Page 99 of Is This for Real?
“Yet.”
“Maybe it’s not your dad. Your mom just needs time alone to pursue her art career.”
“It’s not you, it’s me.” Rory smiles slightly. It’s a sliver of a smile, but it’s there.
“She’ll probably come back all revived, and their relationship will have a new energy.”
“I think it’s deeper than that.”
“It doesn’t have to be. My mom always complained that the housework took up so much of her time; it was something as little as that that caused their fights. Making sure the house was stocked with food, cleaning up after everything, cooking. It all just takes time and it’s constant. And it wasn’t overtly appreciated by my dad.”
The sun sets, and the lights in the lampposts come on.
“But couldn’t she just say that, then—that she needs to focus completely on this but she is coming back?”
I give Rory a hug.
“Maybe she can’t promise that. She may change as an artist. And if she wants your dad to change, maybe your dad needs that uncertainty as a catalyst.” I shift on the bench. “My parents fought fiercely before they finally made it through—and then planned their trip to Peru to celebrate falling in love again. The fighting was terrible. I hated it. But maybe it was also good. It cleared the air, so to speak, like a thunderstorm. And they both said things they needed to say. And they came back together.” I rub his back. “So, you’re in the dark night of the soul part right now.”
“This isn’t a romantic comedy. This is my life—my parents’ lives.” He stands, hands jammed in his pockets.
“I know.” I stand, too. He missed entirely what I just said about my parents. And the “my life” didn’t include me.
Benson pulls to smell a light pole a few feet away. I go with him. He circles around it. Rory still isn’t looking at me. He’s looking off in the direction of The Majestic, its two towers outlined against the deepening dusk. Benson poops. I crouch down to pick it up with my plastic bag.
Rory looks back over at me.Not ideal.I stand, now holding a quite fragrant bag. I want to give Rory a hug, but first I jog over to throw the full bag out in a green receptacle a few feet away. He turns away again.
I come up behind him. I try again. “Of course, you’re confused and hurt. They’re still your parents, and they’re a rock that you’ve relied on. They always seem so close, so in tune with one another. I’m sure they’ll work this out. Or maybe it’s not even the relationship. Maybe your mom wants to be independent of any constraints so she can create.”
He turns back to me again. His eyes look desolate. I hug him. His arms enfold me back.
“But why? Is that a thing? Do you feel that way?”
“No, being with you energizes me. But there’s a reason why many famous female artists never married or had children. Think Jane Austen—never married or had children, Virginia Woolf, Lee Krasner.” Rory is looking more upset. My words are not helping. Now he’s part of the problem, too. “I think she’ll come back to your dad. Their bond is tangible. And she’ll realize that once she’s in Italy. She’ll miss him, you’ll see.”
“I’m going to cancel my Halloween party.”
“Really? Don’t you think you should hold it? See your friends?”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“Maybe push it back a week? It’s good to be with your friends at times like these.”
“I’ll think about it. I’m sorry your parents fought so much.”
“Yes. And the digs were nasty and personal. I was glad to go off to college to escape.” But I should have gone back to see them before they left for Peru. My mom had wanted me to come back the weekend before they left—to spend some time with them. But I didn’t want to spend time with them, not if they were going to be fighting. She promised me they weren’t fighting anymore. But I didn’t believe her. Not that I said that. But I think she suspected it. I said I was too busy.And so, I missed my last opportunity to see them alive.“Are they going to try therapy?”
Rory shrugs. “I don’t know. That’s kind of weird coming from you, given that you never went to therapy after your parents died.”
I flinch. “I probably should’ve gone for therapy. It just wasn’t very accepted in my family.” Rory is like a wounded bear, striking out at me. I’ve seen that before—with my parents. I don’t have a positive precedent for how to react. My parents just struck out at each other. Is it better to just ignore it? But he’s hurting me. When it became really bad, that’s when my mom asked for a divorce. So, it’s not a positive sign. They did turn it around and decide to go together on the trip to Peru, but I was in college when they worked through it, so I didn’t see how they did it.It hurts to be vulnerable and to have someone know your secrets. And even more to twist them into a painful retort.
I take a step back.
“I’m sorry,” Rory says, and he hugs me. I hug him back. Benson puts his snout on Rory’s shoe.
Chapter thirty-eight
Rory’smomleftforItaly last Saturday, a week ago, and he canceled his October 31 Halloween party. I can see he is still upset, but he doesn’t want to talk about it, so I’ve given him space this week. He seems better because his Halloween party is back on—in its new guise of aCasablancacostume party next Saturday, November 14.
