“What about Mark and Priya?”
“Not a couple. Mark is Priya’s gay best friend.”
I nodded. I’d wondered if he was gay, but I hadn’t had enough interaction with him to confirm my suspicions.
“And you didn’t have any other guy friends you could have invited?” she continued. “We’ve got a bunch of single ladies coming. No offence, but you’re the only single straight guy coming, and I don’t exactly want any more of my friends hooking up with you. It’s bad enough that you slept with Laura.”
The image of Kirsten’s round white ass bouncing against my crotch as I fucked her from behind, a knot of her blonde hair clenched in my fist, flashed into my head. I said a silent thank you to fate that Vanessa clearly hadn’t found out about it. I then thought of Natalie. This would be the first time I’d be seeing her since last summer, and I was excited, but I also didn’t know if any opportunities were going to present themselves to do anything on the down low; that is, if she even was the mystery crush. Monique still hadn’t let slip who it was she’d meant.
“The weekend’s gonna be a total clambake.” Vanessa’s interjection interrupted my thoughts.
“Clambake?”
“The all-girl version of a sausage party.”
I laughed. “I did invite my roommates, for the record. Steve and Clarence couldn’t make it with working, and Tom decided he wasn’t making the seven-hour drive alone just to hang out with a bunch of people he’d never met.”
“I can’t fault him for that. What about your high school friends?”
“Jon’s going to school in Calgary and is staying there for the summer, Mike and I never hung out one-on-one and we don’t have a reason to see each other without the whole group, and Ian’s gotten into drugs the past few years. It’s sad what’s happening to him, but he’s not the same guy I used to be friends with anymore.”
“That’s really sad.”
“It is. I’d be willing to pick up a friendship with him again if he ever got clean, but from what I’ve heard he’s just gone further down that road since I last saw him.”
“It’s tragic how people who meant something to you just can drift out of your life,” Vanessa observed. “I’m lucky my old friends are still all on good terms. I mean, I’ve been friends with Laura since the second grade. Family’s different, though, isn’t it? You know they’ll always be there, whether or not that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
“Which one am I?” I asked her, point-blank.
“I’m starting to come around to ‘neutral thing’.”
“Likewise.”
We sat in silence for a moment as I navigated the heavy Saturday morning Toronto traffic.
“It’s been, what, seven years now we’ve been in each other’s lives?,” I finally continued. “We’ve lived in the same house for five, but we still hardly speak to each other. I’ve gotten to know a few of your friends better the last two months, and they’re amazing people, but that hasn’t meant getting to know you any differently.”
“Yeah.” Another long pause descended. “I’m sorry, Peter. There’s a lot of history between us. I’m not going to start to trust you just by snapping my fingers. You never treated me with any interest or respect until recently.”
“I know.” I took a deep breath. “As long as I could remember, it was just me and Mom. I knew growing up that other kids had a mommy and a daddy, and brothers and sisters, and I didn’t care, because I had Mom and she had me. We were a team, even when I was little. She always treated me as an equal, not in an inappropriate, oversharing way, but, like… she wanted my opinions, she taught me to trust myself and my judgment.
“Then, after having that for the first fourteen years of my life, suddenly she had a boyfriend. I was so protective of her. I didn’t want her to get hurt. And I was hostile to your dad at first, I’ll freely admit that. I barely even knew you existed; I didn’t care about Walt and I wasn’t interested in learning about the twelve-year old kid that was attached to him.
“They eventually moved in together, we gave up our apartment and moved into your house. I told Mom I didn’t want to go. I didn’t take a stand often, because she respected my opinions even back then and tried to accommodate them, but I did on that. And for the first time in my life, when I stood up and strongly objected to something, I told her that I didn’t like this and didn’t think she should do it, she ultimately went ahead and did it anyway.
“It took me a couple of years to get over that sense of betrayal. It took until after they got married when I was sixteen before I was able to look at them together and not feel hurt or angry. Now, with age and perspective I can totally understand why she married your Dad. She had to look after herself first, and your Dad is a really good guy. But it messed me up for a couple of years. Your dad never stopped trying to be a father figure to me, and in time I came to accept him. But with you, I don’t think either of us ever made an effort. One of us needed to reach out, and I was too in my own head to think to do it. But you never did either.”
Vanessa kept staring out the window, thinking. “I know.”
“I’m trying to reach out now,” I pointed out.
“Yes, I’ve noticed,” she finally said after a long pause. “My Mom died when I was nine. That’s the worst possible age to lose a parent. If you’re younger, I think you aren’t able to hang onto the memories as much, and you accept whatever’s normal for you when you’re old enough to be conscious of it. When you’re older, you’re better equipped to deal with it. But I remember what happened to my Mom, every step of the way.
“I remember how they were trying to have a second child and couldn’t conceive. I remember standing at the top of the stairs in my pyjamas when I was about five, secretly eavesdropping on hushed conversations after dark when I was supposed to be asleep, knowing something was wrong, but knowing they didn’t want me to know. I remember worrying myself sick wondering what was happening. I remember them finally sitting me down and telling me Mom was sick, and she was going to have chemo and radiation and lose all her beautiful brown hair. I remember that strong, proud woman gradually growing frail and weak and becoming an old lady in front of my eyes. And I remember seeing her in the hospital for the last time, in palliative care, unconscious, and Dad telling me that I had to say goodbye.” She started crying, and I instinctively handed her a tissue from the console.
“It took Dad and I years to start healing from losing her, but just like you and Diane, at least we had each other. And then I went through the same thing you did when our families merged. But I don’t think I ever had the same anger towards your Mom that you did towards Dad, because I’d had a mother before. Diane was never going to replace Mom, I didn’t ever think of her in those terms, and I appreciated that she never tried to be a replacement.
“But let me tell you, having your big, manly, bearded father explaining to you about your first period was mortifying, both for him and for me. I missed having another woman around. I missed all the milestones with Mom I’d never get to have, and I needed that feminine presence in my life. It took time for us to learn to trust each other, but Diane has filled that gap for me, and while she’ll never replace my Mom, I appreciate your Mom so much for being there for me over the years she’s been in my life.
“But you know what? I had been kind of looking forward to having a big brother. I’d always wanted a sibling, and I was excited when I found out they were trying to have one, right before Mom’s cancer diagnosis. And then my new big brother was this sullen, moody kid who spent all his time in his room and wouldn’t even look at me, let alone giving me the time of day. I eventually warmed up to your Mom just fine, but it wasn’t a happy time living with you in the next room. I was honestly glad when you left for university. I could breathe again. I could feel comfortable in my own house again. It’s only been for the last two months that I feel like you’ve treated me like a person.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t accept your apology. It’s been too long, and it still hurts how you treated me. But I promise you I’m going to work to getting to the point where I can forgive you.”
I nodded. “I never knew what it was like for you. But I don’t remember you being super welcoming of me either. You were resentful. You used to snap at me, be rude or bratty at me. You never forgave me for not taking your Dad’s name.”
“It would have made us a family, Peter,” Vanessa blurted sharply. “Diane’s now Diane Jelinek, you’re still Peter Lonergan. Why do you still want to hang onto a name that no one else is using?”
“Because it’s my fucking name! Mom got married, she wanted to take her husband’s name, that’s her decision. I’m not Walt’s son. I’m not Czech. I didn’t keep Mom’s name, I kept my name.” I was annoyed. “You never wanted me as a brother. You wanted the idea of the brother that you already had in your head, something to make you a complete family, and you never accepted the fact that I was my own person with my own personality.”
Vanessa and I glared at each other.
“Thank you for inviting me this weekend,” I finally said as I had to look back at the road. “I really like your friends.”
She said nothing, but kept staring out the window. I drove on in silence for a long time, past the airport, through the basketweave, and then north on the 400 past Canada’s Wonderland towards the Holland Marsh.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said, quietly.