Page 27 of Ten Years and Then…
His sister talked almost nonstop through the entire meal, and dessert. He heard more than he ever wanted to know about her new job, and how annoying her boss was (“She has a voice like Minnie Mouse! How can she not hear herself?”), and the poor hygiene habits of the weird girl she was sharing an apartment with (“She clips her nails in the tub and leaves them there! Who does that?”) and every other absurdly detailed aspect of her life.
He supposed he should be grateful to her for taking the spotlight away from him for the evening. But at the same time he was curious why Lisa was so talkative. She’d never been like this before. He remembered countless family dinners where his parents had to pry the tiniest nuggets of information out of her as if she was a mussel that refused to open up.
Daniel wondered if having a weird, unclean roommate had made Lisa appreciate her family more. If she couldn’t talk at home, and she couldn’t talk to new coworkers she didn’t trust yet, well, everything she was feeling had to come out somewhere. Maybe—he wasn’t making any promises, not even in his own head—he’d try to talk to her over the break. Really talk to her, like siblings ought to be able to do.
Maybe he should have done that a long time ago.
By the time they got home, it was almost ten o’clock, and he yawned theatrically once they were back in the house. “Go, I bet you can’t wait to sleep in your own bed again,” his mother said. “But you’re not off the hook, Daniel. I know you must have had some fun in between all your classes, and I want to hear all about it tomorrow.”
Fine. Tomorrow he’d tell them about Nora. Maybe.
In the meantime, Mom was right. He couldn’t wait to sleep in a proper queen bed, with super-comfortable sheets, and his 1986 Super Bowl Champions pennant on the wall.
And one thing that was new. Nora’s scrapbook under his pillow, so she’d be with him when he fell asleep, and with him when he woke up in the morning.
Nora, a couple of hours earlier
Her father dropped Nora off at his apartment. “You probably need a nap. Go get yourself settled in, and I’ll take Joelle home and then you can tell me all about school when I get back,” he said.
“Okay, Dad,” she said, trying to put a bit of enthusiasm into her voice. She didn’t really succeed. Maybe she’d be lucky and he’d take his time with his new girlfriend, and by the time he returned, she actually would be sleeping.
Before that, though, she felt like she needed to call her mother. They hadn’t made any firm arrangements for Christmas break. Karen Langley did not like to plan anything in advance. “Not even for me,” Nora muttered to herself as she dialed the phone. It took her mother eight rings to pick up.
“Nora?”
“Hi, Mom. I’m home—uh—back in Providence.”
“I assume Richard picked you up. Did you see his new toy?”
Nora didn’t know if her mother was referring to the Corvette, or Joelle. She didn’t want to know.
She couldn’t think of any safe way to answer the question, so she just ignored it. “Dad did pick me up, and he took me out for pizza. But maybe we can have dinner tonight?” Nora forced as much good cheer as possible into the question. She hated how things were with her mother, and Mom wasn’t going to change, so it was up to Nora to try and build some kind of bridge.
“Let me think,” her mother said, and Nora sighed. It would be easier to build a bridge if her mother wasn’t a moving target. “I’m having dinner with Jean-Paul.” She waited, presumably for some protest from Nora, but Nora knew better than that. “He’s a charter boat captain. You’ll like him. He’s a lovely man. I met him on that brunch cruise back in October. Let me call him and see what he thinks, and I’ll call you back.”
Her father introducing her to a new girlfriend was quite enough for one day. Nora couldn’t deal with meeting her mother’s new boyfriend, too. “No, Mom. It’s fine. Maybe tomorrow night? You can call and let me know.” The bridge she wanted to build was already burning, and she hadn’t even laid down the first—whatever the hell it was that you used to build a bridge.
So she just hung up.
Daniel, December 21
Daniel had forgotten how nice it was to shower in a normal bathroom, where there weren’t eight stalls and guys coming in and out all the time. He took his time, enjoying the peace and quiet, dried himself off, put on his bathrobe and walked back to his bedroom.
His mother was sitting on his bed. She had the scrapbook in her hands.
“Mom? What are you doing?” The words came out before he could catch them. At least they didn’t sound too panicked, or accusatory.
“I was just getting your laundry together and straightening up your bed, and—it was right there.” He couldn’t tell what she was thinking; her expression was somehow pleased, sad, and hurt all at the same time. He wasn’t sure if she knew herself, and she took a moment to gather her thoughts before she spoke again. “I wish you felt like you could tell us about this girl.” She needed another moment before she could continue. “Nora. You’re supposed to—Daniel, when you feel something this strongly, you shouldn’t keep it inside. I can see from the pictures that you love her. And if she made this, she loves you, too.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.” He felt—could you be both relieved and more worried than ever, at the same time? “I—I don’t even know why I didn’t tell you about her. I guess I was afraid of what you’d say. What you’d think. I know how hard you worked so I could go to college, I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t taking it seriously, that I was just there having a good time.”
Now she just looked hurt. “That’s your father, Daniel. I would never say that. I wouldn’t think it. The only thing I care about is that she treats you right. You’re a good boy.” She took a breath, then another. “A good man. And you deserve a girl—no, a woman. It’s hard to say that. You’ll understand one day. You deserve a woman who loves you with all her heart.” Now she stood and walked over to him, hugged him. “I know after that girl from St. Barnabas, you’ve been so lonely. I know how much you hurt. I hated that for you.”
He never talked about any of that to his parents, or his sister. And Bianca wouldn’t have told them; she’d never betray his confidence like that. But he’d never needed to say it, had he? It was all right there, plain as day to anybody with a pair of eyes. Of course his mother would have known how he felt.
“I’m so sorry, Mom. I—I didn’t think you saw all that. But that was pretty stupid, wasn’t it?”
Now, finally, she laughed. “Daniel Joseph Keller, you really can be dense sometimes. But like I said, you’ll understand when you have children of your own. You never stop hurting for them, or wishing you could fix everything with a Band-Aid and a chocolate Frosty like I did when you were small.”
