Page 232 of Heartache Duet

I wait out in the hallway of the hotel, having just met my grandmother. Or re-met her, really.

I thought maybe once I’d seen her, a memory would come flooding back and I’d recognize at least parts of her. I didn’t. And even though my mom warned me that she was sick, that she didn’t have much time, I hadn’t prepared myself for what was in front of me.

My mom sat in the room while my grandmother choked out questions I couldn’t quite comprehend. My grandmother’s caretaker was with her, and she was able to translate them for me. I answered them in truth or as much truth as I felt comfortable giving. But when she asked about my dad, I refused. Just like with Ava, I didn’t want him to have anything to do with what was happening. This was about me, and it was for me. For some form of closure, I guess.

The door opens, and my mother appears, wiping tears from her eyes. “Thank you, Connor. You have no idea how much this meant to her.”

I nod, even though I don’t really get it. Sitting in a room with me for twenty minutes while grilling me about the life I’ve lived doesn’t really seem like it should make up for the fifteen years my grandmother has missed out on. Besides, she could’ve contacted my dad… if that was ever an option. I really don’t know.

Mom rubs a hand down her face and then lets out a sob. “I’m sorry,” she cries. “It’s so hard seeing her like this.”

I can’t imagine what it would be like to watch your parent die in front of your eyes, and the way she is now—it reminds me of Ava, of what all she’s been through. I find myself reaching out, my hand resting on her shoulder. “I’m sorry you have to go through it.”

She shakes her head, her eyes downcast.

I add, “And I’m sorry that I made you guys fly to me.” You kind of gave me a fear of airports, I don’t add. They’d landed while I was at school and had booked two rooms at a hotel near the airport. I thought one was for them, and one was for me. Turns out, my mom expected me to stay with her. That was a hard line I didn’t plan on blurring, and so I asked her to get me my own.

She says, wiping at her eyes, “It’s okay. You’ve done everything you can.”

I have.

And this is all I’m willing to do, I’ve decided. Because it’s caused too many problems and put too much of a strain on the person who matters the most: Ava.

“Where’s your room?” I ask.

“On the other side of the hotel.”

“I’ll walk you.”

She smiles, but it’s sad. “That’s very chivalrous of you.”

I shrug. “I guess Dad raised me…” I trail off. He raised me right, even without you. I look away when I catch the hostility in her eyes.

“Connor, did you talk to your dad about—”

“No,” I cut in. “If he wanted to tell me what happened back then, he would’ve already. And if you think it’s something I should know, then you need to be the one to say it.”

She exhales, her cheeks puffing with the force. “You’re very mature for your age.”

“I guess it comes with the near-death experience.” I regret it the moment the words are out, but I stand tall, act defiant. Because even though I know what I’m saying is hurting her, she needs to see the effect her choices have made on my life. The hours of therapy, the anxiety, the constant fear of being left alone. For years, I cried, holding on to Dad’s leg every morning he left me at daycare or at school, and even now… there are moments when he’s not home when I think he should be, and I call just to make sure he’ll be back. Fifteen years of this shit, and I…

I don’t know why I’m here.

I should go home.

To my dad.

To Ava.

“You know what?” I say. “I think I’m just going to go to my room. It’s been a long day.”

“All right, son.”

“Don’t call me that.” Aggravation forms a knot in my stomach. “I’m not…” I shake my head. “Bye.”

Eyes glazed, she stares through me, nodding. “Goodbye, Connor.”

AVA

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