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“Alan said he’s a bit cocky but brilliant.”
“That’s a good assessment. He’s also kind and thoughtful. He doesn’t let me overthink things.”
My father slaps the edge of his chair. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard about him. You’ve always had an overactive mind. That’s why we pushed you into sports, so your body might tire out your mind.”
“Good philosophy. Are you going to Kyle’s for Christmas?”
“You know we are. If that’s where the girls are, that’s where I am.”
“What are your thoughts if I don’t go.”
“Shocked, dismayed, and elated. Seems you’ve got a better offer.”
I grin and sip my wine. “He wants to cook for me. He wants us to have our holiday instead of having someone else’s version.”
“That’s fancy talk for the man wants to get laid.”
“DADDY!”
He’s laughing. “Then go. You don’t need my permission.” I sigh. Then he says, “Which beach are you headed to?”
“How did you know?”
“Because, honey, I’m paying attention.”
“Forgot I can’t hide from you. Stone Harbor. I rented a house.”
“And Alex knows where and why?”
“No, but I bought him a plane ticket to join me at the end of the week.”
“That sounds like a healthy thing to do. Can he not buy his own ticket, though? I don’t want my girl to become a sugar mama.”
“He can, but I want to do this for him.”
“Ok, but then I can I have a plane ticket too? Maybe somewhere like Fiji?”
“Sure, Dad.”
* * *
I bundle up, grab a coffee, the bottle, and stare at the ocean. I needed to disappear for a while from being Alex’s Tess, my brothers’ Tess or Joan’s Tess, or the public’s Tess McGuire. The shore always takes me back to my factory settings.
Windy walks on the beach make me feel closer to my mom. I didn’t tell Alex, it’s her anniversary. Is it really an anniversary if it’s death? It’s the day Alan, Kyle, and I decided was her last. We picked this gloomy day between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Thirteen years ago was the day we stopped keeping her around for our own benefit and let her go. It’s our death day for her, not hers. Hers came in the form of a blood clot that took a chunk of her brain about a month earlier.
I close my laptop on my latest book, which feels like a little death for me every time. There’s only been one instance where I didn’t have another idea when I finished one. That was like hell. I draw out the finishing until I have a solid outline in my head of another one, so I’m never without the process. The process is my everything; it’s what I hang most of my life on.
It’s time to say goodbye to my main characters and chat with my mom. I’ll cry. I always do when they end up happily ever after. Then off to Springer’s Ice Cream for a black raspberry celebration cone.
I’ve ignored my phone since I arrived. Alex has been so good, not pushing for information. I shoot the cork out towards the beach and drink straight from the bottle and begin my maudlin ritual. It’s time to have a chat.
“Mom. This year I met a man. I met a man who seems to be ok with all my strangeness, and all the things that you used to say made me unique and special. He’s intelligent and handsome. And funny. He makes me laugh all the time. And I can’t wait to see him when I wake up in the morning, and I’m a little sad when I have to go to sleep at night. I’ve never felt like this. He doesn’t know it yet, but I love him. His name is Alexander James Bishop. He’s from the Boston area and lives in Los Angeles. And he’s kind and so smart. He’s even kind when he doesn’t think anyone’s watching. I wish you could know him. No fuck that, I wish he could know you. I’m still writing professionally, and I’m keeping my promises to you.”
As a benediction, I say the promise aloud to the ocean while drinking the most expensive champagne I can afford. Year one, it was Saint Hilaire Limoux at eleven bucks a pop, but now I’ve just uncorked a $1400 bottle of Dom Perignon Rose 1986. I swig it from the bottle, just like the last bottle we shared days before the blood clot. It has to be French. She always equated champagne with success. I only drink real champagne once a year. Prosecco, cava, American sparkling are fine, but true champagne is only for her.
“1. Make sure I make my own way.
2. Love myself first.
