“Normal would be very nice. I can’t fathom it, though . . .” Beverly says with merry acceptance. “So anyway. Yes. Charlie and Summer . . . I’m really pleased . . . Wasn’t wild about her last boyfriend. At least, I wasn’t crazy about his mother—which is all that matters, right?”
Valerie asks who her last boyfriend was, feeling a rush of cheap delight when Beverly says Grayson’s name. But she still refrains from making a derogatory comment about Romy, and instead says, “Did they have a ... falling-out?”
“Not really sure of the details. I know they—she—called it quits right before Christmas. I think his gift wasn’t up to snuff . . . or at least it couldn’t compete with the beaded bracelet Charlie gave her.”
Valerie’s mouth falls open, as she remembers the bracelet Charlie made in therapy, the one she assumed was for her, but never showed up under the tree. “Really? He didn’t tell me,” she says, shocked—in a good way.
“Yeah. It was purple and yellow—Summer’s favorite colors. . . You’ve clearly taught him well.”
Valerie smiles, appreciating this spin on Charlie’s gesture, appreciating any scrap of approval she can get, especially in the parenting department. “I try,” she says.
“So anyway, I was just calling to see if the two of you wanted to join us this Saturday for a playdate? A chaperoned first date of sorts?” Beverly says.
Valerie turns toward the window, watching dusk and sleet fall upon the city. “That sounds great. We’d love to,” she says, surprised to realize that she actually means it.
***
Later that night, over tacos at Jason’s, she decides to tell Charlie about the playdate with Summer. She is excited for her son, although part of her still wonders if the crush has been manufactured by Beverly, spawned from maternal guilt.
“Oh, Charlie,” she says nonchalantly, spooning diced tomatoes and onions onto her plate in the assembly line Hank has created along the kitchen counter. “Summer’s mother called today.”
Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees Charlie look at her, his small eyebrows arched with curiosity. “What did she say?” he asks.
“She invited you over to play on Saturday. She invited both of us over. I told her yes. Is that okay? Would you like to go?”
She looks at him, awaiting his reaction.
“Yes,” he says, a small srnile flashing across his face, confirming everything.
Valerie smiles back at him, feeling happy to see him happy, but also awash with a new brand of protectiveness—the kind that comes when things are going well. It occurs to her that she has always believed in keeping expectations low. You can’t get hurt if you don’t care. Nick has proven that theory.
“Now. Wait. Who is Summer?” Jason asks—even though Valerie is sure that he knows exactly who Summer is — while Hank looks on curiously.
“A girl in my class,” Charlie says, his ears turning a telling shade of pink.
Hank and Jason exchange a knowing smirk and then Hank breaks the ice with a hearty, “Charlie! Do you have a girlfriend?”
Charlie hides another, broader smile with his taco shell and shrugs.
Jason reaches over and punches him on the shoulder. “Go, Chuck! Is she pretty?”
“She’s beautiful,” Charlie says, his voice and expression so pure and sincere and angelic that Valerie feels an inexplicable knot in her chest — a feeling that she can’t quite place as good or bad.
***
Later that night, as she applies vitamin E ointment to Charlie’s cheek, the feeling in her chest returns when he looks at her, wide-eyed, and says, “You know, Mommy. Summer is sorry for what she said.”
She feels herself tense, remembering those words, that day.
“Oh?” she says carefully.
“About having an alien face,” Charlie says matter-of-factly.
“Really?” she says, not knowing what else to say.
“Yes. She said she was sorry. And that she takes it back. She said she likes my face the way it is ... And so ... and so I . . . forgave her. And that’s why she’s my friend.”
“I’m so glad,” Valerie says, awash with raw emotion. She looks at Charlie and can’t decide whether he is enlightening her or asking her permission for his feelings.
“Forgiveness is a good thing,” she says—which seems to cover both possibilities. And in that moment, looking upon her son’s scarred but contented face, she lets go of some of her bitterness, and feels her heart start to mend, just a little.
41
Tessa