His voice trembled. “You are special to me—fuck, you always will be.”
I couldn’t see his face, so I couldn’t know if he was actually crying, but it sure as hell sounded like it, and that made me even more confused.
“I guess there are just some things in life that won’t ever make sense,” I said. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to accept that.”
I couldn’t take this conversation anymore. I needed to go to bed and bury myself under the covers.
“I’m gonna let you go, Troy.”
“Wait, are you okay?”
“I will be.” Sniffling, I said, “Bye.”
Before he could respond, I hung up.
It’s over.
Troy
The weather in Boston was brisk as I made my way through the South End neighborhood. It was the morning of Christmas Eve, and the utility poles that lined the street were decked out in garland.
When I got to the address I’d written down, I stopped at the front steps and looked up. There was no point in knocking. She didn’t live here anymore. I’d just wanted to see it.
A man came out of the townhouse. “Can I help you?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Troy?” He tilted his head. “Is that you?”
What? How does he know me? My eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
“I’m Gregory Jones. I was Jennifer’s boyfriend. I recognized your face—you look just like her. I was having some coffee in my kitchen and noticed you staring in the window.”
“I didn’t think anyone who knew her still lived here.”
“We lived here together, and I never moved after she passed.”
“I don’t remember seeing you at the wake,” I said.
“I was there. I just wasn’t standing with the family. We didn’t really get along. They never liked me, never thought I was good enough for her. They thought I was after her money. It didn’t help when she left me her house.” He chuckled. “Now they hate me even more.”
“Well, that’s one thing we have in common. Jennifer’s parents hate me too.”
“Were you just going to linger and not knock on the door?”
“I’m headed to New Jersey for Christmas, and I decided to stop here on the way. I’ve always been curious about where she lived. This is just a quick stop.”
He gestured toward the black door where a holiday wreath with red ribbon hung. “Come in. Please.”
He seemed nice enough. I guessed I had nothing to lose.
I followed him inside the high-end townhouse, which was warm, with an urban feel. A staircase framed in black wood with a mahogany handrail led to a second level. The walls were exposed brick painted white.
On the wall in the foyer was a huge piece of three-dimensional artwork.
“What is this?” I asked.
“I made it,” he said. “It’s metal that was thrown in the trash by people in this neighborhood, all welded together.”
“Wow. That’s cool.”
I looked around, noticing the large windows that let in a lot of sun. “How long did she live here?”
“We moved here when she found out she was sick, actually. Jennifer did well for herself over the years, but for some reason she’d always rented, never wanting to commit to anything.”
Never wanted to commit. The irony.
“She finally bit the bullet and bought a brownstone in the middle of the city, which was exactly where she wanted to be in her last days.”
“Did you take care of her?”
He nodded. “Until the very end.”
Should I thank him for that? I didn’t know, so I said nothing, instead walking over to a corner of the room where a photo of my mother sat on a shelf. Lifting it, I said, “I’m the only one in my family who doesn’t look like the Serrano side. It’s because I look like her.”
“You sure do. That’s how I knew it was you standing outside.”
I continued looking at the photo. Jennifer sure knew how to dress. Crisp white shirt. A string of pearls. Black blazer. She looked…powerful.
“I should feel something when I look at this, but I don’t,” I told him. “I guess that’s better than feeling anger.”
“I think she’d be happy with that. She didn’t expect anything more from you.”
I finally took my eyes off the photo and turned to him. “How do you know what she expected?”
“Because I knew her better than anyone. She was my entire life. After all these years, I still haven’t been able to move on.” He stood beside me and looked down at the photo. “I’d love to tell you about her, if you’ll listen.”
I put the frame back on the shelf. “Okay...”
“Can I make you some coffee or tea?” he asked.
“I could go for some coffee.”
“How do you take it?”
“Black.”
Since leaving Meadowbrook, I only drank my coffee that way. It reminded me of Aspyn.
“Easy enough.” He smiled.
Gregory had longish, salt-and-pepper hair and a gray beard. He sort of reminded me of a scruffier George Clooney. His hipster style was the opposite of my mother’s more formal vibe. Clearly, opposites attracted.
We moved into the kitchen, which had bright yellow cabinets.
“Did she pick that yellow color?”
“That was her appeasing me. Her taste was a bit more conservative. She let me handle the kitchen design, though.” He chuckled. “Pretty sure she regretted that.”
After Gregory poured me a coffee, we sat down together at the kitchen table, which had a lacquer top.
He took a sip from his mug. “I know you probably think you have her all figured out, that she was simply selfish for giving you up. But I can assure you, there’s a lot you don’t know.”
“So enlighten me.”
“I’ve thought about coming to find you over the years. But I was never quite sure if you’d want that.” He rubbed his temple. “Anyway, I know Jennifer wanted to tell you a lot of this stuff herself, but she never had the chance.”
“Okay…”
“Once it became clear that she wasn’t going to make it, she started seeing her life in a different light. She had a lot of regrets—her biggest being never having a relationship with you. She had a tough time forgiving herself for that, and I have to say she took much of that regret with her when she died, never really achieving any peace with it.”
It gave me no satisfaction to know that. No matter her mistakes, she deserved to die in peace.
“When we’re younger,” he continued, “sometimes we make decisions that haunt us for the rest of our lives. Your mother was a people pleaser, particularly when it came to her parents. They put a lot of pressure on her from a very young age to be successful. In that sense, I suppose they were progressive for their generation. They also put a tremendous amount of pressure on her to give you up. She couldn’t blame them entirely—after all, she had free will. She could’ve run away or defied them. But she made the decision she felt was best at the time. She never doubted that your father would love you and take good care of you, because he fought her so hard to keep you. What she underestimated was the level of regret that would build up for her over the years at having missed seeing you grow up. With each year that passed, though, she felt like she had less and less right to a place in your life.”