“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.