There was a heavy pause before Claudia let out with a long whistle. “Well. On that lovely note, I’d say it’s time to get this kid to bed.” Trip’s sister reclaimed her daughter from my arms as Sandy gathered up all of the baby’s things.
Mrs. Wilmington stood up to leave as well, brushed a hand over Trip’s hair and kissed him on his forehead. “Goodnight, my sweet boy. Happy birthday. I love you.”
Trip was still stewing from his mother’s reprimand, but he answered, “Yeah, love you, too, Ma. Thanks for coming out for my birthday.”
“Lunch tomorrow?” she asked hopefully, her attempt at a truce.
Her invitation allowed a small smile to escape his lips as he answered in a resigned voice, “Yeah. Yes. I’ll call you in the morning.”
After they’d gone, I finished cleaning up the kitchen and then collapsed onto the couch next to Trip. He was busy checking out his new gifts: a Tag watch from his mother, and a mini digital palmcorder from his sister and Sandy.
I watched him in silence for a few minutes before asking, “You okay?”
“Why? Because of that thing with my mother?”
“Well, yeah.”
He shrugged his shoulders and said matter-of-factly, “It’s not the first time we’ve disagreed about the guy. I just wish Claudia would back me up a little more sometimes. She had her problems with him, too, you know. But it’s like she and my mom are content to just forget all about it now that he’s gone.”
“But you can’t? Or won’t?”
He gave another shrug, indifferent to the conversation I was trying to start. I already knew how Trip felt about his old man, but he’d never allowed himself to deal with those feelings. Denial had been his coping mechanism for way too long. Forgiveness isn’t really something you can force on a person, but if I could just get him to talk about it, maybe we could sort it out together.
I tried the indirect route. “Hey. What did your mom mean when she said you haven’t forgiven me? I thought we were past that.”
Trip didn’t look up from the pamphlet he was inspecting. “We are. Now. But I spent so many years angry at you that I guess she figures old habits are hard to break.”
“Kinda like you and your dad when you think about it, huh?”
That got his attention as he looked up and met my eyes, a blank expression in his. “You’re you. He’s him. It’s not the same at all.”
I thought he was being intentionally evasive, but I realized the guy probably didn’t want to get the third degree on his birthday. Maybe my timing wasn’t so great. “Do you even want to talk about this?”
“Not really,” he said as he went back to his gifts.
“But you’re okay, right? I feel like your birthday party has this big cloud hanging over it now.”
He stopped futzing with the palmcorder to meet my eyes, a lethal smirk decorating his face. He put a hand under my chin and tipped my face toward him. “It’s not the first time my mother and I have had that discussion. It won’t be the last. You’re making too much of it. Nothing could ruin tonight. Thank you.” At that, he brushed his lips against my forehead in a sweet, pacifying kiss.
Even if I felt my psychoanalysis had been a big bust, I at least knew that Trip was at peace about the evening’s events. I figured we’d be tackling his father situation with baby steps, and that maybe we’d taken enough of those for one night. I could try again another time. A time when it wasn’t his birthday. So, instead of hitting him with the Spanish Inquisition, I pulled a gift bag out from behind the couch and plunked it on his lap.
A huge smile spread across his face.
“You seem surprised,” I noted.
“I just thought the party was my present.”
“Oh my God, Chester. You’re so cute. And stupid. You’re kinda stupid, too. Don’t hurt yourself there, big guy. You just sit there and look pretty, okay?”
He shoved a forearm into me, then tore into his gift.
The first thing he pulled out was a manila envelope. Inside, there was an 8 x 10 photo of us from Oscar night, a really great shot where he was whispering in my ear and I was laughing. I’d contacted US Magazine when I saw it, and asked to buy a print. “Wow, great shot,” Trip said, admiring the picture. “We should frame this one.” He shot me a wink, and it made me smile, but I was anxious for him to see the something-even-better in that envelope.
Trip peeked inside and started chuckling when he saw the folded piece of notebook paper. “Oh, man. You’re not going to make me read this, are you? I’m already cringing.”
I nudged into him and explained, “It’s not your Mind Ramble. It’s mine.”
His eyebrows raised in anticipation, plunging his hand into the envelope and pulling it out.
Here’s what I wrote:
Hey Dummy.
After spending too long in the Hallmark store, I realized that no pre-printed card was going to cut it. I thought it would be best if I wished you a happy 32nd birthday in my own words.
My own words? Okay, here they are: I’m crazy, sick , head-over-heels in love with you.
These past weeks have been the most amazing of my life. Not just because I’m in an exciting new place and taking part in your exciting life.