Cold Feet (26 page)

“He respected my wishes. He never made contact during your childhood.” There was a long pause while Caro inspected her hands. “Then, thirteen years later, he did.”

The story continued. Apparently, when I was thirteen years old—I shuddered to remember the mini backpack and dream catcher earrings combo I was probably rocking at the time—Mike called Caro out of the blue. He said he was sorry he'd been out of touch, although he knew that was what she wanted. Despite that, he wanted to help.

“Point-blank, he offered to buy us a house. I told him I didn't need his money. I was about to finish my degree and start working full time at the lobby. We were doing okay.”

I nodded, remembering. At that time, we were renting an apartment in Woodley Park with a full bedroom and a loft. Caro let me have the bedroom and we painted it together when we first moved in, light green walls with a purple ceiling. I wanted to feel like I lived inside a flower. I loved that flower bedroom.

“But he insisted. He wanted to do something for you, and he made it clear that you never had to know about him or what he had done. But there was one condition. He wanted to buy us a house near him, in Arlington. He wanted to be able to know you
on some level, to watch you grow up, even from afar.” My heart instantly constricted and my throat thickened with emotion. I took a deep breath before I spoke.

“Is that why you finally agreed?” I asked when I was able to steady my voice.

“Not really. In my opinion, he lost that right when he walked away from us and chose Debbie and her kids.” So it was Debbie. My almost stepmom once removed.

“But his kids weren't born yet when you broke up, right?” Caro gave me a look that said she didn't appreciate the clarification and I spoke quickly to ensure that she didn't clam up, never to speak about the topic again. “Why did you agree, then? Why did you let him buy us a house down the street from his?”

“It was a no-brainer really. I wanted you to have a home. You were growing up. You needed a place where you could close the door and get some space from me. No teenager needs her mother right in her face all the time. Little did I know that you would eventually need three thousand miles of space.” Caro chuckled sadly at this and I was hit with a mixture of surprise and guilt. It was one thing to know how distant we were, and another to hear her reference it.

“I could never have afforded a place like the one he was offering, not for years, and by then, you'd be out of the house, so what would be the point. Plus, you were about to start high school. I couldn't let you attend D.C. public schools and I couldn't afford private school.”

“What about Debbie?” The question popped out before I could decide if it was a good idea. “Did she know who we were?”

“She knew,” Caro said simply, leaving it at that. I decided not to press my luck on that particular issue. This kind of distraction always happened when I watched a movie. I would get fixated on the side characters, worried about the guy who got left at the altar so his girlfriend could end up with the man of her dreams. Did she ever explain what happened, or did she let him find out from his goofy best friend? Afterward, did he see pictures of her and the new guy on Instagram and feel bitter every time, or did he unfollow her?

“And Mike—did you guys ever get together or . . . ?”

“Did we have another affair? No, Emma. I was in my early twenties when that happened. Don't take this story as any indication that I think cheating is okay. It isn't. And I was duly punished for it. I had to drive past their house every day, see Mike throwing the football to his sons in their front yard, watch them walk by with their goddamn picnic basket. It wasn't easy.”

The picnic basket.

I could physically feel her need to end the conversation. But I had one question left.

“Did he really die?” I knew this wasn't really a question at all, but it had to be asked. After all the lies, I didn't want to leave any stone unturned.

Caro must have understood this, because she answered quickly. “Yes, he did. I'm sorry.”

I felt a sudden wash of vertigo, born of pure sadness.
Struggling with what to say next, I looked over and saw that no words were necessary. My mother, usually so strong, so pulled together, had started to silently weep. She loved him, I realized. He'd been the love of her life.

Ignoring the seat belt light that was still on, I got up and stepped across the aisle, putting my arms around her. I felt her shaking as I held her, but I didn't let go. As I felt vertigo overtake me, I looked out the window. Our plane was descending. I was home.

CHAPTER 26

A
s we silently deplaned and made our way out to the Arrivals curb, I couldn't help but remember all the times Sam and I had been there before. I thought about the year we flew back from London, where we'd met his entire extended family for the holidays, and I was sick the entire nine-hour flight home.

We'd gone out for fondue the night before and I made an ill-timed bet with his brother that I could eat more cheese than him. This led to three hours of vomiting in an airplane bathroom, with the people in the last row pretending not to hear and the flight attendant knocking at one point to ask if I was okay. Sam eventually convinced them to move me to first class, where I lay in the fully reclined chair and slept the entire way across the Atlantic. When I woke up I was miraculously cured and even enjoyed a few complimentary glasses of
champagne. When we landed, Sam mistook my tipsiness for remnants of my illness and took care of me the rest of the weekend.

After grabbing a taxi to my house in Venice, and seeing me inside, Caro carefully hugged me good-bye and said she was going to check into a hotel where she had made a reservation. We may have shared more in the past two hours than we had in the past ten years, but that didn't make us different people. We both needed to take everything in, to process what she had shared with me.

After Caro left, I ignored all the little tasks I usually do when I get home from a trip. I dropped my bag on the ground and immediately took off all my clothes and got in the shower. I let the hottest water I could stand run over me. When my mind finally cleared, I was struck by one simple thought: I had known my father, and he had known me. What was more, he'd liked me, he cared about me. And I'd liked him. We had, in the smallest, most casual sense, a relationship.

Then I realized something else. That was it. There would be no chance for anything else between us, ever. That would be the extent of my communication and closeness with my father until the end of time. I would never call him Dad, he would never know that I knew who he was, and we would never connect on any deeper level. What we had those years on Redwood Lane—the friendly chats and random run-ins—was all we would ever have. Because he was gone. It was so impossibly final. The pain of this knowledge seared through me, and there, in the shower, with the water still running, I dropped to my knees and cried.

I cried for Caro, who tried so hard to give me a good life and put
herself through a kind of torture in the process. I cried for Mike, who lost two babies at once, and then, so randomly, his life. And for Debbie, who had to see the product of her husband's infidelity walking to the bus stop every day, twice a day, for four years, and whose own children, now grown, were fatherless. And, finally, I cried for myself.

What felt like a lifetime later, I stood up, peeling myself off the shower floor, exhausted, yet lighter. I'd fought against feeling sad for so long, and when I finally let myself give in, I was surprised to find that I could actually handle it. I recalled a phrase of Dr. Majdi's:
Emma, you must face the abyss
. It never made any sense before. But now I got it. The dream of finding my father and having him whisk me away from my life was never going to happen. Hunter wouldn't be an escape hatch. In fact, Hunter Moon, a name to which I'd attached so much importance for so long, meant essentially nothing to me, and although I had a feeling Leo was going to Facebook friend me, we would most likely never see each other again. No whisking, no escape hatch, no Hunter. Hello, abyss. It's me, Emma. I looked down. It wasn't quite as deep as I had feared.

CHAPTER 27

I
heard the telltale creak of my front gate opening, the swollen wood slightly too big for the space it occupied. The footsteps on the stone path leading to my door needed no introduction. I'd had them memorized since sophomore year of high school when we met at my locker to walk to precalc together every Tuesday and Thursday. I opened the front door before she could knock.

“Wow, you look like shit,” Liv said. It was at that moment that I knew we were going to be okay. If she'd acted formal or polite, I might have been worried. I reached for my best friend and, despite the fact that she was five inches shorter than me, I managed to put my head on her shoulder and let her hug me. After a minute, she led me to the couch and I told her everything about Mike and
Caro, their history, what had happened, and the cruel twist of having known my father for years, but never knowing who he was.

“I don't know, this is going to sound weird, but . . .” I paused, looking at her, making sure we were one hundred percent okay before I went on.

“Tell me,” she urged.

“I'm afraid that I was mean to him, or rude or something, and didn't even know it.” I was confessing a fear I'd barely formulated in my own head.

“Em, you're not mean to anyone. Except guys in bars sometimes when they're annoying, but that's funny. I'm sure you were your amazing sweet self.”

“At sixteen I was a terror,” I reminded her.

“At times. I hope you didn't have too many encounters when you were on that birth control junior year that made you super crazy.”

I laughed out loud, despite myself.

“It's so unfair that everyone knew but me, and I didn't even know how to act, or that when I was talking to him, I was talking to my actual dad.”

Liv nodded in agreement.

“Do you remember him?” I ventured. “You must have met him, right?”

She thought for a moment. “I think I remember him from that neighborhood Fourth of July party we went to the summer after freshman year.” We found the block party flyer on our fridge and decided to go, figuring we could score some good food, sparklers, and hopefully a couple beers. We'd misjudged the situation and
become the de facto babysitters for the night. I had completely forgotten about it, but Liv was right. Mike was there. I struggled for some memory of an interaction, but came up blank.

“He was cool,” Liv offered. “I remember him saying the deviled eggs were good and I should try them.”

“I like deviled eggs, too,” I said softly.

“See! Chip off the old block.” We both managed a small laugh.

“Liv,” I asked, in the least judgmental tone I had, “what's going on with Tony?”

“You know, if the lawyer thing doesn't work out, you really shouldn't consider a career as a spy, Em. You're not exactly subtle.”

When I didn't respond, she sighed. “I don't think we should talk about it. I know it's going to upset you, and I really don't think it's worth putting our friendship in jeopardy over.”

I considered her words. A phrase popped to mind that people are fond of saying when discussing legal matters.
Possession is nine-tenths of the law.
Seven combined years of law school plus practicing as an attorney, and I still have no real idea what this expression means. My best guess is that it represents how when you already own something, it's harder to take it away from you. Liv was my best friend. No matter what either of us said or did in the heat of the moment, that wasn't going to change. We had occupied this firmly entrenched position for each other for the past fifteen years and nothing short of ouster by force could change that. I made a mental note to consider the metaphor for one of the law journal articles my firm was always asking us to write.

“Olivia Lucci. Our friendship is not in jeopardy. Now tell me what's going on with STB.”

“All right. Here goes nothing. But remember, you wanted to know.” I nodded affirmatively. “We did break up at the end of school, as you know, but we ran into each other when I came back to San Francisco for a wedding, right after I started at my firm, and things started up again. You and I were both so busy with our new jobs, and living so far away from each other. Not to mention the fact that you said you would break both of my hands if I ever thought about texting him again. I thought I would protect you from having to know. And protect my hands. We've been seeing each other on and off ever since. Not all the time, but when Tony is in New York, or I'm in San Francisco for firm interviews. But I swear, I was just as shocked as you were to see him at that bar in the Mission.”

That was one good thing. I couldn't bear the idea that Liv was lying to my face, or faking the look of surprise I'd seen when we walked over with our martinis.

“Yes, we were in contact. To be honest, we've never really not been in contact. He knew we were in the city, but I didn't invite him to come. That night, I texted him that we were in San Francisco unexpectedly and going to a Springfield Isotopes show that night—don't ask me why I got that specific, he likes
The Simpsons
. When we ran into him, he told me he had looked up the show and found us. He claimed he thought not telling me was the best way to do it, so I wouldn't have to lie to you.”

Damn, he was good. No wonder the entire world hates lawyers. They're slippery little bastards.

She took a deep breath. “I've tried to break it off a million times. I'll go for weeks, even months at a time. But then
something will happen to remind me of him . . . He'll be in the area, we start texting, then talking, then we meet up. Before you know it, we're right back to where we started.”

As she confessed this, Liv looked distraught at the memories. But that didn't make sense. Liv
never
looked distraught, at least not over a guy.

“I'm so sorry, Liv. That sounds really hard.”

“Are you mad?”

“Of course not. I wish you had told me, but mostly I'm mad at myself. I'm mad that I didn't make you feel like you could come to me, and you've been going through this alone.”

“Thanks, Em. Also, if you're wondering about Professor Gray, which I am sure you are, they really are separated now. In fact, she's dating another criminal law professor at Boston College.”

I nodded. I wouldn't truly believe STB was single until I saw the divorce papers, but I also knew that there was no sense in fighting about it right then.

“What about Carrick? I thought you liked him. Did I completely misread that?”

“Completely.” She smiled. “I was never interested in Carrick, Em. I was just trying to distract you from Sam with Dusty, by inviting them places. Dusty clearly had a crush on you. I thought it might be good for your ego, to get your mind off the Val thing a little.

“In any case,” she continued, “I ended it with Tony.”

When I didn't say anything, but simply raised an eyebrow skeptically, Liv went on.

“I'm serious. I saw your reaction when you walked into his office, and I don't know, something flipped. I saw the situation through your eyes. Even if things are different from how they used to be, it's still not going anywhere. I've always told myself that maybe it is, but it's years later and we're no closer to actually being together. I don't even know how I truly feel about him anymore, it's such a habit at this point. Plus, could I ever really trust him?” Nope, I thought silently. “I ended it after you left the office yesterday, and I haven't spoken to him since. Now I really don't want to talk about it anymore. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I hope you can understand why I didn't.”

“I do. Can I say one more thing?” I asked tentatively.

“Okay.”

“I'm sorry I was so mean to you when I found out. I was reacting off the cuff.” Liv's tension dissipated but she still looked sad. “I was horrible, and I didn't mean it. At all.”

“I know you didn't. Thanks for saying that.”

“I felt like my world didn't make sense anymore. I don't mean that as an excuse, but as an explanation.”

“You are forgiven.” She smiled.

While I pulled on a cozy sweater and jeans and rifled through my bathroom drawers for some magical concealer to transform my shiny cheeks from
been crying maniacally
to
fresh-faced and radiant
, Liv sat at the kitchen table, rifling through the pile of mail I'd collected on my way in.

“Have you seen this letter, Em?” Liv had three piles in front of
her, which appeared to be bills, Anthropologie catalogs, and birth announcements. In her hand was a thick white envelope addressed to me with no return address. Sam, I thought immediately, my heart racing. But he didn't even know I was back. Did he?

Inside was a multiple-page letter, folded up into a fat rectangle. When I unfolded it, the handwriting looked familiar, but not immediately recognizable. It was large, looping female writing. There were carets to insert missing words and writing in the margins. It was clear that it had been through a couple rounds of edits, and that the writer had put in a lot of effort. I quickly flipped to the end to see the signature.

“It's from Val,” I said in disbelief.

“Oh no.” Liv groaned. I flipped back to the first page, putting up my hand to shush her, and read aloud.

Dear Emma,

I am so sorry anything ever happened between Sam and me. I don't have an excuse for why any of it happened. To say that I was not in my head when Sam and I made that mistake is not enough, although it certainly is true. I truly wish that it never happened. I think that's part of the reason I didn't tell you. I think I thought that if I never said it out loud, it would be like it didn't. I also didn't think it was my place, even though we were friends.

Liv interrupted with a scoff, but I kept going.

I thought if you found out it should be because Sam decided to tell you, not me. I stopped being your friend because I didn't think it was right to keep our relationship going. I didn't know how to handle it. I'm sorry about that, too. Finally, I need you to know one thing. It never happened again. Sam really loves you, and he's lucky to have you. I was, too. I know this is probably impossible, but I truly hope that someday we can put all of this behind us, and who knows, maybe be friends again.

Love,

Val

“Wow. Good letter,” Liv offered, when she could finally speak from the shock. I nodded my agreement. “Should we call her? See if she wants to hang out?” Liv joked. I put the letter in a drawer, needing some physical space from it.

“I guess everyone has some parts of their past they aren't proud of,” I said, letting out the breath I'd been holding in. I had to admit, I felt a little bit better, relieved there was some peace between Val and me, and that some good feelings remained despite it all. For now, that was enough.