That One Day (That One #1.5) (33 page)

***

My mom and I sit in the living room, while Frankie attends to Archer upstairs and my dad helps her set up Archer’s travel crib. We sit next to each other on the couch and Mom places her hand on top of mine.

“I’m so glad you came home, Ben. I…” She struggles to talk, emotions taking over.

I put my arm around her and pull her to me.

“I’m sorry, Mom. Sorry, I didn’t give you a chance to explain and just left. I just…” I pause for a moment, taking a deep breath in. “…felt so betrayed. Still do in a way, but I understand better why you did what you did. I wish I would have listened to you.”

“It was my own fault, hon. If I had told you from the start, none of this would have happened.”

Smiling, I nod. “True, but then I also would have never slept with Frankie and gotten her pregnant.” Only now do I realize we have my grandmother’s letter to thank for the fact we both finally acted on our feelings.

“Yeah, we’ll still talk about that one, young man,” my mother jokes and I look at her to find her smiling.

For a few minutes, I allow myself to enjoy this lighthearted moment. My mom and I used to have many of those before shit went down, joking and teasing each other constantly. There are still so many questions and thoughts I have, things I need to talk to her about. Things only she’ll be able to understand since she knows Noah.

“I can’t get my head around the way he manipulated me. I believed him, Mom. I believed every-fucking-thing he said. He played me for a fool.” I groan, letting my head fall back onto the back of the couch.

“You need to understand that even though he’s ill, it doesn’t make him any less intelligent. That’s the thing with psychosis—it can allow the patient to become a perfect pretender, someone you believe easily. Why do you think it took me so long to figure things out?”

“I guess,” I say, not convinced of her explanation. “I just never questioned a thing he said. Not even to the point of talking to one of the doctors about it.” I still can’t believe how stupid I was not seeing through his act.

“You were hurt. I lied to you. You wanted to be able to believe someone, and I’m sure he sensed that, making the most of it. You’ve done nothing wrong,” she says, reassuringly patting my hand.

“Why do you think was he so hell-bent on hurting Archer? He never even met him, Mom. He kept on babbling nonsense that he’d give me my life back once he got rid of Archer. But Archer is my life. And so is Frankie.” I’ve gone over so many theories in my head in the past few days and they all seem fucking insane.

“Hmmm, I don’t think it’s something we’ll ever know for sure. I suppose to some degree he was mixing up your life with his past. And maybe he felt rejected or abandoned, like he did when you were little and I focused on you and your needs.”

I start nodding. “Yeah, I thought about that a lot. There were times where I had to decline something he asked me for, or end a conversation because Archer or Frankie needed me. He always seemed upset, but I chalked it up to his depression and mood swings, never even considered there was more behind it.”

“You had no way of knowing. We all could’ve done things differently if we had known better. But we didn’t.”

We’re interrupted by Frankie, Archer, and my dad coming back in. Dad announces the arrival of our Indian food, while Frankie lets Archer crawl on the couch and he heads in my direction with purpose until he’s in my lap. I tickle his belly, causing him to laugh. “You’re so silly, little man.” I kiss his forehead with a loud, overly dramatic smooch. “Daddy loves you.”

And that’s the last I get of my son for a few hours, since my mom snatches him away.

“Well, Grandma loves you too. And grandmas always come first,” she explains to him matter-of-factly, helping him stand up in her lap so they are eye-to-eye. “Grandma is gonna spoil you rotten.”

“Oh dear,” I hear Dad mutter under his breath, but when I look up I can see the hint of a grin he’s trying to hide.

Frankie sits down next to me, snuggling into my side and making the attempt to eat our food highly complicated. But I wouldn’t change it for the world.

It’s early evening when Frankie takes Archer upstairs to put him to bed and crashes herself. Undoubtedly, she’s exhausted after the past few days—she hasn’t been sleeping well at all. But I also think she wants to give me and my parents some space to talk.

While my mom makes herself some tea, my dad offers me another whiskey.

“No, thanks, Dad. I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I decline his offer, remembering Mike’s story, and even more so, his words. All the shit that went down lately would drive any man to drink, and I sure as fuck don’t want to go down that road.

He gives me a quizzical look, so I go on to explain. “After I left here, I had a bit of a love affair with whiskey. I think I drank enough to last a lifetime. The glass earlier was just a spur of the moment thing.”

“Judith, you better make him some tea, then,” he teases.

“Dad, I’m not sick. I don’t need tea. I’ll just grab some orange juice,” I say, walking to the fridge—the feeling of being back home still foreign and weird.

When I sit back down, my dad’s reclining in his armchair, feet up on the footrest, while my mom is sitting on the couch facing me. I don’t think we’ll run out of things to talk about—there’s just so much all of us want and need to know.

One question has been burning a hole into my mind and so I ask it.

“Mom, did Noah ever sing to me…when I was fussy as a baby?” I think of the story he told me about singing “Father and Son” by Cat Stevens and wonder if at least this was true or if the story and the Christmas gift were just part of his elaborate web of lies.

“Yeah, it was the one sweet thing he used to do.” She smiles, clearly lost in the memory. “He always sang “Father and Son” to you and you would doze off right away. I must have heard that song hundreds of times.”

At least there was something real. One memory that isn’t tainted by his lies and actions. Something I can hold on to. It reminds me there may be a part of him that cares, but is caught up in an illness that makes him cold and calculating.

We talk for hours—about my childhood, my time in Tucson, my life in Northampton, and of course, about Frankie and Archer.

That’s when my dad chimes in. “So, Ben, I’ve heard you owe Frankie’s parents a bottle of whiskey and a new couch?” He’s clearly amused, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Sheepishly, I look to the side, rubbing my neck. “Technically yes, but they don’t deserve either. They’re assholes.”

“Benjamin,” my mom scolds, her lips pursed.

“When he’s right, he’s right,” Dad jumps to my defense, and I laugh at my mom’s exasperated eye roll.

It’s a little like old times, and I let myself enjoy it now that a lot of the weight is off my shoulders. The things that transpired are still looming over me, but at least the fucking fear of ending up like Noah is gone. Hopefully, the rest will sort itself out with time.

Sitting on the couch, I’m scarfing down my breakfast while my mom is playing with Archer on the floor and Dad is reading his newspaper.

Frankie is still sleeping. I suppose our nighttime activities have worn her out. They definitely helped my appetite, in more ways than one.

We’ve crossed a few things off my teenage to do list last night—much to the amusement of my dad, whose greeting this morning was, ‘You’ve got yourself a loud one, huh?’ I hope he doesn’t say anything to Frankie. She was shy about it as it is, scared my parents would hear us.

Personally, I couldn’t care less because she fucking blew my mind—pun intended.

Minding my own business, I hear my mom ask the room while not looking up from my old building blocks that she’s helping Archer stack, “So you and Frankie, are you planning to get married?”

“Judith, will you let the poor boy eat?” Dad groans.

Laughing, I shake my head. “It’s okay, Dad. Honestly, down the line, I’d love for that to happen. But the past months have been a rollercoaster from hell. It would be nice for things to settle down and for us to be able to just enjoy everything before we consider taking the next step.”

Looking away from me, my mom still doesn’t manage to hide the big grin on her face. “We’re not rushing it, Mom,” I emphasize.

“Yeah, yeah.”

My dad and I start laughing and Archer stops his playing to look back and forth between us. I turn around to notice Frankie standing in the doorway. When I approach, asking if she’s okay, she nods and explains she needs to talk to her parents. “Things can’t go on like this,” she says and I wholeheartedly agree.

“You want me to come with you?”

She thinks a moment, but then shakes her head, telling me to spend time with my parents and Archer. I’d love to be there for her and help her, but it’s something she needs to do by herself, I guess. I’m just really glad she’s finally taking the step and standing up for herself.

***

At night, we’re lying in my bed with Archer already asleep. We didn’t have a chance to talk since she got back from her parents as we spent most of our time downstairs with everyone, including Dave, who is now snoring on my parents’ couch.

He proudly told us all the stuff Frankie said to their parents, standing up to them and he followed suit. I couldn’t be prouder of both of them. But their parents reacted the way I expected—with about as much warmth and love as a dead, cold fish.

She’s lying on her side, her back turned to me and she seems lost in thought.

“You okay, babe?” I ask, running my hand down her cheek, past her neck, and down her arm.

She just nods, not answering.

“Babe?” I press in the hope she’ll talk to me. I massage her lower back, feeling the tension in her body.

“They just don’t care. Not about me or Dave. Apparently, not even about Archer—since they rather not see him again than swallow their stupid pride.” She pulls my hand to her front, interlacing our fingers. “I guess I just foolishly hoped they would give a damn.”

I pull her closer and she leans her head back against my chest. “I’m sorry, babe. They suck.”

“Yeah, they do. Big, sweaty donkey balls.”

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, I can’t hold in the laughter. After a few seconds, she joins me. “Screw them. You’ve got me and Archer. My parents, Dave, and the gang back home, too.”

Exhaling a ragged sigh, she nods. “You’re right. I guess not everyone is born to be a parent.”

There isn’t much to add. I can’t say anything that will make either of us feel better. We can’t change who our parents are. We need to find a way to move on, to leave behind the damage and destruction caused by our parents. We need to figure out how the fuck to live with the scars that won’t heal. The sad truth is that our parents don’t love us, or don’t love us enough, or don’t know how to love us because of their illness. We need to learn how to handle the reality that we’ll never enter our own kitchen without a part of us remembering what transpired there.

A part of us will always be broken. The question is whether or not we’ll let it define us and our future. I’m sure the next few months will tell.

Sitting in a comfortable armchair, I look around the room. It looks exactly the same as last time and all the times before. Yet, it’s easier to inspect the paintings on the wall than face the scrutiny coming from the chair across from me.

I can feel Nathan, my therapist, staring at me since I finished talking about thirty seconds ago. It’s about as comfortable of a feeling as walking over hot coals.

I’ve been coming here weekly for two and a half months now. After we got back from the visit with my parents, Frankie’s professor recommended him to me. So here I am, yet again, on a Friday afternoon.

Frankie has the day off, and her therapy session for the week was on Monday, so she’s home with Archer.

The past months weren’t easy. We’ve been dealing with the aftereffects of Noah’s meltdown. Any attempts to forget it were thwarted thanks to phone calls from cops, doctors, and personnel at St. Michael’s.

I never would have expected it, but every time my cell phone dings and I see a message from Frankie, I break out in a cold sweat. It’s starting to get better, thanks to therapy, but at times it feels fucking debilitating. Worse than my own issues, it hurts to see Frankie go through this. She has been so much more fearful than she used to be. A knock on the door will make her flinch, and when Archer takes a fall in his attempts to walk, she’s near tears.

It’s only in the past couple weeks that I’ve seen her former confidence return. It’s still a long road ahead of us, but as long as we walk it together, I think we can do it.

The scent of vanilla and tobacco hits my nostrils before I register Nathan’s question.

“And you are sure about this, Ben?”

I roll my eyes in exasperation. We’ve talked about it before, and though I was adamant from the start to do it, there was no date until now.

Looking up and straight into Nathan’s eyes, I nod. “Yes, I’m just as sure as I was last week and the week before.”

“You don’t think it’s rushed? Is it just a way to escape your past? To heal the wounds your father has left behind?”

He takes another drag of his pipe, lifting his eyebrows questioningly. I look at him and just like every time I’m here, I can barely stop myself from shaking my head. He’s the oddest guy I’ve ever seen which is saying something.

In the past months, we developed an easygoing relationship. I don’t know what he’s like with other patients, but we’re definitely not formal with each other.

When I first walked in here, I thought it was some kind of joke. The guy is a weird mix between a British aristocrat and a hippie. Today, he’s wearing a tweed blazer with elbow patches and an ascot tie, paired with bell bottom jeans and a pair of thick-rimmed hipster glasses. The pipe is his go-to thing. After I okayed it the first time I was here, he’s been smoking it every single time.

There’s psychedelic music playing in the background, giving this whole experience an even odder feeling.

I asked him once what the hell it was all about. He just smirked and told me in a conspiratorial tone that people have an easier time confiding in someone who seems crazy. I still haven’t figured out if it was a joke or not, but he seems to be right because I quickly felt at ease talking to him.

As odd as he is, he has helped me move past Noah’s attack. I’m slowly able to believe his actions don’t mean he never loved me, but that his illness took away his ability to connect with those emotions and to show his love. We’ve discussed everything—my mom’s lies, my time in Tucson, my return, and of course, Frankie and Archer.

Everything is such a slow fucking process. I wasn’t naïve enough to think I could just snap my fingers and everything would be peachy, but the pace is frustrating at times. At least it starts to feel like we’re slowly unraveling all the chaos and the convoluted mass of thoughts in my head.

Today the focus of our session has been my plans. He’s been harping on about it like a middle-aged, menopausal woman.

I don’t need to think about a reply to his question. Healing the emotional wounds Noah left behind isn’t Frankie’s job. It’s mine. Though that’s not what I tell Nate.

“Nate, I know only you can heal me,” I deadpan and watch him try to hide a smile.

“Well, I hope so. Otherwise, I’d be devastated,” he shoots back. “But seriously, Ben. This needs to be something you’re really sure about. You need to be a hundred percent certain you’re not just trying to tie her to you, so she won’t abandon you like your father did. Because there are no guarantees.”

I nod. “I know that, Nate. I do. I’ve been thinking about it occasionally even before Noah’s attack. But lately it’s been on my mind a lot. I don’t want to do it in order to tie her to me or to make up for things that happened in the past. I love her. Plain and simple. I fucking love her with every single breath I take. I can’t imagine not being with her. I can’t imagine a single day without her. I want her to know I’m hers. And, I want the world to know we belong together. That we’re one. That’s why I want to ask her to marry me.”

He starts grinning from ear to ear, reminding me of the Joker, which is slightly unsettling in a therapist’s office.

“That’s all I wanted to hear. The right reasons.” He stands up and walks past my chair toward his desk, patting me on the shoulder in passing. “Now you can go shopping for a ring.”

I sigh with relief that the session is over.

“You’re a jackass, Nate.”

“Yes, I am indeed. And proud of it.” He laughs to himself while falling back in his chair.

When I’m at the door, he calls out. “Oh, and Ben?” I turn back around to see him smiling smugly. “That was so romantic.”

Taking a lesson from Frankie, I flip him off and close the door behind me, ignoring his laugh following me down the hallway.

***

Dave is already outside leaning against his car when I pull up at the mall. He volunteered to help me on my ring shopping mission with a bit more fervor than I expected.

“Hey man, been waiting long?” I ask after parking my truck next to his car and hopping out.

He shakes his blond, shaggy head while sliding his phone back in his pocket. “Nah, just got here about ten minutes ago. You ready to go?”

I nod and we take off toward the mall, heading into the first jewelry store I see. It’s fancy and overpriced. Everything about it feels impersonal.

“Jesus, that was one stuck-up bitch,” Dave complains, leading the way to the next one.

“Yeah, I wonder why that was. Not like you asked her if she had anything not made for gold diggers,” I say laughing. “Oh wait, you did. By the way, why do you know where we’re going?” He walks with purpose and I already see the next shop a few windows down.

He pulls out his cell phone and shows me a map of the mall, all jewelry stores marked and navigation activated.

“What the hell, man?” I look back and forth between him and his phone, disbelief in my tone. “You marked all the places you can get tampons too?”

I haven’t even finished the sentence when Dave’s fist connects with my shoulder, knocking me into a bunch of football player sized guys. I lift my hands in apology and quickly remove myself from their proximity.

“First off, I’m fucking helping you so how about you show some gratitude. Second, the sooner we get the ring, the sooner we can hit the food court and be done with the sappy stuff. Therefore, not wasting any time wandering around aimlessly.”

“You make some good points, which is surprising, but even a blind squirrel can find a nut.”

“I doubt anyone can find your nuts. They probably shriveled up somewhere along the way.”

We continue the ribbing until the next store, which is another fail. If I wanted Frankie to start working as a hooker, I’d probably find plenty of things here. As it stands, I’d like to be the only one who gets to enjoy her sexual favors.

“Hey, what you think about this?” Dave emerges from another part of the store, a big golden chain hanging off his neck with an even bigger dollar sign, adorned with rhinestones.

“I think I need new friends.”

Dave laughs, taking off the chain and shoving it into the sales guy’s hand.

“Third time’s the charm,” he says while walking ahead toward the next store.

Walking up to it, I know this will be the one. I look at the stuff in the window of One in a Million Jewelry and see unique pieces, old and new. Some of the rings and necklaces displayed have little labels attached stating what country they are from.

“Bingo,” I say to Dave and we head inside.

An older guy is behind the counter, polishing what looks to be a pocket watch. He looks up when the door dings. “You guys need help or do you want to look around first?”

“Thanks, we’ll look around first,” I reply, turning to the first display in the left corner.

Dave comes up next to me. “It was a wise decision to include me on this mission. I come prepared. I talked to Viv to get her ideas on the right ring for Frankie. And she suggests…” Dave stops when he sees the huge grin on my face. “What are you grinning about?”

“You talked to Viv? Wasn’t aware you kids call it talking these days.”

He glares at me. “Do you want to know what she said or not?”

“Someone’s testy,” I remark, earning myself another glare. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“She told me, they have been talking about tattoos. And Frankie said if she’d ever get a tattoo, it’d be…”

“…a Claddagh symbol,” I finish Dave’s sentence. She was telling me the same thing a few weeks back when Viv came home with yet another tattoo.

“Dave, you’re a genius.” I slap him on the back and walk up to the counter. “Do you have Claddagh rings?” I ask the guy, who introduces himself as Brian.

“Sure, follow me.” He leads me to a small showcase and pulls out one of the drawers, setting a velvety case on the glass. I see what must be about thirty Claddagh rings. Every single one is different, nothing I’ve ever seen before. Then again, not like I’ve ever gone out of my way to look at rings.

“We have most of the rings in a number of sizes, but only one ring per size. My wife and I travel a lot and like to bring things back to our store from those regions so people can buy unique jewelry and gifts,” he explains. “Something you won’t see on every other person you meet.”

I really like the idea and keep browsing the selection he’s showing me. So far, there’s one ring that stands out to me. A tinged one that looks a bit Victorian, a bit goth.

But then I notice one, and I know it’s perfect.

“What about this one?” I point to the thin silver ring that has caught my attention. The design is unobtrusive—just the right thing for Frankie’s delicate hands. The heart in the center has a green stone in it. The color reminds me of Frankie’s eyes.

“Oh, this is a great one,” Brian says. “We found it in Connemara, Ireland. We were traveling that region a couple years back and ran across a jewelry maker who works with Connemara marble.” He points to the green stone. “We bought the rings from him and asked him to make a custom pendant for my wife. Great times.”

“It’s perfect. I’ll take it.” I don’t even hesitate, knowing Frankie will love this ring.

Dave now strolls up to me. “Oh damn, Frankie is going to flip when she sees it.”

“That’s the plan, man,” I reply before handing the ring I stole from Frankie’s jewelry box this morning to Brian so he can choose the right size.

“I’m so fucking glad I moved in with Mrs. Walsh—after she gets the ring, she’ll probably be thanking you a lot. Horizontally.” He shudders in disgust.

Laughing, Brian hands me a small plastic bag with the ring box inside.

“That’s hundred and fifty.”

“That it?” I say in shock. I expected to spend way more than that.

“You can pay more if you want,” the old man jokes.

Once the ring is paid for, we head to the food court and decide to go binge eating. It’s a tradition for Dave and me dating back to high school. We get stuff from McDonald’s, Taco Bell, and KFC, keeping us from having to choose between three favorites.

While Dave pays for his stuff, I head to a free table and check my phone. I have a text message from Frankie. For the fraction of a second my heartbeat speeds up, but I tell myself to relax.

Frankie: Hope therapy went well. I love you.

I smile while typing my answer.

Me: It was good. He’s a nut-job though. Love you too.

A second later, my phone pings again, and I smile when I see another message.

Frankie: Everyone is out of the house tonight. Mrs. Walsh offered to watch Archer. And I’m really, really horny.

Willing my cock to not get hard in the middle of a food court, I concentrate on typing back.

Me: I think I might know a solution or two.
I’ll be home in about an hour.

Grinning, I slide my phone into my back pocket.

“Why are you grinning like a fool?” Dave asks, sitting down with his food.

“Because your sister wants to do me tonight.”

Scrunching up his face, he throws a ketchup package at me. “I so don’t need to know that. Part of the fucking reason I moved in with Mrs. Walsh.”