Page 89 of Love in the Lab
But I have to know. I push deeper, wanting more answers. “Would Dad have gone with you, moved all of us to Switzerland, if you had asked him to?”
“You’ll have to ask him that question, but I believe he would have. It’s why I couldn’t ask him to. It wouldn’t have been fair to him, not when I wasn’t as invested in the marriage as he was. I felt that I could do more in my career without … well, without that weight in my life.”
She might as well have slapped me for the way that statement shocks and hurts. “And Tamara and me? Did we weigh you down, too?”
“You and Tamara were better off living a stable life with your dad in Ohio,” she repeats firmly.
I force a smile, as if my mother hasn’t just turned my world upside down. “Listen, Mom, I’ve got to go. Nice talking to you.”
“You, too! Congratulations on your marriage and your move.”
“Thanks,” I mumble before ending the call.
I’m not sure how long I sit here, my head resting on the back of the couch, my eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling. I feel almost disconnected from my body, detached and aloof. I’m not sure that this time spent spinning the new information around in my mind, turning it this way and that, is helpful in solving anything,least of all the intense guilt and shame I feel for the way I’ve treated my dad all these years.
“Jonathan?” Molly calls, coming through the front door of my apartment. She spots me on the couch and holds up a stack of flattened moving boxes and packing tape. “I brought more supplies.”
When I don’t answer, she drops the boxes and tape and moves closer. “What’s wrong?”
Instead of responding, I reach up a hand and pull her into my lap. She yelps as her feet come off the floor. Her head nestles against my chest, and I hold her against me. Instantly, I’m in my body again, feeling the pit in my stomach and the tension in my shoulders.
The anger I’ve been holding onto for almost twenty years is gone, replaced with shame. I think of my dad, left to finish raising two kids on his own—one of those kids a preteen boy mad at the world and taking it out on him. And all the while, trying to cope with his own heartbreak and grief over losing the woman he loved. For years, not having the relationship he wanted with his only son. Finally finding someone new to love and watching his grown son pout like a child over his well-deserved happiness.
Molly strokes my cheek. “What’s going on, Jonathan?” she asks softly.
“I think I … we need to go to Ohio for Christmas.”
Molly doesn’t bat an eye at my announcement of the new plan for our first Christmas together. She slides off my lap onto the couch cushion and motions for me to join her. I lie on my back next to her, my head in her lap.
As I tell her about my conversation on the phone with my mom, Molly combs through my hair with her fingers. It’s soothing, but I’m not sure I deserve to be soothed.
“So, in summary, I’ve been a jerk to my dad for nearly twenty years because of an initial misunderstanding I never bothered to clarify.”
Molly is quiet for a moment. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself. You were just a kid.”
“At first I was, but I haven’t been a kid for quite some time now, and I’ve still been acting like a brat.”
“It probably feels emotionally safer to lash out at the parent who stays than the one who doesn’t.”
I close my eyes and lean into the feeling of her hand in my hair. “How did I get lucky enough to have such a smart wife? You’re the best.” I still feel raw from my mother’s revelation and my own realization that I’ve been a terrible son to my dad while he’s been hurting in his own way. But at this moment, I feel safe and loved, like no matter how badly I’ve messed up, I can make it right.
She laughs. “Me? You’ve been doing sweet, thoughtful things for me for months now.”
I open my eyes and smirk. “I’ve been trying to impress you.”
Molly leans down and kisses my lips. “You’ve succeeded.”
“I’ve also been trying to get you to see yourself like I see you: practically perfect in every way.”
She laughs again, but then her face turns serious. “I’m getting there on that, too, but I feel like it’s going to be a long process. I have to undo years of thinking. I hope you can be patient with me.”
I sit up and pull her against my chest, kissing the top of her head. “Of course. As long as it’s me you come home to at the end of the day, I can handle just about anything, wife.” I pause. “You do believe I love you, though, right?”
She blushes. “Yes. You’ve done a pretty good job convincing me of that, even if I don’t quite understand why yet.”
I kiss her forehead, then each cheek, and then the tip of her nose. “Then I’ll just have to keep showing you. Fortunately, it’ll be a lot easier now to leave sticky notes on your refrigerator.”
She smiles. “No more breaking and entering?”
