His dad looked up at the ceiling, then back at the steering wheel, and finally back at Gael. Perhaps Gael had hit on some secret. He could tell that this didn’t have as simple an explanation. His heart beat, once again, with that familiar fear.
“I was talking to my therapist,” his dad said finally. “And I didn’t want you kids to see me crying.” His dad’s face turned red, but he didn’t stop. “Look, Gael, your mom and I thought it would be best to keep specifics out of it, but I guess we should have known that your imagination would run wild.” He sighed. “I’m counting on you not to tell her this, and I hate to even put you in this position, but it was really important to her that we protect you guys.”
Gael nodded.
His dad looked down at his hands, then back at Gael. Gael was shocked to see that his eyes were watery, too. “Your mom wasn’t happy, Gael. She needed a change. She still cares about me, of course, but for her, it’s just not the same.”
The words hit Gael like a ton of bricks. “Oh my god, did she cheat?” he spit out.
His dad shook his head vehemently. “No. Your mom wouldn’t do that. But she made it clear that she needed to move on.”
Gael’s head was spinning. “But then why is she the one who’s crying all the time?”
His dad shrugged. “Because it sucks for everyone,” he said. “Even if she wanted it, it still sucks.”
“Why didn’t you try therapy?” Gael asked. “You’re always going on about how therapy is good for everyone . . .”
“We did,” his dad said. He sighed. “You might as well know all of it now. Remember last year when Sammy stayed late on Wednesdays, and we both said we had later office hours scheduled? Well . . .”
(This was the part that got me because, last year, if I had been there, maybe I could have helped Gael’s parents. I could have reminded Gael’s mom of all the natural ebbs, pushed her to give it more of a shot. I could have urged Gael’s dad to fight for her, instead of taking her words at face value. But I didn’t. For years, I wasn’t there for them when I should have been. I was too sure of their success, too happy with my work. I was in love with love, just like Gael. I made the mistake that so many have, of thinking, even if only subconsciously, that if it’s good enough, it doesn’t need work.)
“I hate Mom,” Gael said.
“Please don’t.” His dad’s voice shook.
(Arthur Brennan, a certified Loyalist,6 would never stop loving his soon-to-be-ex-wife. And he wouldn’t stop defending her, either.)
“She loves you. I love you. We love each other, in our way. I’m sorry you had to deal with any of this.” His dad put his face in his hands, stifling a sob.
And Gael didn’t know what to do, except to say, “I love you, too, Dad.” And then Gael wiped his eyes one last time and he got out of the car.
* * *
6. Loyalist (pardon the term, I love revolutionary history): One whose greatest strength when it comes to love is his or her devotion; one who may not fall as fast as the Romantic, but who falls way more deeply when it happens. May result in clinging to the past, overlooking a partner’s flaws, and, frankly, allowing oneself to be walked all over. May also result in a knack for forgiveness that gives one the space to heal and love again.
the real worst day of gael’s life
You’re well familiar with the second-worst day of Gael’s life. And now it only seems fit to share the first, to give you a look into the absolute worst day, the day that would hold that place for him for years to come.
It was a Saturday last July. When Gael and his family should have been grilling or visiting the farmers’ market or rowing in Jordan Lake or one of a million other things they used to do as a family.
Because they had always been a happy family. Even though Gael knew happy families were rare, he’d taken it for granted.
(And I don’t have to tell you that I’d taken it for granted, too.)
Gael knew something was off when his mom and dad walked into the living room, and his mom switched off Piper’s educational program before Piper had even used half of her allotted screen time for the day.
“Hey,” Piper said, running up to the TV and flipping it back on. “I still have forty-five minutes.”
His mom and dad exchanged a look, and then his dad walked up to the TV and turned it off himself. “You’ll get your forty-five minutes, but right now, we need to have, err, a family meeting.”
His parents sat on the couch, side by side, a united front. Piper stayed on the rug where she’d been watching TV. Gael scarfed the remaining leftovers from last night’s Italian dinner and waited for his parents to get on with it. He figured his mom had planned some new chore schedule or his dad wanted to do more outdoor activities together.
He was wrong, of course.
And he hadn’t enjoyed the taste of chicken parmigiana ever since.
His mom took a deep breath and folded her hands in her lap. He realized, suddenly, that her eyes were puffy and that this was probably not about chores.