Funeral with a View (5 page)

“Jesus Christmas,
Richard. You’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a pickle, haven’t you?”

That about sums it up,
Mom
.

Still reeling from the
episode at Bill’s, I’d plopped on the couch as soon as I’d gotten home and
stared at the phone while the TV belted out white noise about a great new product
I had to have lest I die unfulfilled.

An old co-worker of mine
had once called me a ‘puker.’ What is a puker? In this case, it has nothing to
do with an eating disorder or problems with one’s digestive system. A puker is
a person who can’t keep things pent up. Pukers feel a compelling need to get
their troubles off their chest. I’ve been a proud puker all my life, as
evidenced by what I’d told Bill after being asked not to. Note I haven’t said
this specific personality trait is always a good thing, but it’s served me well
in life … for the most part.

Despite the lethargy that
weighed me down, the impulse to pick up the phone and call my mom was
overwhelming.

So that’s what I did the
next day. I relayed the entire litany of stupid to her. She didn’t interrupt
once, having experienced similar episodes over the years.

God bless her.

“Richard,” she said once
I’d finished puking. “Do you love her?”

“Yep. I think it’s
terminal. No cure for what I got.” I loved Catherine Maddox, no doubt. Even
before the pregnancy scare, I knew it.

“Good. I’m happy to hear
it and I’m thrilled for you. You know I’m no saint, and I won’t judge you.” A
pause. “But …”
Here it comes.
“You do realize this is a complicated
situation you’ve created for yourselves.”

I sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

“Now, I’m going to ask
you a very important question, the most important one of all. Even if the baby
isn’t yours, God forbid, would you still want to be with Catherine? It’s easy
to say, but you have to truly mean it.”

I thought about that
question long and hard, had been ever since Catherine told me. “Yeah, I think
so.”

“You think so?”

“I’m still thinking about
it.”

“I see. Richard, it’s
obvious she cares about you a lot. It’s as plain as the unibrow on your
forehead—”

“Um, thanks, Mom.”

“—and regardless of the
tension between you two during the picnic, I could tell how close you are. Can
you blame her for how she reacted? She’s obviously scared, confused. But she’s
an intelligent, sweet woman, and you seem perfect for each other.”

I could hear the smile in
her voice and I felt that much better for it.

“You picked up all that
in just a few hours, did you?”

“Was there ever any
doubt? I notice these things, you know.”

“There’s no fooling you.”

“You bet your ass there
isn’t and don’t you forget it either. Time is what’s important now. It’s so
much to deal with at once. The pregnancy, the … unique circumstances. Her pot’s
ready to boil over, Richard.”

“That’s why I haven’t
reached out to her yet. It’s not that I don’t care, you know that’s not why. I
feel like I let her down, but I’m afraid that if I nag her, I’ll end up pushing
her farther away.”

“Wrong.”

“What?”

She blew out an
exaggerated sigh. “You men and your rules. Why is it you’re so afraid to tell
women how you feel?”

“She knows how I feel. I
told her I loved her.”

“And when was that,
Richard?”

“When she first told me
she was late.”

“And since all of this?”

“Well, no.”

“Exactly my point. She
left your apartment, and you haven’t contacted her since. Right when she needs
to hear from you the most.”

“It’s not fair to her,
though. I can’t call her if I’m not totally certain.”

“There’s no doubt you
need to come to a decision, but you should reach out, let her know she’s in
your thoughts. Don’t abandon her. Remember, Richard. It may not be William’s
child.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, I
gotcha, Mom.”

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re the best, that’s
all.”

“That fact was never in
question.” She meant it. “Richard, I can’t tell you what to do. Take this
advice for what it’s worth. Think about what Catherine means to you, but don’t
fall off the map. That would be inexcusable. Hopefully everything will work
itself out. I have a good feeling about this girl. In the meantime, be a little
patient and a
lot
strong.”

“I’ll do my best. Thanks,
Mom.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, and
Richard?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop chewing your
fingernails, dear.”

I pulled my index finger
out of my mouth, the nail chewed to a ragged nub.

How the hell?

As if reading my mind she
said, “I always know, sweetie. Can’t fool me, remember?”

“Not when I was a kid,
not now.”

“Bye, Baby Boy. Love
you.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

My next call was to
Catherine, but she never answered.

July turned into August.

Two things persisted: the
humidity and my shitty mood.

I hadn’t talked to Bill
or Catherine in three weeks.

It was the longest Cat and
I had gone without contact since we started dating. Did she hate me? Would she
forgive me? The jury was still out on both fronts.

Total communication
blackout wasn’t easy. If I had a dime for every time I typed out an email only
to delete it before hitting send, or for each instance I’d dialed her number
and hung up before the first ring, I’d have a lot of dimes. A shitload in fact,
which, according to
Urban Dictionary
is defined as “more than an assload
but still less than a fuckton.”

That’s a lot of dimes.

What had I been doing
with myself in order to maintain a semblance of sanity? I stayed in my fortress
of solitude: my apartment. Other than trips to the grocery store and work, I removed
myself from the world.

Now would be a good time
to get into my profession I suppose.

I graduated from Ryder
University with a degree in graphic design. As a kid I’d spent most of my time
doodling in notebooks. Mom had nearly tripped over me dozens of times as I lie
on the floor working at my own comic book creations. Art classes throughout my
schooling came easy to me. It was something I loved to do, and I didn’t take
for granted the fact that I was able to turn my love of art into a full time
job.

Not long after having
graduated from Ryder, I’d landed a job at Colbert & Colbert Advertising
Agency in Princeton. No relation to the political satirist, by the way. I
checked. What had started out as a job I took on a lark ended up being a
profitable career, one that I didn’t mind taking home with me when I needed to.

During that dark three
weeks in which Cat and I didn’t speak I’d be lying if I said I’d gotten a lot
of work done. I stared at my monitor most days, and bringing files home didn’t
remedy my lack of ideas. Loud music, something that had always gotten my
creative juices flowing only angered the neighbors. Who knew that blasting
angry, guitar-driven rock was frowned upon? The abundance of decibels spewing
from my stereo had caused more than one run-in with other occupants of my
building.

Late one evening in early
August, there came a pounding from my door in between Alice in Chains songs.

Assuming it was Mr.
Jameson from next door—old, crotchety, but not
too
nasty so long as you
kept the noise down—I sighed and paused the CD. I was more upset that I’d have
to deal with the codger again than annoyed at the interruption in
lack
of workflow. Images for an upscale lingerie boutique I was supposed to be
running preliminary ideas on sat on the screen, not a single pixel touched.

“Coming.”

I dragged myself out of
the computer chair and shuffled my way to the door.

More knocking.

“I’m coming!”

My rehearsed apology died
before it had a chance to leave my lips.

“Hey.”

Catherine stood in the
twilight of the hallway. She seemed tentative. Not like her at all. That made
me nervous.

“Can I come in?”

Of course you can come
in!

“Yeah, um. Sure. Of
course. I thought you were my neighbor for a second and I ... never mind.” The
speech impediment came from out of nowhere. Dammit. Rather than gnash on one of
my tortured fingernails, I ushered her in with an awkward wave. “Come on in.
Please.”

Catherine brushed past
me, the smell of her fruity shampoo following in her wake, and stood in the
living room. I closed the door quietly behind me.

“I hope this isn’t a bad
time?” she said.

It’s never a bad time
for you!

“Bad time? No. Not a bad
time. I was just listening to a little music, trying to get some work done.”

She smiled, small but
there. “So I heard. I thought my knuckles would bleed from trying to knock over
it.”

“Sorry about that. Do you
want something to drink?”
Do you want something to drink? What kind of
dumbass question is that?

“Sure. Water would be
great,” she replied, voice soft. “Thanks.”

So goddamn awkward. Her
tone betrayed nothing. She could have showed up to call things off completely,
to dump my ass in person, nice and official-like. I grabbed a bottle of water
from the fridge, thinking over what my mother had said.

I have a good feeling
about this girl. Be a little patient and a
lot
strong.

When I returned, she’d
situated herself on my couch, staring at the trippy screensaver on my monitor. My
hand, accentuated by fingernails shredded into pulpy stubs, trembled as I
handed her the water.

“Thanks, Ricky.”

I nodded. She’d called me
Ricky. Good sign, right?

“Surprised?”

Understatement of the
year.
“Yeah, you could say that.” I stood a few feet away, not wanting to
crowd her.

She unscrewed the cap,
raised the bottle to her mouth, and, as if thinking better of it, set it on the
coffee table. “I got your text.”

“You did? I wasn’t sure.”

I’d been wondering about
that. The ‘total communication blackout’ wasn’t so total. After my initial
phone call went ignored, I spent days replaying the conversation with my mother
in my head—over and over again, every day, every waking moment—until I was
completely sure about what I wanted. No matter what happened with the baby, I’d
be there for Catherine as long as she still had room for me in her life.

As proof, Cat held up her
cell phone, the text I’d sent two weeks earlier filling up the screen: LOVE U.
HERE 4 U NO MATTER WHAT.

“Look, Cat—”

She held up a hand. “Let
me just get this out.”

“Okay.”

“When I asked if you were
still behind me, when you hesitated … It made me feel like shit, betrayed.
Maybe I overreacted. I know it was bad to dump it on you out of the blue like
that.” Her lower lip trembled. “But I’m so goddamn scared.”

I moved a half step
closer. She played with a silver charm bracelet on her right wrist. I’d bought
it for her at a mom and pop jewelry shop down the Jersey Shore when we’d first
started dating. Two of the charms stood out from the rest: a capital
C
and
R
sandwiched a charm brandishing an ampersand.

C & R
.

Catherine and Ricky.

She spun the charms
around the bracelet with her slim fingers, eyes focused on the silvery surface.

“Do you know how many
times I’ve looked at these charms in the past couple weeks, Ricky?”
Probably
a shitload.
“I can’t help myself. But no matter how much I cried, no matter
how angry I was, I couldn’t stand to take them off. Believe me, I thought about
it. Ripping the whole thing off and tossing it in the garbage crossed my mind a
few times. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

And?

“I’ve done a lot of
thinking,” she added.

“Are you breaking up with
me?” I’d turned my back on her and I couldn’t see her face, but I could hear
the steady
clink clink
as she played with the charms.

“No.” She sniffed “That’s
not what I want. I never wanted that, even when I was crying and hurting the
most.”

Retrieving a box of
tissues from the kitchen, I handed them over as I sat down next to her.

“Thanks.” She wiped at
her eyes. “I’m keeping the baby.”

“I know.”

She looked at me, the
unasked question burning in her hazel eyes.

“I’ve been going crazy,
out of my mind nuts these past couple weeks,” I said. “Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t
sleep. About the only things I’ve been able to do are go to work like a drone
and piss off my neighbors. Mr. Jameson in particular.” That made her chuckle.
“I’m sorry, Cat. For letting you down, for hiding away when I should have been
there. But being without you made me realize one thing. I want to be with you,
no matter what, baby, no baby, mine or not. When I didn’t hear back from you, I
thought I’d lost—”

She placed a finger on my
lips.

“Shhh. I know. After my
tantrum, I thought you’d want to wash your hands of me. I’m sorry I went ballistic
on you, Ricky. Scared or not, I should have told you sooner. I should have
handled it better.” Her eyes locked onto mine. “I didn’t mean to make you
nuts.”

I wrapped my arms around
her and pulled her close.

“Will you stay? Please
tell me you’ll stay. I don’t want to let you out of my sight.”

“Yes. I don’t want to be
anywhere else.”

“Are we good? Will we be
okay?”

“Okay? Pfft. We’re better
than okay, Ricky. We’ll be off the charts okay.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Really really? You
believe that?”

Catherine tilted up her
head. Her lips met mine.

“Really really. I refuse
to believe anything else.”