi said.
“Maybe.” My legs were restless, because all I wanted to do was get off this wall.
“To be fair,” Hemi said, “Hope pretty much dragged me into being a better man. She wouldn’t settle for anything less, and I wanted her, so …” He smiled, a twist of his mouth. “I finally got over myself and started listening. To her, and to Koro. Koro was dead clear on the subject. When it got bad, Hope’s the one he took in, not me. Hope and Karen. Protected her from me, you could say.” I shot a startled look at him, and he said, “Not violent. Controlling, though, enough to make her run. So if it’s worth it, if you want it enough …” He shrugged a heavy shoulder. “You’ll find a way.”
I took another swallow of beer. Huh. Controlling. “I don’t know why I should keep trying,” I said. “She’s been married herself, and you could say she’s got walls.”
“But you see her,” he said, “and you’re pulled in again. You try to stay away, but you can’t. That about it?”
“Yeh,” I said. “That’s the way.”
“It’s the same thing as in business,” he said. “When you make a mistake, you recognize it, and you don’t do it again. Get your ego out of the way, let yourself learn, and don’t give up. I found that out the hard way.”
38
PLANTING THE SEED
Summer
Exactly half an hour after Lola and I had left the party, Roman walked into the café. I was sure he’d wanted to wait longer, hoping she’d be gone, but he hadn’t. That strength of will … it was something. What Roman was—he was a full-grown man.
He slid into the seat opposite me and said, “In the toilets, or gone?”
“Gone,” I said.
“Oh. Fireworks? I probably shouldn’t have let you take care of this. Not your responsibility. I realize that.”
“Or I was the right person for it,” I said. “A neutral corner. Let me point out that you’ve done a lot for Delilah and me. What was this? A half hour of my life. And it wasn’t too bad. She cried a little, and I sympathized. Roman?—”
I hesitated, and he said, “Less of the tact offensive, please, and more of the strop. Go on. Tell me.”
“You could want a coffee,” I said, “before I drop any more Truth Bombs on you. Want me to order you one? And where’s Delilah? Are we picking her up after this?”
“In the car, staying out of the line of fire. And, no, I don’t want a bloody coffee. Just tell me. I don’t need coddling. You know how to tell the truth. Do it.”
“You mean you told Delilah she could stay in the car so she wouldn’t add fuel to the fire,” I said. “Which was probably wise. All right. My impressions once again. It’s not easy to be your mum.” When he snorted, I said, “You think it’s easy, because you support her and she doesn’t have to do anything but shop, and I can see why you think so. But you don’t know the—the terror for a woman who’s relied on her looks and charm all her life, once her looks and charm start to go. People have been telling her how pretty she is as far back as she can remember, and giving her leeway for that. So much, and so automatically, she never even recognized it. She just knew she was special. Even when she was struggling to raise you, and I’ll bet she did struggle, because being a single mom isn’t easy, she had that cushion. She was beautiful. She was desirable. I’ll bet she got presents, and a whole lot more, from men. She got jobs easily, and she got more forgiveness when she messed up. And now she looks ahead, and what does she see? She can’t hold age off forever. She doesn’t have a career. She doesn’t have a husband. Her skin is starting to look crepey no matter what she slathers on it, and when she takes off her clothes, things sag. She’s losing everything that made her special. All she has left is you, and she feels your exasperation. That makes her cling harder, and the clinging makes you want to push her away more.”
“So it’s my fault,” he said. “That she didn’t try harder to do a single bloody thing else. To find a career that would give her something to focus on. Something to be other than pretty. Other than somebody’s girlfriend. Other than my mum.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said. “Of course it’s not. She should have tried harder, maybe, not made that mistake, put all her eggs in that basket, not let her life be this … empty, but we all fail. That’s the bottom line. We all fail. Do you know why she left the party?”
“Not because I told her to, I’m guessing,” I said.
“Because she didn’t want to face you. Because she felt humiliated. Should she have come? No. But she did, looking for some of that … connection, that meaning, and she felt foolish. She can blame you, she can blame Daniel, but underneath it all? She knows some of it was her, and she’s fighting knowing it with everything she has.”
“If it isn’t my fault,” Roman said, “what am I meant to do about it?”
I hesitated, then said, “Can I just say—minds hate looking at things in new ways. Theyhateit. They try to bar the door and keep that new idea out. But not you, have you noticed? You listen. Youhear.Your mind is open. Do you realize how rare that is?”
