The Most Fun We Ever Had (69 page)

“Look, Jonah, I—I didn’t know who I was, when you were born. And I—to be honest, I haven’t really known since. Your existence has had a huge impact on mine, even if—but I can’t— Things would be so different, if you’d come back into my life and I was alone. But when you have kids, you have to—you know, table any kind of soul-searching. You’ve triggered a lot of old stuff for me, just by being here, and that’s not your fault by any stretch, but I can’t change the fact that it’s hard for me. That it’s going to be hard for me for—a while. Maybe forever. I don’t know. But it didn’t occur to me until recently that I’m making it a great deal harder by resisting it.” Had Wendy not said as much to her, when she was in labor with Jonah? But Wendy had always been better than she at taking things as they came, rolling with the punches. She supposed it was that particular reflex that had gotten them into this situation in the first place. “I’d like for us to try and make this work. Is that something you’re interested in?”

He squirmed. “Sure.”

“That’s going to require us to be candid with each other. And patient.”

“Were you reading a book about this?”

She colored. “Just some stuff online.”

Jonah smiled. “Bondingwithyoursecretkid.org.”

She laughed in spite of herself.

“If we’re being
candid
?” he asked. “I didn’t drink the wine.”

“Excuse me?”

“The wine I took. I was fucking with you. To see what you’d do. You’re one of those people who—like, everything’s so fucking perfect that sometimes it’s just fun to, like, mess things up. Move a doily and see how you react.”

“I don’t own any
doilies.
”

“Anyway, sorry. I gave it to Grace. I didn’t—I just felt like having a little fun with you.”

“At my expense, more like. Though I guess that’s your job, isn’t it?”

“Until I’m cleared to work at Baskin-Robbins,” he said. Then: “What’s my dad like?”

She froze.

“Assuming you even know who he is.” There was that hint of combat she’d seen in him the first time they met, the prickly unabashedness that made her feel a surprising pride. Perhaps her litigious genes had found a foothold in the fibers of his being; perhaps she’d given him something valuable after all.

“Of course I know who he is,” she said, trying not to sound offended because she assumed that was what he wanted. “Or I mean I—I knew who he
was,
back when—”

“He’s
dead
?”

“No, no. I mean, not that I’ve heard. It’s been—well, it’s been sixteen years.” She studied him. “Sixteen plus, I guess. Happy birthday, by the way. I can’t believe I— Well, I didn’t
forget,
you know. I never have.” She had never forgotten the moment he was born; the memory existed in her like an extra organ; her body, healing from his birth, had created a space for it, for
him,
and though she could will herself not to think about it, she had always been certain of its presence.

Beside her, Jonah stiffened. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You were born at nine-fourteen in the morning. There hasn’t been a year that’s passed without my being cognizant of that exact time on January seventh. I don’t— I know I’ve been a letdown in every possible way, Jonah, but I’ve never stopped thinking about you.” She paused. “I’ll make up for it next year, if you let me.” And she was conscious, this time, of promising him longevity. She actually
hoped,
she realized, that they would have this to look forward to.

“Sure,” he said. He was staring intently at the ground, but she could see from the tightness of his mouth that he was trying not to smile. “Chuck E. Cheese’s. I’ll see you there.”

And there was something indescribably lovely about this, the baby who’d once jabbed with restless knees at your internal organs sitting beside you on a park bench and benevolently giving you shit, and it occurred to her that it was moments like these that made being alive feel worth it, little blips of contentment amid the mayhem and status quo.

She was not surprised when it was ruined: “What’s my dad’s name?” Jonah asked.

“I— Listen, Jonah, there’s no one else on the earth who knows this, so I’m not one hundred percent comfortable with—”

“You’re the one who brought up candor.”

“And
patience.
” She was aggravated, but there was a kind of pleasure to be found in the rhythm of their conversation, and as she saw Jonah come to life before her for the first time—the first time he was speaking to her like he did to Wendy, or her parents—she began to wonder if maybe she
could
be honest with him; he was, after all, the most deserving recipient of this information. And it bound her to him further; they were the two people on the earth to whom the details were most relevant. “I’ve never told anyone this,” she said.

“I asked Wendy and Grace,” he admitted.

“Wendy and Grace don’t know anything. Nobody knows. As I said.”

“Not even Matt?”

She reddened.

“Shit,” he said. “That’s, like, high-level fraud.”

“It’s not
fraud.
It’s just—it’s never really mattered.” She realized how this sounded. “I mean, of course it
mattered,
but not—”

“Not if you never saw me again, as planned.” She couldn’t read his expression. “It’s fine,” he said. “I never expected that you’d be like super-stoked to see me.”

“I never expected
to
see you. I never thought we’d be— But here we are. And of course I’m happy about that. Just because it wasn’t something I planned on doesn’t mean I don’t welcome it.”

He eyed her askance.

“I realize it may not seem like I welcomed it
at first.
”

He snorted. “Convincing.”

“Of course it mattered to me who your father was. Is. Matters. Jesus.”

“That’s all you’re going to give me?”

She set her jaw, knitted her fingers together. “For the purposes of this conversation.”

“What are the purposes of this conversation?”

She didn’t answer right away. “I had this boyfriend in college,” she said. “He was finishing his PhD when we were together. Biochemistry. An incredibly smart man.”

“But?”

“Pardon?”

“It sounded like that’s where you were headed.”

“No buts,” she said. She felt a prickle of agitation at his interruption. “We weren’t meant to be together long-term. Which was a surprise to me, to tell you the truth.” She’d caught his attention; he still wasn’t looking at her but there was interest on his face, a lift in his eyebrows that reminded her of her mom. “We were together for almost three years,” she said. “I was sure we would get married. But I was also— Well, I was twenty-one, so I was a complete dumbass.”

A flicker of a smile from him. “So what happened?”

She hesitated.

“Look,” he said, “all I know about him is that he maybe has a PhD and he dated a dumbass for three years. I’m not going to, like, send a bounty hunter after him.” He kicked at the eco-friendly foam gravel substitute. “I don’t like you that much.”

He’d told the joke so self-consciously, with such affected disdain, that it brought tears to her eyes. He was a funny, thoughtful, inquisitive kid. She’d treated him so poorly. He hadn’t asked for any of it. “He cheated on me,” she said. “And we broke up.”

“End of story?”

She swallowed. “More or less.”

“Which means there’s more.”

She turned to face him, baldly, studying him without shame or tact, the way she did Wyatt and Eli, the way you were allowed to stare at another person only when they came from you. There was the loveliness in his face she’d seen when she first met him. Her father’s forehead. Cheekbones that reminded her, residually, of a photo she’d seen of her maternal grandmother. So odd, how these tiny vestiges of earlier times could appear plainly on the landscape of a face, ghostly particles of people you’d never met.

“If I tell you this, I—need some form of assurance that you’ll keep it between us.” The odds of this were slim, she knew. Information had a way of trickling down, particularly in her family. But she owed him this much, and she owed it to him before it got tarnished by the anger of others involved. Jonah wouldn’t be hurt by it in the way that Wendy or Matt would. Jonah was, interestingly, the only one she’d yet to lie to. Here was her clean slate, her chance to begin anew with him.

“Do you want me to, like, sign something?”

She had not, of course, considered all possible avenues of fallout, but she knew with certainty that they would be lesser in magnitude than the decision she’d made with Wendy all those years ago.

“I made an error in judgment.”

“With the scientist guy?”

“No. With—someone who’d—well, they’d broken up, but he’d dated my—for years. My best friend. So she would be—deeply hurt by this.”

“Who’s your best friend? Do you even
have
any friends?”

“You and Wendy share a sense of humor; do you know that?”

“Your mom says that too.”

“I’m not quite ready to just— I’ll tell you this, okay? I wasn’t in love with this man. I never told him about you. But he was kind. Very thoughtful. Agile.”

“Gross,”
Jonah said, and she realized how he’d interpreted this and blushed wildly.

“Oh, God, I meant— No, he was an athlete. Not in— Christ. Like, a
sports
athlete.”

“My father, the friendly
sports athlete.
”

She felt more connected to him, in that moment, than she ever had. He seemed to her a realist, and this struck her: there she was, within him. She was absent from the sharp contours of his body and the soft ease of his voice, but his practicality, his ability to accept the world as it was, had to have come from Violet herself. People were often disappointing. Their stories were unsatisfactory. She had come to terms with this years ago, and he was doing the same in a few-minute span on a suburban playground.

“Can I ask another question?”

“Oh, look, Jonah, I wonder if maybe we’ve covered enough—”

“Did you ever think about keeping me?”

She looked over at him, took a chance and put a hand on his shoulder. “All the time.”

She worried he would ask her most feared follow-up question,
Do you regret not keeping me,
but he didn’t, and he also didn’t recoil at her touch.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Grace was going home. She had confessed to her parents—had arranged it with Wendy so her sister would be at the house on Fair Oaks when the call came, to act as a buffer. If she watched one more true-crime documentary, she worried she might take up serial murder herself. Her parents were in Chicago, and Loomis, and her sisters, and Jonah. And her new niece, just a few weeks old, too small still to understand how wildly disappointing her youngest aunt was. People who gave her a pass on her lackluster performance in life because she was the baby of the family and always would be. She gave them a perpetual excuse to feel superior simply by virtue of her lack of exposure to the world.

There was a line at Orion, so she lingered by the end of the counter, and Ben saw her and had to wait on four people before he could talk to her. Finally he took the last order and whispered something to his coworker, and then he removed his apron and joined her.

“Sorenson,” he said awkwardly. “Long time.”

She was already feeling herself starting to cry and she bit down on her tongue until the sensation went away. “Hi,” she said. “Do you have a couple minutes?”

“Twenty-five,” he said. “Not to brag.”

“Can we walk?” she asked.

He turned to her, bemused. “Yeah, Sorenson. Whatever you want.”

They walked together for a few minutes in silence, not looking at each other. Ben stopped to arch his back—he opened on Sundays and had presumably been on his feet for eight hours already—and then he turned to her. “So what’s new? It’s been—a while.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Nothing. I mean—some things.” She was trying to pin down exactly how much Jonah had told him. “Sorry I’ve been a little—off the radar. Family stuff.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Getting there,” she said.

“I met your nephew.”

“I heard. I— Ben, I’m sorry for—”

“I’m not allowed to care what you were doing that night.”

“Of course you—”

“I’m not. That’s not how this works.”

“How
what
works?”

“This—whatever it is we have. We’re—I don’t know, we’re just
friends,
I guess. I’m not allowed to be angry or curious or fucking
hurt
if you choose to spend the night with someone else. I’m not entitled to— God, I’m not sure we
are
friends anymore, even.”

“I hope we are.” She paused. “I made a mistake.”

He stopped walking.

“It was a stupid, one-time thing. A bartender.”

“Jesus. Not the guy from the Comeback?”

“Well, I—”

“The fucking
Irish
guy?”

“You don’t have to say
Irish
like some kind of weird nationalist. He’s just a regular person.”

When he spoke again, his voice was strange: “Why are you telling me this? Why did you come here? Do you have any idea how cruel this is? You know you still haven’t said a word to me about Christmas? I said some stuff and you just fucking—like it never even happened? How is it possible that you’re this emotionally idiotic?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t— This isn’t who I am. I never wanted to— The thought of hurting you makes me want to— I was drunk, and I was scared, and I—”

“Scared of what?” His voice had quieted.

She waved her hands in front of her. “Everything. I don’t know.”

“Did you come here to tell me that you’re going out with him now?”

“No. No, not at all.” She paused. “I’m here to tell you I’m going to Chicago.”

He stopped walking. “For—what? A visit?”

“No. I think I’m done here. Portland hasn’t really…brought out my best. I’m going to live with my parents for a little bit.” The tears were back, filling her throat, blurring her vision. “And maybe help out my sister, Liza; she’s the one who—”