Page 43 of Husband of the Year
“That’s why I called,” she says. “Well, that and to make sure you’re not dead in a ditch.”
Portland becomes even smaller as we approach the island and I’m eager for the short walk home from the dock and some alone time with Gonzo. Two days of snuggling with my kitty boyfriend, eating sugary snacks (with some chips thrown in for variety), and binging whatever drivel tickles my fancy.
“I know it’s months away, but flights book up. I’ve been watching prices. And wondering if I should come early. Maybe a week. Or two. I know you’re going to be overwhelmed with everything and you might need some help with last-minute details. Unexpected things can pop up.”
I hear her shift, the plastic of her outdoor chair crinkling under her.
“Amy’s daughter’s dress didn’t fit, and they didn’t realize until the morning of the ceremony. Turns out not having carbs two weeks before the wedding worked better than she expected and she’d lost too much weight. Do you know how hard it is to find a seamstress at the last minute? We had to sew her into the dress. Good luck using the bathroom. I’m bringing my sewing kit.”
“Mom, we’re not wearing dresses.”
“I can hem your pants if they’re too short. Or too long. Olan’s too. And let’s be honest, you never know when a button will pop off and go flying like it’s making a desperate dash to be a runaway bride. Or groom. Grooms?” And she’s up. The clanking of rummaging crackles in the phone. “There. My sewing kit is ready.”
“Mom. It’s March. We’re not getting married until August.”
“First things first—that’s what my sponsor says. Mostly about putting recovery first, but it works here too.”
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Hearing my mother talk about her sponsor is a subtle reminder of her continued sobriety. It’s been over fifteen years since she hit bottom and began her recovery journey. We’re finally approaching a good place—which is helped by her living across the country in Arizona.
“Anyway, how are you?” I ask, attempting to change the subject.
“The same, I’m alive. You’d know that if you called. I found a new meeting. They call themselves The Wacky Women, which is a silly name if you ask me, but the ladies are wonderful. Most of them are older, like me, and we take turns with snacks. Their rule is homemade, no store-bought cookies. You know I love a Milano, but these women want Martha-Stewart-level treats. Wait, strike that. Martha’s friendship with that pot-smoking rapper probably doesn’t make her a good role model anymore.”
My head spins and my body jerks as the ferry makes contact with the dock. I gather myself and wait with the small group of Saturday morning folks to disembark. Even though March is early for summer tourists, the relatively warm forecast means people are here for a day of exploring and enjoying the beauty of Peaks.
Sometimes I can’t believe I live here. Two years ago, Gonzo and I were cramped in a tiny, barely one-bedroom apartment with radiators that only worked if I banged them with an old pot. Thing is, I wasn’t unhappy. I was too busy and distracted by life. But there’s a difference between contentment and genuine happiness. Being with Olan has taught me that.
“Marvin? Are you there? Did I lose you? Hello?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Home. I mean, I’m just walking home from the ferry.”
“On a Saturday morning? Where were you? Where’s Olan?”
My eyes snap shut and my nose crinkles. Fuck.
I hadn’t planned on telling her about Olan being away. At least not now. For a while. Too many questions. And she’ll want to talk… more.
“He’s home.”
“Why isn’t he with you?”
“No, back in Chicago, with his family.”
Double fuck. Why can’t my mouth behave?
“Oh, how nice that he went to see his parents. He’s a good son. Why didn’t you come visit me while he’s away?”
“I’m working, Mom.”
“Yes, yes, of course. When will he be back?”
My brain scurries to think of a lie. “He’s not sure.”
“He’s not sure? When is his flight home?”
The wobble in my legs prompts me to sit on a bench overlooking a pebble beach. Between Olan’s absence and explaining it to my mother, my body craves stillness for a moment.
“It’s his brother, Mom. Olan needed to go back to… help.”
