Finally. Eric’s graduation. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been equally anticipating the boys’ vacation when this day is over.
“I bet you’re looking forward to getting out of this tiny apartment and getting into a house.” My mom cuts right to the chase as she helps me dress the boys. They drove up last night and stayed at a hotel down the road.
“It’ll be nice,” I half-heartedly confirm, not wanting to give her any more. Like, how I don’t think Eric and I will ever live anywhere else . . . together.
“You look tired, Dear.” Bless her heart, she can dress up any insult into concern. The boys get their blonde hair from her. It sits in a glassy bob that falls just below her chin.
“I’m ready for a break. Thank you for taking these two monsters.” I laugh as I tickle the bellies of their freshly-pressed shirts. “Go find Grampa, then we’ll go.” We’re all meeting for a late lunch at Eric’s parents’ house before the evening ceremony. He had to leave early for a reception with his department and said he’d stop by his parents’ house before the ceremony. We’ll see.
I told my parents over the phone about Ollie’s hearing. Despite my trepidation regarding their potential reaction, they were quite understanding and even more excited to take the boys.
My mom fusses with the back of my knee-length “doctor’s wife” dress as I check my lipstick in the mirror. “I’m sure you and Eric could use some quiet time after the stress he’s had over the last several months.”
“Yeah,” I chuckle and mutter, “he’s had,” under my breath.
“What’s that?” She asks, catching my stare in the mirror.
I smack my lips together one final time and smile. “Nothing.”
“Navy looks lovely on you, though you look a little pale. Are you okay?”
She doesn’t care if I’m okay. We’ve never been close, my mother and I. I don’t know if it’s just that my dad and I always bonded over books and scotch—yeah, he let me try scotch at fifteen and I was in love—or if she just wasn’t cut out to be a mother. But, she’s much closer with my little brother, who’s graduating from Cornell this winter. He’ll be going to their medical school in NYC, so that should erase some of my marital shame.
“I’m fine, just tired. We’ve had a busy week of getting all of Oliver’s therapists lined up. Luckily they can start as soon as the boys get back from your house. They’re going to work with Max, too. Teaching him how to speak to his brother, helping him learn that he needs to assist him if something like the fire alarm goes off in the middle of the night . . .”
The ramifications of a hearing impairment get heavier with each passing day.
“What are your plans this week?” my father asks as we join him in the living room.
I shrug as I straighten the boys’ shirts again. “Monday I’ll probably go to the Memorial Day ceremony on the common—”
Locking eyes with my dad, I stop myself. He knows I go every year; I have since Ryker and I first started dating. My mom doesn’t know, though. Didn’t know. Until I just blurted it out. Maybe she forgot. I peek at her face from the corner of my eye and find her disapprovingly pursing her lips, but not saying a word.
Can’t a person go to a public event to honor service members without scrutiny? Maybe, according to my mother, if everything that happened hadn’t happened. I hurry the boys out the door and into the car before she can voice any opinion that she might have.
Two hours later, Eric swoops into his parents’ house to give everyone hugs and kisses before he has to go back to campus. My mom smiles in the way she only does when Eric’s around. It’s like he makes everything all okay for her.
“I’m proud of you, you know,” I say as I walk him to his car. I really am, even though I can’t shake the nagging jealousy that I won’t be up there today with him, receiving my Ph.D.
“Thank you, Honey. I’m proud of you, too. You’ve put up with a lot of shit over the last few months.”
Years, Eric. Years.
The fact that he said “months” proves how out of touch he is.
“Well, see you later, Doctor Johnson.” I give him a well-meaning peck on the cheek and wander out back to find my dad.
Standing by a tree in the backyard, my dad puffs a cigar out of view of the kids and my mother. I shoulder up next to him, taking the cigar from his hand and handing it back after a puff of my own.
“How you doing, Kid?” My dad puts his arm around my shoulders.
I rest my head on his. “Just fine, Michael. Just fine.” I giggle when he smacks me for using his name.
“It’s been quite the few years, hasn’t it?” Sunshine highlights the fact that his hair—which is as black as mine—has very little grey peeking through.
“I saw Ryker last week, Dad.” Apparently I just blurt things out now.