We return to Alex’s point of view, picking up on Black Friday.
November
While the rest of America went bonkers with starting their over the top Christmas shopping, I focused on cleaning my studio and giving Dad a little time. As much as he’d enjoyed Thanksgiving at Mia and Jake’s, he’d woken cranky and decidedly difficult.
“I’m going to paint all day,” he announced over breakfast. He’d barely touched his bowl of cheese grits, bacon and scrambled eggs. The cat was enjoying more of it than he was.
“Alright. You want me to make myself scarce?”
“You do what you need to do. I need to paint.”
I made sure there was food in the fridge for him and then called Uncle Horace and told him that Dad was on his own for a few hours.
“I’ll come by in a bit and see if he’s in the mood for pie at the diner.”
Pie was Uncle Horace’s solution to most problems. When I was a kid and frustrated with my mom and dad’s draconian punishments, Uncle Horace always made things better by taking me to the diner to talk about whatever problems I was dealing with over a slice of pie and coffee for him and hot chocolate for me.
“He’s in a mood,” I cautioned.
“I grew up with your dad’s moods,” Uncle Horace said with a laugh. “I’m used to them. You go do what you need to do. I’ll take care of Walt.”
By the time I left, my dad had already changed into his painting overalls, faded plaid flannel shirt, and grungy work boots and retreated to his studio. I went by the studio to say goodbye, but he’d grunted at me. At least the canvas he was working on looked new – a landscape of the mountains in pale winter light. I couldn’t tell if the view was real or imagined, but it was so damned beautiful it made me wish he’d let me take the finished version in the house. He never did, though. His finished canvases were stacked in the corner of the studio, never seeing the light of day. I wished he’d share his talent with others, but he always insisted his paintings were just a way to let off steam, not much else.
I walked into town. I needed to stretch my legs, and it wasn’t far. I figured I could call my brother Will while I walked. I checked my messages to see if I’d missed any of his calls, but the only missed calls were from my clients. He hadn’t called on the home landline either. I didn’t get it. He didn’t even call to wish us a happy Thanksgiving. Dad pretended he and Will spoke often, but I knew the truth. My older brother rarely called. We barely even knew his kids. The annual Christmas card charted how much they’d grown, but I hadn’t seen either of my nieces in four years. Being sulky and angry didn’t work with Will. He’d write me off as a brat and let me know. So, while I walked, I tried to figure out the best way to broach the subject of when he’d finally start pitching in. Baby steps, I figured, before I sprang on him, that Dad might need more care than I could possibly give.
When my phone started to vibrate in my pocket, I expected it to be one of my clients needing to reschedule or cancel.
But this time it was actually Will.
“Are you coming home for Christmas?” I asked once the niceties were out of the way.
“I don’t know, Caitlyn and I haven’t decided yet,” Will didn’t bother to elaborate. He never did.
“Dad’s getting pretty unpredictable.”
“He’s always been that way, Alex. You know how he is.”
“I think it’s more, though. He’s getting more forgetful.” I tried to figure out the best way to formulate it so that Will would actually take it seriously this time. I think sometimes he
“Look, you were the one who said you could be responsible for him.”
“I didn’t think that meant you’d write Dad off completely.”
“I’ve got a family of my own to take care of.”
“So what are you saying? Dad and I aren’t part of your family anymore? Is that it?”
“I’m saying I have other priorities.” Will didn’t bother to hide his derision. “If you stopped behaving like you and Dad are the center of the fucking universe, you’d know I can’t drop everything because he has one or two bad episodes.”
“It’s not just one or two bad episodes.” I tried to keep my temper. “If things get worse, we’ll have to put Dad in a home or hire someone who can care for him round the clock.”
“That’s what you’re supposed to be doing.”
“I have a job.” I reminded him.
“Playing at being a therapist isn’t a job. You can give people cuddles in your spare time. This is real life, Alex. Grow the fuck up.”
His words hit me like a punch in the gut. He always knew exactly where to aim.
“Good to know where I stand with you, Will.”
“Oh, come on. What you’re doing isn’t real therapy. I mean, I’m sure you make people feel better but it’s not medicine. It’s not real healthcare.”
“I’m not going to discuss with you whether what I do is real or not, especially when you don’t know anything about what I do.”
By now, I was crossing the village green. I kept my head down to avoid making eye contact with any of the locals. The last thing I wanted was to force a smile and fake any joviality to keep up appearances. Everyone here in Hunters Grove still worshiped Will from his highschool football days. They didn’t seem to get that he despised everyone and everything about Hunters Grove.
“Are we done then?”
I didn’t need to think about it. “Yeah, we are.” I ended the call without saying goodbye or promising to call some other time. What was the point? Will made it crystal clear: when it came to Dad, I was on my own.
I spent the rest of the day cleaning my studio and trying not to overthink my phone call with Will. Telling Dad about it was definitely a no-go. As disappointed as he’d be, he’d still defend Will. Of course he would. Will was the Golden Boy – the one who followed in Dad’s footsteps and became a “real” doctor. It had always been that way. I was the fuck up. I was the one my dad had said was wasting my time in New York. It still rankled when I remembered him scoffing as I told him about the cuddle therapy training I’d been doing. It was just before Mom got sick and they’d come down for a visit. I’d been laid off from the job that was meant to be my dream job and stumbled upon cuddle therapy after reading so many stories about people feeling like they couldn’t connect with anyone. It resonated with me. I knew that feeling. I’d struggled with it too. And it was only when I stopped trying to be what everyone else thought I should be that I felt comfortable in my own skin. By then, I’d stopped trying to be Will 2.0 and focused on being Alex 1.0.
My mom loved it.
My dad?
Not so much.
I told him about the classes I was taking and how they were aimed at helping people who were experiencing intimacy issues. He took it the wrong way. He jumped to the conclusion that I was a sex worker and railed at what he’d have to tell people back home if they asked what I was doing in New York. But Mom…she got it. She understood from the beginning and encouraged me to help people in my own way.
“Your brother and your dad think writing prescriptions is the answer to everything,” she confided to me before she and my dad took the train back to Vermont. “But you and I know better. Sometimes what people need is someone to hold their hand and remind them there’s someone out there who cares and listens.”
Damn.
Just thinking about that day reminded me of how much I missed my mom. She held all of us together. Will was nicer then. He would have done anything for Mom. If she were still alive and said to him, “You need to come home for Christmas” he’d do it, no matter what Caitlyn wanted.
When Mom was still alive, it was always our family first.
There was never any question about it.
Those days were over, and I had to accept it. My brother no longer wanted to be connected to Dad and me.
By the time I finished cleaning up the studio the sun had already set and a light dusting of snow covered the village green and the streets below. Uncle Horace had texted me already to let me know that he and Dad were at the diner. I let him know I’d join them but what I really wanted was to head off...somewhere, anywhere...as long as I didn’t feel the weight of being my dad’s caregiver and my brother’s punching bag on my shoulders.
But my dad needed me, even if he was too stubborn to admit it.
And Will...well, no matter what he thought, I wasn’t going to let his arrogance make me doubt that I was where I needed to be and doing what I needed to do.
I double-checked that all the windows were closed and locked, and then turned off the lights. Another day ended.
On the walk home, my mom’s presence felt so close. I never told anyone how much I missed her or how alone I felt. What was the point? Everyone thought I had my brother’s support, but Will didn’t give a damn.
He just wanted me to shoulder Dad’s condition so he could get on with his own life.
I didn’t want to go straight home. Uncle Horace had already let me know that he and Dad were fine. He’d convinced Dad to join him at the diner for some turkey chili and pie as dinner.
Normally, I would have used this sudden freedom to check my dating app, see who I matched with, and head over to Hanover. But I didn’t have it in me today. It all felt pointless. Why put on my game face and pretend I had it all together when anyone I hooked up with wouldn’t want something serious. And they sure as hell wouldn’t want to take on me and my dad.
And if Will wasn’t going to help, I had to figure out a realistic future for Dad and me. One day, he wouldn’t be able to be at home on his own. We’d need a caregiver to help me deal with the day-to-day goings on. Could we afford that kind of help? Sure, if Will helped. I did okay with my therapy sessions but I was still paying off my student loans. I didn’t have a clear idea on how much my dad had saved up since he thought talking about money was shameful.
Instead of walking home, I veered past the fire station and across the village green to the bar that most locals pretended didn’t exist… but often ended up there anyway. Joe’s Place was the kind of diver bar I remembered from living in New York. The floors were sometimes sticky from spilled beer. The music blasting from the Bluetooth speakers they’d mounted – perhaps one of the few updates to show they were modern, since they still had a functional jukebox – consisted of all the songs from my college days. Songs by bands like Kings of Leon, the White Stripes, Arctic Monkeys and Arcade Fire filled the space while the locals who chose the bar over the diner nursed beers and played darts or shot rounds of pool.
It wasn’t my usual haunt. If I’d gone to the diner, I would have had to smile and pretend everything was A-OK. Someone would have quizzes me about how Will and his family spent their Thansgiving and I didn’t even fucking know. All I knew was that I didn’t want to lie and I didn’t want to pretend I was okay with his absence and his arrogance.
I’d forgotten that Loren, Bran’s mother, worked there. When she saw me approaching the bar, she gave me a quizzical look and nodded to let me know she’d be right with me without letting up on her banter some of the other locals expected.Once she’d taken care of her other patrons, she came over to me and behaved like we only knew each other from the bar.
I ordered a pint of Carlsberg lager and, once she’d set it in front of me, I assured her that everything was okay. “I don’t have any bad news or anything. Just needed a change of scenery from the diner.”
“You had me worried.” Loren clinked her glass full of ginger ale with my pint glass of beer. “I was so sure you were going to say you didn’t have time for Bran.”
“Nothing like that.” I took a sip of my beer and savored how good it felt sliding down my throat. “Just dealing with some family issues –”
“Will?” Of course, Loren knew about him. She’d gone to our local high school the same time as us. She knew all about his fame among everyone in Hunters Grove. She let out a groan. “Is everyone still acting like he’s fucking godhead? He’s never even here.”
“We both know that. Even Uncle Horace gets it” I shrugged and took another long gulp of me beer. “But everyone else? They worship at the altar of Will and don’t think about the fact that he hasn’t been here since our mom died.”
“Will?” Of course, Loren knew about him. She’d gone to our local high school. She knew all about his fame among everyone in Hunters Grove. She let out a groan. “Is everyone still acting like he’s fucking godhead? He’s never even here.”
“We both know that. Even Uncle Horace gets it. But everyone else? They worship at the altar of Will and don’t think about the fact that he hasn’t been here since our mom died.”
“How’s your dad?”
“Not awful, but not great either. How’s Bran?”
“Bran’s okay. I guess. He says he’s okay.”
“Is he home now?”
“He is. He’s still dealing with the cast but he’s better at getting around.” Loren sounded relieved, which eased my mind. Bran was one of my patients who needed extra help. He was introverted enough that the usual nullshit of trying to be social could be so damn difficult.
I got it.
I was the same when I was his age.
“Could you come and see him again?” Loren topped up my now depleted beer without my asking. “I know it would mean the world. He liked meeting your dad too.” “Sure. I think we could come. Just let him know we are in his corner.”
“Your brother might be an ass but we still love and appreciate people like you, Alex.”
