Page 58 of The River in Spring
“Not really,” I say for the first time in my life.
“You better get smart then. Remember, I fell in love with an artist too. I know what I’m talking about.”
“But Dad followed you here.” I think my argument is valid.
“What’s your point?”
“He was the artist that sacrificed so you could pursueyourpath.”
“And why? Because my big break had presented itself and I needed to take it. He didn’t minimize the opportunity just because it wasn’t his. He didn’t say no because it was inconvenient. When I got the fellowship, it was a big deal. If I didn’t take it, there were many that would have been glad to take my place. Your dad had not made a name for himself yet. He could continue to sculpt wherever he landed.”
“That’s another point. He hadn’t established himself as an artist yet. I have established myself as an attorney.”
“Who are you kidding? I know you can work remotely. That card doesn’t play.”
“But Dad was young. That alone makes the difference.”
“It still was a sacrifice to leave France and come to the United States. And it wasn’t temporary. He gave up everything to be with me. For my dream to flourish. The familiar, his contacts, the closeness of his family, all of it. And it was the right choice, wasn’t it? Because his dream didn’t die. He just found it here with me.”
I sit with the words for a few beats, then add, “If I’m being honest, I don’t like all the men around her either.”
Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “Confidence in yourself is the biggest aphrodisiac, son. I wouldn’t do that jealousy angle if I were you.”
We leave the conversation there, as Parish stands for a toast to his bride. But I’m a hundred miles away, considering my mother’s sharp opinions. I would be sired by a brilliant mind.
Turning off the downstairs lights, I head for the stairs. It’s only nine thirty, but bed sounds too good to pass up. The empty space where Maudie used to sleep is filled with memories. I know it’s a process, and I just have to go through this stage, but fuck. It’s hard. I find myself avoiding certain places and pictures, just to get through the day without feeling like shit. I miss the hell out of her.
As I climb the first step, lights from an approaching car flood the space. Dove. I know the sound of her car like I know the sounds of her steps. Moving to the front door, I open it and watch as she parks and gets out.
“Hi! Thought I’d surprise you!”
“Good. I was just heading upstairs. Now you can join me.”
“Let’s have ice cream.”
She climbs the porch steps and I take her in an embrace. “How did the meeting go?”
“Good. We’re all nervous about tomorrow. Except for Jimmy of course.”
As we walk inside, I flip on the lights.
“Is that his M.O.?”
“Nothing ruffles his feathers. I’ll get the ice cream,” she says, heading for the kitchen.
It’s a throwaway remark, but it pisses me off. So, the guy is cool under fire. That’s probably because he’s trying to show off for you. You don’t see it, but I do. God, I hate this side of me.
“What time do you have to be at your parents’ tomorrow?”
“They want us all there by eleven. You know, pictures and getting dressed together. All the usual things.”
“That’s going to be so fun. I figure to get to the reception around four. That’s not so bad, right?”
“Do whatever you need to. I’ll fill the time avoiding dancing and eating shrimp. I’ll most likely be drunk by the time you arrive.”
She laughs, but I don’t. I am one hundred percent serious. And completely over this week.
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