“Of course, of course,” my mom pats my knee.
She’s being uncharacteristically quiet. I turn to study her. “You’re not saying much, Mom.”
“I’m stunned to be honest. I don’t know what to make of it.” She makes a face at me. “I felt she’d become a bit more … not ruthless exactly … self-absorbed, maybe? … since you guys moved here. I just thought it was working in a big tough city like New York, but now I’m wondering …” She spreads her hands. “We loved Jane; you know we did. We used to say to all our friends how lucky we were that we had the perfect daughter-in-law all set up for when you guys were ready.”
God, I lost my dreams, but so did they. Except it doesn’t feel like my dream anymore. It belongs to a different, clueless James Royce.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
“Oh, there’s nothing to apologize for,” my dad says. “That was the mostappalling display of self-centeredness I’ve ever witnessed. Those two deserve each other.”
“Now, Tony …”
“Am I wrong?” His nostrils flare.
“Well ...”
“Am I wrong?”
Christ! I don’t want to start an argument between my mom and dad. They never argue.
“No, you’re not wrong, sweetheart,” my mom says, patting his hand.
“I’ve never been so embarrassed by someone’s behavior in my whole life!” my dad adds, the tips of his ears turning red. “I’ve never seen my son treated so appallingly either.” He blows out a long breath and stares out the taxi window at the lights of Manhattan as we take the ramp up to the bridge. “Do you think that non-girlfriend of yours at home would be up for going out for a cocktail? I could do with a nightcap, but I didn’t want to stay in that restaurant a moment longer.”
“She doesn’t drink, actually.”
“Pity.”
“I’ll go out with you, Dad. I could use a whiskey after that debacle.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he says.
After we drop my mom off at the apartment, my dad and I head down the street and into the dim light of our local bar, Fresh Salt, the tables still busy with late-evening diners. The illuminated sign above the bar screams “COCKTAILS!” But my dad slides onto a wooden barstool and studies the whiskies on the top two shelves. I can never decide whether the picture of the old guy above the bar is meant to be Jesus, the owner, or that bearded fish-stick guy from the ads.
“What are you in the mood for?” my dad says, as I hitch myself up on a stool next to him.
“How much are we spending?”
My dad introduced me to whiskey once I got old enough to drink, and ever since, it’s been this delightful thing we share whenever we go out. Herubs his hands together. “What would go down well after this evening, hmm?” he says, and I laugh.
The bartender appears and spins two coasters onto the bar in front of us, and my dad orders two glasses of eighteen-year-old Macallan. He nudges me. “I think we need to treat ourselves, don’t you?”
“Thanks, Dad.”
He nods and picks up the coaster, bending it in two. “Well, Jim. I’ve seen a lot of things in my life, and I’m rarely surprised, but that was one of the most surprising evenings I’ve had in a long time.”
“For me, too,” I say, staring at the rows of bottles behind the bar.
His hand stretches out, and he grabs me around the neck, squeezing. “You okay?” His eyes are warm and kind, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him just how bad it’s been, but I’m their only child—how can I add to his worries?
And all that nonsense earlier … I’m over it. The churning feeling inside me has slipped away into concern for other things: work, Mr. Karen, Sadie and her stepdad. I no longer recognize that drunk guy on the roof. Whether it’s living in Des’s place, Sadie’s calm acceptance, or everything that happened this evening, something has flipped over. I had nothing in my life when I was with Jane except her and my job, and now I have so much more. A friend. A pet. Sadie was right: Jane’s got all her own reasons for this.
Still, all that stuff tonight was ... “I’m still reeling from all that if I’m honest,” I say to my dad.
He eyes me with a steady gaze then pats my hand on the bar. “Any man would be. Any man would be.”
I don’t often talk to my dad about personal things, but a pressure is sitting under my ribs, nonetheless. My whole history with Jane was rewritten over that meal. I called her out for being unfaithful, but it was more in spite than because of any genuine belief … butdid she?
