Page 34 of Pity Play

“I hope you tell Dad that, too,” I challenge.

My mom stares at me quietly for so long I start to shift nervously in my seat. “You grew up with a great father, Luke. He was always there for you; he taught you how to do so many things. Not everyone is so lucky.”

“You’re talking about Dad’s parents?”

“I’m talking about whatyouhad. You were given love and stability, and as such, it may fall to you to be the bigger man in this situation.”

“By forcing my company on a man while he’s stuck in a hospital bed?”

“I can’t think of a better place,” she says. “Help your dad understand how you feel. Help him to see your vision.”

“And if he doesn’t?” I want to know.

“Don’t take no for an answer, Luke.”

“You’re giving me too much credit, Mom. I can’t move a mountain all by myself.”

“How do you know?” she demands. “Have you ever tried?”

Standing up, I turn around to leave, but I suddenly stop when she asks, “Do you love your dad, Luke?”

What kind of question is that? “Of course, I do.”

“Then accept him for who he is and help him find a way to do the same with you.”

For the life of me, I can’t see this working. My dad is going to throw a fit if I go and visit him and refuse to leave when he gets angry with me. But I know my mom is right. If somethinghappens to him before we can fix things between us, I will mourn his loss forever.

I’m going to need to think long and hard about the best way to reach him. I’ve done all I can do today, but tomorrow I vow to try again. Tomorrow, I will start to find a way to penetrate his armor and help him to see how much I love and respect him. But for now, I need a break from everything, and the best way for me to center myself is to cook.

Turning back toward my mom, I tell her, “I’ll do my best. But I can’t make any promises.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

LORELAI

I decide to stop at the grocery store on my way home. I was just there yesterday so I don’t need anything. But I’m in the market for comfort, and I’m thinking pudding is the way to go. When I get to the proper aisle, I scope out the flavors, but I can’t decide what I want. This is how I come to buy all four kinds. Six boxes of each because this feels like it’s going to be an ongoing need.

Once I’ve nearly wiped the shelves clean of pudding, I walk around the aisles and look for something else to impulse buy. I add a bag of chocolate chips, a bag of pretzels and a box of Golden Grahams to my cart.That’s right, cheater s’mores are calling my name!

After paying for my purchases, I drive home. Getting out of the car, I grab my grocery bag before slogging through a particularly wet slush that leads to the front door. The snow is melting and spring is nearly here, which is the seasonal start of new beginnings.You and me both, spring. Let’s do this!

I open the front door before taking off my coat and letting it drop at my feet. Then I make my way to the kitchen where I pull a gallon of milk out of the refrigerator. I pour the contents of a boxof chocolate pudding into a mixing bowl and add the required amount of liquid. I whisk the mixture until it starts to thicken, all the while wondering at the magic of instant pudding. How did pioneer women ever survive without it?

I don’t bother refrigerating my creation for optimal thickness. Instead, I take the bowl, along with a can of whipped cream spray, to the couch. I sit down and don’t move until I’ve consumed all four servings. Even though my stomach is full to bursting, I still feel oddly empty.

Rolling off the sofa, I crawl to the built-in bookcase across the room. I stare at the titles and ponder which ones, if any, my parents will want to keep. I’m guessing the complete series of Danielle Steel novels can go, but what about all my dad’s books on aliens? He’s convinced that any time now the truth about our standing in the universe is going to be revealed. He vacillates between mentally trying to prepare for planetary takeover and wondering what kind of clothes he’ll need on Mars.

For now, I leave his books on the shelf and start to make a pile of my mom’s. She’s big into women’s fiction that focusses heavily on generational sagas. You know, a mother, daughter, and granddaughter all raising their families in the same ancestral home. I guess she didn’t like them enough to create the same kind of story for our lives.Bitter, party of one.

Once half the shelves are empty, I lay on the floor and close my eyes. When Noah and I were little, our mom used to crawl around the carpet with us and we’d pretend to be cats. This was always around nap time, and inevitably we snoozed where we fell. It’s a nice memory that I decide to reenact.

I’m not sure how long I sleep before the doorbell interrupts my rest. Rolling over, I wipe a trail of saliva and carpet fibers off my mouth before getting up to see who it is.

Pulling the door open, I exclaim, “Allie!”

She pushes past me. “You called, which is weird. Is something wrong?”

It’s true that most people our age text instead of actuallytalking to each other, but needs must. If today isn’t an emergency, I don’t know what is. Leading the way to the living room, I tell her, “My parents are selling our house.”

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