I'm not telling you what to do. If this is your truth, then you should live it. You'll regret it if you don't. As much as it hurts me, I must stand by my husband, just as someday, you will stand by your partner. We both love you; we just can't share in your life. Not currently. I hope one day he might change his mind, but I'm not sure he will. I think it was too much. We are children of a different age, of a different time. We are not equipped to handle this type of information gracefully. I hope someday we learn.
I want you to have the most amazing life possible. And I truly hope that you find love, no matter what that may look like for you.
With love, always
Mom
As my mind wandered back through the years, I allowed my father and sister to continue their planning. Would there be flowers? Yes, yellow orchids. Would there be music? Yes, "Amazing Grace" - her favourite hymn. Would there be a eulogy? Yes, Lauren would speak. Where would she be buried? In Brightwood Cemetery, thirty minutes from town, in a plot shaded by spruce trees. Would there be a luncheon? Yes, but the venue was still uncertain. Eventually, their discussion faded into the caverns of my mind, drowned out by my thoughts. Soon, those too dwindled until all that was left was numbness.
THREE
My pace was quick while walking back to the car. I hadn't expected to feel good about seeing my father, but I also hadn't expected to feel quite so hollow. I retreated to the passenger side of the car and sunk deep into the leather seat while Lauren took her time. She hugged him goodbye and ran back into the house to make a quick grocery list of things he needed. It had felt like my father had taken one look at my face and determined that I was still unworthy. Undeserving of his time or even the tiniest fragment of compassion. I was grieving too, and I was entitled to that grief, but he had treated me like I had stolen something invaluable to him. I had no other choice but to admit that our relationship was not only strained; it was damaged beyond repair.
I wished I could say that I didn't care, and that time and distance had made me indifferent, but that would have been a lie. All time and distance had accomplished was putting our dynamic in permanent stasis, frozen in time. It hadn't evolved. Time hadn't healed all wounds. If anything, it had left them to rot. It had only taken five minutes together before we had erupted, spewing our issues in dysfunctional waves. Poor Lauren had stood in quiet awkwardness, watching it all unfold. Coming here had been a mistake. I believed it best if my father and I spent the rest of my stay in complete avoidance. One encounter had been enough.
Twelve days might have been a little ambitious. I decided I would leave the morning after the memorial service. One week, in a town I felt unwelcome in, amongst family I felt removed from. It wouldn't be easy, but I would survive. I resolved myself to spending that time alone, in that dreadful motel room. I cringed. At least I had my laptop to keep me company. I could log into the Posh! servers and catch up on emails. Maybe even attend Monday's planning meeting via video conference. I would find ways to keep busy. I would spend the next seven days in hiding, working. On the plus side, I could avoid being recognized. More importantly, I could avoid awkward encounters with bullies from my past.
I took a deep breath and fastened my seatbelt as Lauren opened the driver's side door. She said nothing. She looked to me with apologetic eyes and started the car. It was three in the afternoon. Out of habit, or maybe a genuine desire to spend more time with me, Lauren once again invited me to dinner. I felt emotionally exhausted. I would have much rather spent the evening in solitude, but out of fear of seeming rude, I accepted.
The rain that had plagued most of the morning had subsided. My sweater felt warm and heavy under the rays of the sun. So, we stopped by my motel room first so that I could change.
"This is where you, the television personality, is staying?" She said tentatively, looking around at the abysmal quarters. "I've never actually been inside these rooms before," she admitted, uncomfortable. "I'm grateful I've been able to avoid it until now."
There were some moments when I could see myself in her. Certain things she would say over the phone or in the brief moments we had together, that proved we were related. This was one of those moments. Underneath her Stepford Wife exterior, there was a level of sarcasm and humour. A trait I had feared was mine alone. She rarely permitted herself to use sarcasm in conversation. She didn't want to risk coming across flippant. Being rude was a reputation she feared more than most things.
"It's awful, I know. I keep reminding myself that it's only temporary."
Lauren pulled out a small bottle of hand sanitizer from her purse. "The offer to sleep on our couch still stands," she said, lathering her hands. "It's in times like these I wish we had a spare bedroom, rather than an office. If I had known there was a chance that you'd ever visit, I would have prepared better." There it was again. She had mastered the art of disguising small, personal jabs as civility. For the third time, I danced around it.
When we got back to Lauren's house, I was surprised to find Bryce in her kitchen, making coffee. Lauren didn't seem surprised by his presence, which led me to think it was a common occurrence. He looked at home. Lauren squeezed his shoulder in greeting. Then, she moved past him and upstairs to her bedroom to change out of her church attire. I leaned against the kitchen counter. I didn't feel entirely comfortable enough to sit without invitation. "Things didn't go well with your dad, huh?" he said, pouring me a cup of coffee.
"Well, I didn't go in with high expectations, and good-old Dad did not disappoint. It could have been worse, though. We only argued seventy percent of the time. It's progress, but I doubt much will change."
"At least you took the first step. You never know, he might come around, in time. Keep trying. Rome wasn't built in a day."
"That may be true, but Rome also fell. It doesn't inspire much confidence in their methods."
"What's your plan now?"
"I'm not sure. I'll likely cut my trip short, lay low for the rest of the week and leave right after the service."
"Lay low?" He repeated. "That sounds pretty dull. I thought people like you needed excitement."
"People like me?" I tried to make my tone curious rather than offended.
"You know, city folk. Aren't you used to rubbing shoulders with musicians and movie stars? I can't believe you'd want to spend a whole week 'laying low.'"
"Most of my shoulder rubbing occurs between nine and eleven am. It's a very limited window. The rest of my days are spent in meetings or at my computer planning for future shows or interviews. It's not as exciting as you would think." I took a sip of my coffee. "But enough about me. How did your game go this afternoon?"
"Well, you would know had you shown up as I suggested." He looked at me until I felt myself blushing, then he smiled and said, "It was just a practice, but it went well. Not even one of those kids has a spot with the Blue Jays in their future. But we might still win the game next weekend. Assuming any one of them can go a whole afternoon without wetting their pants."
I was taken back for a moment. "How old did you say these kids were?"
"I didn't. Generally, they're between five and seven. But lately, I've been tempted to stack the team with a few short eight-year-olds."