Page 70 of Everything We Thought Was True
I nodded, finally seeing my dad for who he truly was—a man who’d tried to persuade everyone, including himself, that he could shoehorn himself into a so-called traditional marriage and life. All the while, a fundamental part of him had refused to stop yearning for the life he knew could be his if he just had the guts to reach out and grasp it. But doing so meant he would forever mourn the family he’d left behind. I thought of the way he’d stepped into his new life once he allowed himself to do so. It was still shocking sometimes. Most people didn’t know who they were and paid close attention to what everyone else wanted for them—who everyone told them they were. Yet he decided not to live life through the filter of others’ eyes, and he created his own version.
My father’s voice brought my focus back to the present. “Did I ever tell you about the recurring nightmare I had when I first moved to LA?”
I shook my head.
“It was when I first came out from New York. I was staying with a friend in West Hollywood while looking for a place to live. I woke up in the middle of the night to the entire building shaking. No, not the building. The earth beneath it. Scared the shit out of me. I panicked and ran out of his apartment in my underwear. It passed quickly, and when my friend came out to check on me, he laughed because it was such a minor tremor. But I wasn’t laughing. It spooked me. Never felt anything like it.”
My dad looked at me. I nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“After the earthquake, I kept having nightmares, experiencing it all over again. And I would see this girl and boy crying, stuck in the middle of the earthquake, buildings crumbling around them.”
He stopped again and put his fist to his mouth. I could see that he was trying to keep himself from crying. I grabbed his hand and held it tight, letting him know I was right there.
“I would try to get to them, to help them. And when I finally reached them and could see their faces... every time, it startled me to discover they were you and Anthony.”
I looked at him, my heartbeat quickening. My dad had been worried about us. His nightmare was clearly a metaphor for our family and what happened to us. We’d experienced an earthquake of immense proportions.
“Dad.” My voice was soft. “I don’t like that you had those nightmares. But if I’m being honest, I’m glad you were worried about us.”
“Always,” he whispered, and tears pooled in the corners of his eyes.
He wiped away a tear and summoned the courage to continue. “For years, I felt like I was in the middle of an earthquake. But we’re out of the epicenter.” He attempted a weak smile. “Sure, there’ve been some aftershocks. But we made it through.”
He squeezed my hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. “It means a lot to me. Your support. I know it wasn’t always easy for you. Or for Anthony. And Mom, of course.” He looked away then turned back to me. “I miss her. Part of me wishes she could come to the wedding. Isn’t that weird?” He shook his head.
“No, not weird at all. I miss her so much. It feels strange that she somehow won’t be a part of it. She would be happy for you, you know?”
“I know.” He smiled. Sadness and happiness took turns crossing his face. “What matters to me is that you and Anthony will be there, not just happy for me but accepting me.”
“Of course we do, always.”
“Not always.” He hesitated, staring at me. “Even after you accepted me, you were still ashamed of me. And you know it. I mean, c’mon, Lena, you told no one.” He turned away but didn’t look mad.
He was right. I’d been ashamed of my upbringing. It seemed stupid now. I couldn’t change where I came from or what I’d been through, so why should I be ashamed of what had made me the person I was? That would be like being ashamed of myself.No, thank you.
“Maybe I was ashamed,” I admitted, “but I’m not anymore.”
He smiled that big, beautiful Frank smile I would bet had made my mom’s stomach flip-flop all those years ago when they met.
“That’s my Cricket,” he said. “You’re my daughter, too, you know. Never forget that.”
I’d kept so many things from my father because I thought my role as an adult was to be supportive and empathetic and to let the past lie. Maybe I should have allowed myself some righteous anger at all the things he’d missed. The school plays, athletic events, teacher conferences, and countless nights he hadn’t been there when I went to bed. I’d never really confronted him about his absence. We’d never had a knock-down, drag-out fight about it. It had lived hidden inside me, that anger, not announcing itself even to me—except as a vague ache that came and went, ebbed and flowed over the years.
I realized that this was one benefit of time and life lived. If you were lucky, all that old stuff worked itself out. Like a rotary telephone cord that had gotten stretched and knotted, and then one day you took the time to uncoil it and get all the knots out, allowing the heavy headset to hang while the cord morphed back into shape. You could see that some knots had left their mark and some stretches were still in the cord, but overall, it was intact.
Chapter Forty
TERESA - ORANGE, CA
1997
Teresa tied her robe tightly around the waist and leaned back in the Adirondack chair. She looked out over the backyard of Lena and Kevin’s bungalow and let out a contented sigh. Teresa and Frank could never afford to buy a house, and she and Larry still only rented their place. She loved how her daughter owned not just a house but also the land it sat on—the gardens, the trees, everything. It had an orange tree in the yard. An actual orange tree. The concept was so foreign to Teresa that she felt like she’d been transported to a different country. She smelled something divine and wondered which plant it was. They were so different from the ones on the East Coast.
“What’s that amazing smell?” she asked Lena, who’d come outside to join her on the patio.
“Star jasmine. Isn’t it heavenly?” Lena said, handing Teresa a mug of tea.
“Thanks, sweetie,” Teresa said, grabbing the mug. “Yes, it’s amazing. I love it.”
