Page 31 of My Favorite Lost Cause
Even if it only gives me two extra days here, I’ll take them.
Harvey sends an array of rage-filled responses—implying that I’m sleeping with Charlie, that I’m just like my mom, that I’m not looking like a good candidate for motherhood—and I just swipe my finger over each, deleting them as if they’re notifications from an app I never meant to download. Beyond meaningless—simply an imposition.
Charlie cuts out early and we go into town to gather supplies for our bike outing. There’s this cute store in Oak Bluff that actually has an adorable wicker picnic basket in the window—the inspiration for this idea in the first place—but Charlie says his testosterone level has already dropped dangerously low in agreeing to ride on the “girly” bikes I bought and he’s putting his foot down.
So we end up at the Stop-n-Shop instead. Martha and I are friendly now. I enjoy my near-daily chats with her as she rings my groceries up.
Today, while Charlie runs back to grab one more thing for our bike trip, she grins at me.
“You’ve shrugged it off,” she says. “That pall you had over you when you first came? I can see all your colors again.”
I smile. “I guess a week out of the city was all I needed.”
“It’s not being out of the city.” She nods at Charlie. “It’s him. He’s what brings your colors out.”
Once again, I have no idea how to respond. “I mean, I guess maybe I’m just more comfortable around him since he’s family.”
She laughs. “It’s not because he’s family.”
By mid-afternoonwe’re setting out, and it’s a perfect day for it: slightly overcast, breezier than normal. Not a single car passes us as we ride on a paved road that should, eventually, lead us to the beach.
I was on a road sort of like this in my dream. And I don’t know if I’m embellishing things now or not, but I remember details I didn’t notice when it was happening: the swirl of skirts around my feet. My friends wearing broad-brimmed hats.
I’ve been accused of having a vivid imagination before, but this is extreme even for me.
The trees get sparser and eventually turn to brush, and suddenly we’re crossing a bridge with dunes on the other side. We dump our bikes when we reach them and climb over to reach the long sand beach. It’s the perfect time of day—still light, but the sun has lowered, and the sky is now cast in bright blues and muted orange. Charlie spreads the blanket while I get out our snacks, and then the two of us settle back to look around.
The tide is out, the water calm. Gulls swoop over the placid water, hunting for their dinner.
“I wish I could stay here forever,” I tell him, turning my face toward the sun as it breaks through the clouds.
“I’m glad you came with me,” he replies, “even if you cost me a million dollars.”
I fight a smile. “I paid for the bikes.”
He laughs. “I was referring to thehouse.”
Oh, right. I do feel bad about the cost. I’d have covered it, if he’d allowed me, although Charlie was full of crap. There’s a big difference between not having money and not wanting tospendyour money, and he was doing the latter. I know he’s sunk a lot of money into this arena football team he’s funding in Texas, but he’s a venture capitalist. They always have extra on hand, just in case a new opportunity presents itself.
“You agree now, though? That you ought to keep it? I mean, mostly because it’s amazing but also because your mom asked you to?”
“It’s not that amazing, Maren, and I’ve got no fucking use for this place, but yes, I agree I should have kept it for my mom’s sake. It’s the bare minimum of what I should have done.”
I wish I had a tool to excise that shame from his voice. “What do you mean?”
“I was a shitty son,” he says quietly. “She came up to visit me last winter, and I barely made time for her. She wanted to go to MOMA, and I took her, but I spent half of the trip on my phone replying to emails.”
I shake my head in silent argument. I wasn’t there, but I know him, and this can’t be true.
“I once read that we never truly remember anything…we simply remember the last time we remembered it. Don’t let this story you’re telling yourself be the way you recall those last days. Tell me a moment that you actually enjoyed, because I know there was one, and I want to make sure you remember it.”
He frowns, watching the gentle waves near us collapse into foam. “I got up, on one of the days that I’d taken off, and she made breakfast. A big breakfast, like the kind she used to make here. And it was ridiculous…I don’t even eat breakfast at home, but we sat down, and we ate together, and she was just smiling the entire time, watching me. She used to do that…” His voice cracks. And he stops talking.
I squeeze his hand. “She used to do what?”
“She used to like to watch me eat. She loved me so much that it just made her happy to watch me eat. It took so fucking little to make her happy, and I didn’t even try.”
I place my head on his shoulder, my gaze trained on the gently curling waves. “Charlie, you did try. I bet you remembered her birthday every year, and Christmas and Mother’sDay. I bet that anytime she ran into a financial issue down here, you offered to swoop in and save her, and anytime you heard about someone being a dick to her, you tried to fix it, the same way you do for all of us. And if I ever have a child, all I will want is to sit back and watch him eat his breakfast, nothing more required, as long as he’s happy and fulfilled.”
