Page 101 of Is This for Real?
“He shouldn’t be using you as a confidante. You’re his son, and it puts you in the middle.”
“I can’t say that to him.”
“No.”
“He needs someone to talk to. I can’t cut him off,” he says.
“No,” I say. Our living room, decorated in its bright colors, seems only to contrast with Rory’s despair. “Is there anyone else he can talk to?”
“He doesn’t want to share that they’re having marriage problems.”
“That makes sense. But maybe a professional?”
“He doesn’t want to do it.” Rory bites out those words. “Look, I think I might go home.”
I feel a sudden coldness. “Why? You should sleep here. Stay.”
“I think I just need to be alone. I’m not good company.”
“Okay, but I’m here for you. I think it’s good for you to stay and for you to talk about it.” Which is admittedly ironic, coming from me, the master of bottling it all up.
“There’s not much more for me to say. I don’t know how to deal with this.”
It’s hard to see happy, romantic Rory look so defeated.
“But you are dealing with it. Talking about it is good. That’s how I dealt with my parents’ death. I talked about it a lot—until it became too much for me and others—and then I talked about it still with Zelda. And she just let me.”
“Do you still talk about it?”
“Sometimes,” I say, rubbing his back. “I recently talked about it with my sister. And I still get sad. But that’s good. It’s good to acknowledge those emotions. I’m sad that there are things about them that I will never know because I was eighteen when they died, and I didn’t know to ask those questions.”
“Maybe sometimes that’s good. Maybe you don’t always want those answers,” Rory says. “My dad just told me how often they had sex. And I definitely didn’t want to know that. And . . . it doesn’t seem to have been the problem.”
I lean my head against his shoulder. “True. But otherwise, they’re a puzzle that you’re still trying to piece together. And you find clues here and there. You can talk to their friends, but then it’s filtered by that friend’s perception and prejudice. And what they say is not always nice and not always true. I just found out that my father’s friend was painted frequently by a famous female artist—because I liked her art and bought her art catalogue. I thought my father’s friend had a slight acquaintance with this art crowd, not that he was an integral part of it. And although my father was definitely on the periphery, he was on the periphery of quite a famous art crowd. And I so wish I could talk to him about that. And maybe that’s why he was so supportive of me when I was kid, writing myCalico the Caterpillarstories and getting rejections. And that makes me wish he was still here because sometimes I’d like that encouragement rather than the ‘Shouldn’t you be realistic? Haven’t you tried enough now?’ I get from Theresa.”
“You and my mom should really talk—when she’s back. Maybe she could even find someone from that crowd still alive whom you could talk to, even if you get a filtered version.”
“I will.”
Rory kisses me gently, and then passionately, as if seeking comfort. I hold him tightly, my hands rubbing his back to give comfort.I am here for you.
Chapter thirty-nine
Today,Roryseemstobe back to his old self. Jake and Audrey are helping us set up for theCasablancaparty. Jake’s playlist creates a happy vibe.
The front hallway has a separate boombox with “La Marseillaise” on repeat. Old suitcases are stacked in the hallway, covered in travel stickers from all over Europe. Audrey and I hang signs that read “Exit visa this way,” “Last plane to Lisbon,” and “Vive la France.” Dry ice in a cauldron adds a smoky feel and smell.
Rory and Jake are each on ladders, trying to hang the sheets from the ceiling. Jake asks Audrey to hand him a different tape. We can’t find any tape that works to attach the sheets to the ceiling. We haven’t yet resorted to hooks.
As I walk away to get baskets for the Moroccan ambiance, a sheet falls on me. “Boo,” I say. So much for the tape.
Rory’s laugh is deep. He helps me get out of the sheet. Hooks it is. We decide to tie a rope from a hook already in the wall to one in the ceiling on the other side.
We cut holes in the sheet and attach it almost like a curtain. It looks good. We hang a few more sheets in a similar fashion.
“Should we tell them about how we got caught in those robes in the Morocco set scene?” Rory asks me.
“I definitely want to hear that story.” Jake pulls Audrey closer to him and kisses her.
