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kay_b- Thank you Kay, and I'm glad you found your way to my little story. And just so you know, I don't think your feedback was short. Plus, in my mind, any feedback at all rocks, so... I'm glad my fic has touched you, and thanks again.
LizMichael 4 Ever- You are a very brave person to read it all in such a short period of time. I'm not sure I could do it.
Being that with this next chapter we're up to...oh...447 pages in word. Yikes! Thank you for sticking with it and me. I appreciate it.
Say- I don't think I've ever paused when I was reading feedback before, but I did with yours. Words are powerful things, you proved that. And thank you for bugging me.
To all lurkers...hello!
Look! It's here! Thank you for all you guys (and girls, if that endearment bothers you in any way) do for me. If my words affect you in any way, then yours affect me ten times more. Not an exaggeration, I assure you.
I don't own Forbes, but that's probably incredibly obvious to you. None the less I must say it, and so here I am, saying it.
And here's chapter 39. Enjoy.
Chapter 39: As I Am
“I can walk like a normal person now!” Alex let out a massive sigh and spread his arms wide, accepting the January day.
Liz clutched the sides of her head, as though in extreme pain. “So…many…insults. Brain…in…overload.”
“Shut up.” Alex laughed and shoved her softly, making Liz stagger a bit to her left. She laughed and shoved him right back. Alex lost his footing just a bit and slipped across an icy patch of New York sidewalk.
Having just left the hospital, the threesome was in search of a place to eat. This was due mostly to Alex, who had declared as soon as they exited the hospital that he was a growing boy and needed nourishment.
“So, seriously…why aren’t you guys more surprised to see him on the cover of Forbes?”
Liz and Alex threw each other a look behind Isabel’s head. It was easy to forget that Isabel hadn’t grown up with them, and so wasn’t acquainted with the idea of seeing her dad on the cover of a magazine or on a broadcast of a major news network or throwing out the first pitch in a Major League Baseball game. It was something they simply glossed over because their dad, famous in his own right, never put much emphasis on celebrity. They’d have to make an effort in the future to remember that much of this was new to her.
“Well…it’s something we’re used to, Iz.” Liz took the magazine from Isabel, and the taller girl followed the movement with her head.
“Yeah.” Alex wrapped an arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders, pressing her body into his side. “Dad being famous doesn’t really faze us. Never really did. By the way…I really,
really like being able to hold you like this.”
Isabel laughed and rolled her eyes at him. “You are such a dork.”
“True. But I’m
your dork. And that’s the best part.”
Liz chuckled lightly and shook her head. “It was about time he was on the cover again, though. When was his last cover? Seven years ago, right?” Liz looked down at the cover of the magazine in her hands and barely missed running directly into a man walking the opposite direction on the sidewalk.
Alex looked over at his sister as she regained her bearings and said, “Sounds about right.”
Liz studied the photo in her hands as the three stopped in front of a restaurant. “He looks good. It’s a very flattering shot of him. I would have done something different with the lighting, though.” She chewed her bottom lip as she studied the photo with narrowed eyes, focusing on aspects of the image others would have completely glossed over. After a minute or so, she looked up at the storefront then back to her companions, jerking her head once at the window to her back. “How about here?”
They all agreed it looked to be a fine place to eat and entered, immediately opening their jackets in the warmth of the restaurant. They picked a table and sat and as they waited to be served, Liz opened the copy of Forbes in front of her to the article on Papa Parker, bypassing an article on common mistakes in managing a 401K and an article on hot jobs in a shrinking marketplace.
Isabel had been so startled by the magazine’s existence that she hadn’t actually gotten around to cracking it open. She was interested to see what someone else had to say about the Parker patriarch; she was interested to see how someone else saw him without the bias of family. So she urged Liz to read it aloud.
When Liz did, Isabel sat with rapt attention. It struck Liz that Isabel couldn’t take in enough information. She seemed almost starved for it. The weight of that settled on Liz, right in the middle of her chest. “State of grace…or how one man made an empire out of a little thing called family.” Liz chuckled lightly.
“Totally suits dad.” Alex leaned back in the booth and stretched his legs out in front of him, bumping his legs into Liz in the process. “Hey…I bumped into you, and I didn’t hurt you! I am no longer a walking catastrophe.”
“I wouldn’t be too quick to claim that, Al.”
Alex paused. “I could be insulted, but since I think that’s actually an accurate assessment on your part, based largely on observable fact, I choose not to be.”
“Good choice.”
“Thank you.”
“Can we get back to the article? I really want to hear it.”
Alex made a motion of zipping his lips, locking them and throwing away the key and sat back once again in the booth, stretching his arms across the back of the black leather.
Liz gave Alex a look and lowered her eyes once more to the magazine on the table in front of her. She laid her right hand flat on the tabletop and her left hand on the slick pages of the magazine as her clean, even California accent lit up each word.
-:-:-:-
Michael opened the front door to the apartment and blew in, quick as a whirlwind. A curious Max popped his head out of the kitchen and watched as his friend ran around the apartment frantically, searching for something.
Max spoke slowly, a little wary. “Hey Mike…how was class?”
Michael grunted out a few words, one of which sounded something close to ‘fine’ but kept up his search, not sparing Max so much as a simple glance.
Max moved into the living room and watched his friend as he pulled up couch cushions, opened drawers, and lifted chairs. “Mike…are you okay?”
“Yeah…of course.”
Michael was clearly distracted and Max watched as Michael disappeared into his bedroom. Max would have followed Michael but quickly got a sense from the sounds emanating from the other man’s bedroom that if he had, he probably would have been struck by something in no time. So Max chose to keep his distance, waiting for Michael in the living room.
After a few minutes Michael reappeared, a small bag in his hand. He pulled his coat on roughly and threw his cell phone, wallet and keys into the bag.
“Mike, seriously…you okay?”
Michael looked up, surprised to meet the eyes of a best friend that looked very, very worried. Michael stuttered a little as he spoke and fidgeted just a bit, but inside he felt remarkably sure about his actions. “Uh…no, not really.” When it looked as though Max was about to say something in response, Michael added, “Uh…but…I will be. There’s something I have to do.”
“Is there anything
I can do?”
Michael smiled at the sentiment. “Uh, not really…no.” He changed gears and motioned toward the front door of their apartment. “There’s someone I need to go see. But…thank you for the offer.”
Max simply nodded. He didn’t want to let it go, but Michael wasn’t being particularly receptive. His mind was clearly somewhere else.
Michael was halfway out the door when he said, “Look…I know I’m a little scattered, but…” He trailed off and looked out the door briefly before he looked back at Max. “I’ll see you when I get back.”
Michael had been gone for about a minute by the time his words registered with Max. When Max finally found his bearings, he was speaking to a closed door. “What?”
-:-:-:-
A knock sounded on Jeff’s door and he looked up as it opened. Paolo stood in the doorway, holding a few folders underneath his left arm. Jeff paused in his work and settled back in his chair, twiddling the pen in his right hand between his fingers. “What’s up, Paolo?”
Paolo held up the folders, motioning to them with his head. “Some papers for you to sign.”
“Well, don’t delay the suspense.” Jeff waved him over and Paolo handed over the folders.
Paolo sat down in a chair on the other side of Jeff’s desk, angling his long body so that his right leg was draped over the right arm of the chair and his back was tucked against the corner of the chair where the left arm and back met. His eyes trailed along the walls of his employer’s office. The sections of the walls closest to the door were lined on each side with bookshelves, filled to the bursting with volumes of all shapes and sizes and at least two dozen pictures in frames. There was one shelf filled with awards, honors and the like, though Paolo knew there were far more than what was on the shelves of Jeff’s office. The rest of them had a home in the vineyard, in a place where all the employees could see them. Had Jeff been a lesser man, Paolo would have seen it as a bit of a boast. But Jeff was Jeff and so that meant that the placement of the awards had been Jeff’s way of saying that he would have never been given them without them, without the support of all who worked for him.
Paolo remembered coming into this office as a boy. It had been Jeff’s father’s office then, and Paolo had trailed behind his own father as the elder Marquez had handed over his own armful of documents to sign. There had been no computer on the desk then, and the bookshelves hadn’t been as full as they were now. The couch was different and many of the pictures had changed. But the wall color had not changed and neither had the desk, nor had the utter selflessness of the man sitting behind it. As Paolo watched Jeff sign another paper, the Hispanic man found himself wondering if Jeff’s sense of generosity and compassion were inherited traits, or if he had been taught long, long ago on his father’s knee, as Paolo had been taught the way of creating wine.
Jeff was on his tenth paper when he suddenly stopped, a wry smile on his face. He didn’t look up, keeping his eyes on the papers in front of him. “You’re staring, friend.”
“I was just wondering something.”
Jeff lifted his eyebrows and let out a sound that indicated he was paying attention but kept his head down, focused on signing his fourteenth document.
“Do you know how many women are abused in their lifetime?”
That caught Jeff’s attention and his head snapped up to catch the eyes of a very serious Paolo. “Far too many, I imagine.” He set his pen down and narrowed his eyes just a touch. “Paolo…what’s this about?”
Paolo sighed and straightened his body, abandoning his formerly frivolous position. “Not what. Who.”
“Alright then, who?”
“Angela Johnson.” Angela was one of their tasting room workers. She had a flawless work ethic and their customers really seemed to respond to her, and Paolo had been considering promoting her. And Jeff knew that, but Polo still couldn’t keep himself from adding, “One of our tasting room workers.”
Jeff sighed and began to rub his temples, suddenly very, very tired. “You’re sure?”
“She hasn’t confirmed it herself, but I’ve noticed a few things recently. She seems much more skittish and she doesn’t smile as much as is normal for her. I also caught an argument between Angela and her husband one night when he was picking her up from work and he seemed aggressive. I didn’t want to say anything unless I was pretty sure, but yesterday her friend Tiffany came by to see me and she confirmed what I’ve been noticing. And Tiffany said she’s been noticing some bruising off and on for the past few months or so.”
Jeff was silent, his eyes closed as he rubbed the back of his neck. Paolo allowed him his silence, turning his attention to the gentle hum of the computer on Jeff’s desk. It wasn’t doing a very good job of distracting him, though. In a short while the silence became too much for him, and Paolo spoke once more, mostly to avoid the stifling, uncertain feeling it gave him. “We have to do something.”
Jeff lifted his head and opened his eyes. “I agree.”
“Any ideas how?”
“I have a few. I think I need to speak with Tiffany first. If she confirms it to me, then I’ll speak to Angela. And after her, Jim.” He sighed and looked at the pictures on his wall to the right, his eyes centering on one of his wife Nancy, smiling in front of Yosemite Falls. He stared at her soft smile and kind eyes and wished he could hold her. The urge was so strong, he almost felt his breath catch at the very idea of it. “This will not be an easy road.”
“No.”
Jeff turned his head away from the pictures at Paolo’s soft reply. He quickly finished signing the few papers in front of him and handed the group of folders back to Paolo, who took them and stood immediately.
“So you want to see Tiffany then?”
Jeff nodded.
Paolo turned away, slapping the side of his thigh with the folders in his hand, but hesitated at the door. With his back turned, he said, “I really hope we’re wrong.”
“Me too.”
“I didn’t know how to bring this to you.” He turned around and Jeff studied the lines of the other man’s mouth, the heavy weight of his brow. He looked almost ashamed. “Would you think less of me if I told you I almost didn’t?”
He almost seemed a small boy, asking permission for forgiveness from a beloved older brother. “Of course not.”
Paolo looked down at the floor beneath him. He was having a hard time meeting Jeff’s eyes. “I just…didn’t want to believe it.” He looked back up. “It’s harder to see it when it seems so obvious. Or maybe it isn’t, and we just get better at fooling ourselves, thinking it’s a mirage.” Paolo laid the palm of his hand flat against the cool wood of Jeff’s office door, and almost wished it wouldn’t give way under his hand. But he knew if he pushed it, it would open.
“You’re not the sort of person who delights in the suffering of others, Paolo. You like to trust people. You faltered because there’s still a part of you that thinks there must be another reason, that a person couldn’t do that to another person, that a man couldn’t do that to his wife. If that’s one of your worst faults, well then…consider yourself blessed, friend.”
Paolo nodded and turned, putting his hand as lightly on the doorknob as he could.
“Disbelief is not the same as inaction, Paolo.”
Paolo turned to catch Jeff’s eye. He nodded once more, his words all gone.
About thirty minutes later, a knock sounded for the second time that day on Jeff Parker’s home office door. He stood from his chair and bade the person enter. The door opened slowly, with a hint of trepidation, and Jeff smiled a little to himself. From behind the door stepped Tiffany Winters, a small woman with extremely pale skin and big eyes the color of a growing storm.
“Hi Tiffany.” Jeff smiled at her and she smiled back, which was far more like her. If anything, timidity didn’t suit her.
“Hi Jeff.” Her words came out with a rush of air and she allowed herself to be led to one of the chairs opposite Jeff’s desk.
Jeff settled into his chair and when he noticed Tiffany seemed to be at ease, asked, “So would it be safe to assume we’re on the same page?”
She nodded. “I just want her to be safe.”
“I think we’re very much in agreement on that, Tiffany.”
So Tiffany told Jeff what she knew, what she had seen. It took her longer than she’d thought it would, but when all was said and done, she felt much better. She knew the feeling was a little selfish, that none of this was about her, but holding a secret that razor-sharp has a habit of slicing up your insides, making you ache long into the night. So she was glad for Jeff, as many who meet him are. Because simply by being who he was, he had once again put another person at ease. He had solved another’s worry. And all he’d done, really, was open a door and invite her in.
Jeff sat there and listened. He heard it all, took it all in, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to hear that there were people in the world who hurt others for nothing but their own selfish gain. He knew it was true, certainly. He wasn’t a foolish man. He wasn’t blind. He knew those people, people with fists and ugly words and hate, existed. He had worked very hard to protect his children against them, especially Liz. He’d held his little girl in the hospital just after she was born and whispered words into her ear. He’d told her a story of strength, of independence. He’d sung songs of courage and engraved words of love and hope on her heart. The deck had been stacked against her from the beginning. He had just wanted to even the score, as best he could. He’d wanted that for all of his children.
And he’d done what he promised. He’d taught his children to be strong, caring, giving people. His wish for them had been fulfilled. It was the wish he had for Angela, the one he felt floating softly in the air around him, that he couldn’t see the end of. The idea of that saddened him. Though Jeff would try, he wasn’t sure he could really solve this problem, not the way it needed to be. He had a feeling that much of the solving should have happened years ago.
Sometimes, that’s simply the way things go.
Even the best men in the world have unfulfilled wishes.
When Tiffany was long gone, when Jeff thought he might finally be able to pick his stomach up from the floor, his red cell phone rang. He smiled to himself, long before he even picked the phone up and checked the Caller ID. It didn’t matter which one of his children it was, any one of them would serve to lighten his load.
Jeff looked down at the Caller ID and noted the area code. Chicago. “So…which one of my sons is this? Should I guess?” A soft laugh came from the other end of the phone and Jeff smiled as he settled down into his leather chair, allowing the worn softness of it to melt into his skin. “Hello Max.”
-:-:-:-
Max didn’t really know what to do with himself. He’d somehow muddled his way through his marketing class, even though his mind wasn’t into considering product placement or market research. He’d remembered to stop for lunch and had picked up a sandwich, but he couldn’t remember what was on it or even if the bread was white or wheat. And he’d been an hour through studying for a major test when he discovered that he’d been studying the wrong subject.
He really needed to figure this whole…”future thing” out, or it was going to drive him nuts.
He wished he had the certainty that seemed to come with a Parker childhood. Every one of the Parkers knew exactly what they wanted to become, knew exactly where they wanted to carve out their niche in the world. He envied them their ease, the safety that came with their lives. Because though he was a part of it now, a part of this family, he still felt a little one the outside, a little adrift. He knew it wouldn’t always be this way,
he wouldn’t always
feel this way, but the uncertainty was hard to live with. Max liked certainty.
He thought about it a long time before he actually did it. He wasn’t sure why. Jeff Parker was the easiest person in the world to talk to. He held the phone in his hand and stared at the keypad for a while, then bounced it up and down lightly, making a game of whether he could catch the handset first with just a few fingers then with his eyes closed. He dropped the phone several times.
Max put the phone down on the table and walked over to the windows. He looked down at the snow covered Chicago streets below and watched a few students walk by, backpacks pulled tight against their backs. He wondered where Michael was, if he was okay. He wondered if Isabel was feeling the same sense of uncertainty he was. He wondered if Alex was finding the transition from Boston to New York easy and he wondered how Kyle’s practice was going. He wondered if Maria had finished that song she’d been working on when he and Michael left and he wondered whether Tess liked her internship or not. Mostly though, he longed to feel Liz’s hair between his fingers. He longed to be soothed by the warmth of her voice, calmed by the weight of her smile. He wished she was there, standing in the middle of the living room. He didn’t want her to tell him what to do, he just wanted
her.
She was getting her cast off today. She’d reminded him when they spoke last night, but it wasn’t something he would have forgotten. That orange plaster was a reminder of what she’d been through, what they’d all been through, and he’d be glad to see it gone. But on the other hand, he was the smallest bit fond of it. The cast had protected her broken arm for a month, and he’d become used to its presence. Liz, no doubt, wanted it gone.
Max dialed her phone number, but got her voicemail. He left her a message, all the while wishing he could hear the real highs and lows, inflections and intonations of her voice, instead of a digital copy meant for anyone. He missed her.
Max juggled the phone in his hand again and settled down on the couch. He turned the TV on to a hockey game, but didn’t really watch it. He knew all along that he was going to take Michael’s advice and call their dad, so he wasn’t really sure why he was delaying it. All he knew was that he was very confused, and he wasn’t sure if this time, Jeff Parker would know what to say. But then, Max hadn’t had the luxury of growing under his care. It was natural for him to show doubt.
Before long the phone was up to his ear and it was ringing and Max was sinking down into the faded blue couch beneath him, his eyes on one of the Chicago Blackhawks players, who was skating his hardest toward the other end of the ice.
So…which one of my sons is this? Should I guess?
Max laughed softly, but didn’t respond.
Hello Max.
Max could have been wrong, and he probably was, but he heard relief in the tone of the other man’s voice. “Hi.”
How’s the cold Chicago winter treating you?
Max laughed and stared out at the white mass beyond his living room windows. “White everywhere you look. Or gray. Sometimes brown. No green. I miss green. I miss Napa.”
It’s a hard place to leave. I’ll tell you this: Napa misses you too.
Max knew his dad wasn’t really talking about a place, but he couldn’t resist asking. “Can a place really miss you?” On TV, one of the Blackhawks players took a shot on goal and missed wide.
Of course it can. Places keep memories too. He paused.
Go ahead, Max. Give me your trouble.
“What makes you think I’m having trouble with something?”
Max could almost hear the smile in Papa Parker’s voice.
I was young once too.
“You’re still young, dad.” Jeff Parker was possibly the youngest person Max knew. He had an old soul and a youthful spirit. Max wondered if he’d been born that way. He suspected he had.
So is it the not being near Liz thing? Or is it the uncertain future thing? Or…is it a residual parental thing? Or…maybe you just miss me.
Max smiled. “Number two. But one and four are valid too.” Was Max surprised that he knew? No, not really.
Okay…start talking.
“I’m going to graduate with a degree in business, but I have no idea what I want to do with it. Michael’s known for ages who he wanted to be, Liz too. Kyle seems like such a no-brainer. Alex struggled but when he decided, he was so sure. He just knew. Maria knows, Tess knows…I feel like I’m the only one who doesn’t. I see all of my classmates deciding and I…There’s no answer. I have no answer. And it scares me.”
I think you’re being too hard on yourself, kid.
“Am I?”
You are. You’re not being fair to yourself.
Max furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
You compare yourself to Michael, to Liz and Kyle and Alex and you expect that your life has to settle itself just the way theirs has. But part of what makes you who you are is your background. And you’re disregarding it.
Max said nothing and watched the TV, letting his eyes track the players absentmindedly. His childhood hadn’t been a good one. He’d spent most of his life, in fact, trying to forget the details. He hadn’t wanted the memories, and had thrown them away as quickly as he could. Should he have tried to store them away instead?
You grew up in a very restrictive environment, Max. You weren’t given freedom of expression like they were. You have a lot of catching up to do, a lot of life to explore. You need to give yourself time to do that.
“And how do I do that?”
I don’t think there’s any right answer to that question, Max. But I have faith in you. I know you’ll figure it all out. You just have to let your journey happen. And you need to trust yourself, trust your instincts. You know…the most interesting people I know had no idea who they wanted to be, what they wanted to do with their lives, when they were your age.
“It’ll happen? I’ll figure it out?” There was a sweet innocence to Max’s questions. But in some ways, he was a stunted little boy who desperately needed encouragement.
Count on it. It’ll happen one day, probably when your head is turned the other way. It’s like Lennon said. Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans. Don’t be afraid to let your life happen, Max. Because it will. And one day, you’ll wonder why you ever worried about it at all.
“Thanks.” A Blackhawks player scored a goal and the team went wild, hugging each other. “So…funny thing…I met with a man in the financial office the other day to try to work out my situation and he told me I didn’t have one, that everything had already been paid for. Do you happen to know anything about that?”
Of course I do.
Max had expected him to be evasive in that playful, sweet way he had, not come right out and admit it. So he was a bit shocked. “You paid for school. Why?”
Because Max…in all the ways that matter, you are one of mine. And I would not see you falter, I would not see you suffer, if I did not have to. Call it parental prerogative.
“What does it feel like, always having the right thing to say?”
Jeff didn’t respond to that. Max read it as modesty.
There’s someone I want you to meet. His name is Joseph Mears, and he’s been a good friend of mine for a long time.
“Do you have friends everywhere?”
I am a very, very blessed man, kid. Hold on for a second, okay? I’m going to give him a call.
Max nodded, though Jeff couldn’t see him, and focused on the game on the TV in front of him. The Blackhawks were losing. Again. Not a major shock. Max cringed when one of the Blackhawks was slammed hard into the boards and came up limping, blood beginning a slow drip down his chin. Max made a mental note to cross professional hockey player off his list of possibilities.
Okay Max, it’s all set. Are you doing anything?
Max started. “What…now?”
Joe said now’s as good a time as any. He’s not busy.
“Okay…I’ll grab my shoes.”
I think you’ll like Joe, Max. He’s not the most traditional of guys, but he has great stories and he’s incredibly interesting. He’s led a remarkable life.
Soon Max was off through the front door of his apartment, bundled against the cold with directions to Joe’s house tucked in the right pocket of his black coat. In the thirty-seven minutes it would take until he was at Joe’s house, he would reach his hand into his pocket and touch the paper more than a dozen times, running his fingers over it gently, assuring himself it was still there. He would listen to the cab driver but he wouldn’t hear him, and he would check his phone several times to see if Liz had called him yet. She hadn’t, but he would figure that she was still in the hospital, getting her cast off. Sometimes he would wonder if he was going to get a call from Michael, explaining what was going on, but that wouldn’t happen either.
No, Max was all alone in that cab, all alone with his thoughts and his anxiety and his hammering heart.
Max wasn’t great at meeting new people. He just never felt comfortable, and he knew Isabel was the same way, though he was better at hiding his insecurity. He figured it probably came from those awful parties his parents held when he was a kid, where he and Isabel were paraded around as mini versions of their parents, trained animals expected to perform for the crowd.
That was part of why his initial meeting with Michael had gone so well. Michael may have pulled Max out of the way of a drunk’s fist, but he hadn’t expected anything to come out of it. Michael had done it because Max reminded him of Liz in some ways and because Michael was a good person who hated to see others hurt. Max had been at ease with him from the start. This was mostly because Michael didn’t require Max to carry on conversations about his future. Michael, for his part, had been at ease with Max because the other man never felt the need to fill their time with unnecessary talking, and Michael loved his quiet time. No matter how others seemed to see them, together, Max and Michael made sense.
Using Michael as a buffer had been helpful for Max in the past. And right now, he really wished he had that buffer.
-:-:-:-
Michael stood outside Liz’s apartment door. He heard laughter inside and was calmed by the sounds of joy coming from Liz, Alex and Isabel, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to knock. He had rushed through his apartment, rushed through the airport, rushed from the plane, rushed to get a cab, rushed to be here, but now that he
was here, within a few feet of the resolution he so wanted, he couldn’t seem to lift his arm to knock. So he stood outside the apartment door, the light from a hallway fixture slashing across his feet, and listened.
His ears pricked up at Alex’s distinct laugh, and Michael heard his brother yell something that sounded like a comeback but it was difficult to tell, with the muffling of the door and the wave of laughter. Michael wanted to know what the joke had been, what insult had been flung at Alex, and he shifted his weight a little.
But still, he did not lift his arm. He did not move to knock.
Michael’s bag was at his feet, his hands in his pockets as he stared the door down. He had not removed his hat, and he was starting to feel sweat perk up on his hairline in the heated hallway. It was as if the New York cold he’d stepped out of minutes before did not exist, had been a memory from long ago. But just as Michael could not bring himself to knock, he could not move to remove his hat or coat, and so he sweltered, in the dimly lit hallway of his sister’s apartment building.
And then his arm was raising and he heard his own fist knocking and he heard footsteps on the other side of the door making their way toward him. So maybe he wasn’t as incapable of moving as he thought.
The door opened and Michael saw the small face of his sister peek out through the crack and he smiled, because she was Liz and he was Michael and that was explanation enough. Liz didn’t look surprised to see him and Michael would have wondered at that, if he weren’t so happy to see her sweet, smiling face.
“Look, ma! No cast!” Liz held up her left arm and did a Vanna White impersonation, pulling the sleeve of her shirt down and modeling around the newly-freed arm with her right hand.
Michael smiled but gave no other response and Liz took that as a fairly strong cue.
“You here for me?”
Michael nodded and picked up his bag from the floor.
“Let me get my coat.” Liz slipped back inside. When she returned less than a minute later, she had on her black wool pea coat and a cream knit cap. She took Michael’s bag from him and tossed it inside the apartment door then shut the door behind her. She made a motion with her head and Michael followed her down the hallway and to the elevator, his hands still in his pockets.
When the elevator dropped from floor five to floor four, Liz said, “So you need to talk to me?”
Michael turned and nodded. He leaned against the back of the elevator, on his left side, and looked at her a moment. Liz was leaning against the back of the elevator, her feet pushed together and flat against the elevator floor. Her brown braids were sticking out from under her cap and she had her hands in the pockets of her coat, pushed together and thrust forward. It made the bottom of her coat look almost bell-shaped. And for a moment, she looked very much like the little girl she once was.
“I’ve missed you.” She said it to the elevator doors before she turned her head and smiled at him. “But then, I always do.”
His sister’s smile had always had the power to calm him. He smiled. “I’ve missed you too.”
The elevator settled below them and the doors opened with a ding. Liz righted herself from the back of the elevator and Michael followed her lead. They walked through the apartment building’s front door and out onto the cold, windy, New York sidewalk. Liz waited for her brother to catch up to her and when he’d finally fallen in step, said, “So what’s bothering you?”
“Me.” There didn’t seem to be a more appropriate answer.
“Uh oh…what’d you do
this time?” Liz said it comically, with a smile on her face, but Michael couldn’t match her smile with one of his own. “Michael?”
He sighed and pulled his hat down a little further over his ears. He didn’t miss the irony that what he had just done was something Liz did when she fidgeted. “More like what
didn’t I do. Or say, I guess.”
“Explain.”
Michael looked over at Liz. One of the tails of her scarf got caught in a particularly large gust of wind and she tried in vain to flatten it down with her left hand. He sighed again but the action brought him no relief. “I take you for granted.”
Liz stopped in her tracks in the middle of the sidewalk but Michael didn’t notice and kept walking. “Come again?”
Michael turned around. He was about ten steps away from her and he raised his voice over the wind. “I take you for granted.”
Liz batted down the end of her scarf impatiently and walked toward him. “No you don’t, Michael.”
He nodded his head emphatically. “Yes, I do.”
Since he was obviously very insistent, Liz decided to change her tactic. “Where’s this coming from?”
Michael turned and started to walk on and Liz followed him. Michael seemed to be leading the both of them toward a children’s playground across the street. “I was in psychology class this morning and my teacher said a few things and…it made sense.”
Liz was really glad it made sense to Michael because this wasn’t making any sense at all to her. “You hate psychology.”
As they walked through the black, wrought iron gate, Michael turned is head and gave her a wry smile. “I know.”
Michael stopped at the edge of the play sand. Liz spared him a glance but kept walking. She hopped from the concrete onto the play sand then hopped on alternate feet. Right, left. Right, left. Right, left. When she reached the swing set she turned quickly and plopped down into the rubber seat, kicking off from the ground quickly. She started to pump her legs, pushing herself higher and higher with each successive swing. Michael watched her, his hands in his pockets, his nose freezing from the cold air.
He knew what she was doing. He knew that Liz was waiting for him to elaborate on what was going on, what was bothering him so much. Because Liz didn’t really get it, and he knew that too. How could she?
Liz kept eye contact with him from her swing, giving him a thoughtful look as she went back and forth through the air. Her braids flopped behind her when she came toward him and Michael drew in a quick breath through his nose, wrinkling it against the cold air as he walked toward her. He stopped beside her swing and she watched him from it, her head turned to the side, her eyes never leaving his.
Michael leaned against the metal center bar of the swing set. “You go out of your way to make my life easier, and I don’t say thank you.” Liz stopped swinging and dug her toes into the sand below her feet to halt her body. “Mom died and you were the only girl and so we made you…” He dropped his body into the swing next to hers. “It wasn’t fair.”
“Is that what you think?”
He spoke to the air in front of him, his words forming icicles and fog. “It’s what I know. You gave up part of your childhood for us and we never thanked you for it.”
“That’s not…technically true.”
Michael turned his head sharply to look at Liz and found her swaying gently forward and back in her swing. “Kyle or Alex?”
“Both.” Liz leaned her head against one of the metal chains, continuing to sway. Her feet made quiet scraping sounds in the sand below.
Now Michael really felt like an ass. So he was the only one who hadn’t apologized? He mumbled under his breath. “Great.” He looked at her feet as they scraped the sand in long, even strokes. “When?”
Liz turned abruptly in her swing toward her brother, so that the metal chains on either side of her swing twisted and crossed above her. She braced her hands further up on the chains, crossing her ankles but keeping her toes on the ground, to prevent the swing from unraveling. “Do you remember that summer Kyle spent with his traveling baseball team? When he decided he wanted to, as he put it, ‘attempt to follow the path of Buddha’?” Michael nodded. “He told me the night he got back after his fifth game.”
Kyle and Michael had been fifteen that summer. Fifteen. They were twenty-two now. Michael sighed internally. “What about Alex?”
“Three years ago, on mom’s birthday.” She leaned her head against the right chain.
Michael nodded and looked down at his feet.
“But like I said, that’s only
technically when they said thank you. They said it way before then. Just like you said it way before now.”
Michael flipped his head up and looked over at Liz, his eyes tired. “What are you talking about?”
Liz started to swing slowly toward Michael then away, her feet not leaving the ground once. “Did you ever notice that dad doesn’t call us twins? I mean…he refers to it in passing, like when he talks about the twin thing, but he never says ‘Michael, where’s your twin brother?’ or ‘Alex, where’s your twin sister?’. Even when someone asks him about us, it’s never the first thing he says. Or the second or the third or the fourth or the fifth. He never brings it up. Or, he rarely brings it up. He’s always used our names.”
Michael turned in his swing so that he mirrored Liz. He heard the sound of metal on metal above him and he gripped tight onto the chains, letting the muscles in his arms hang loose. “I never really noticed, but he does seem to do that.”
“Dad wanted us to see ourselves as individuals. He knew that most of the people who came into our lives would latch onto the novelty of two sets of twins born into one family, and he didn’t want that for us. He wanted us to know that we were four separate people with four completely distinct minds, four completely distinct personalities, who just…happened to have something really spectacular in common.”
“Did he tell you that?”
She shook her head and scrunched up her nose. “Not in so many words. And never outright.” She smiled. “You have to admit…it is clever, the way he did it. Encouraging us no matter what we wanted to try, positively emphasizing our differences when we did the same activity…the man is wily when he wants to be.”
Michael’s admission was quiet. “Dad told me once that he loved how different we were, that even if he’d tried, he would never have been able to come up with four people as remarkable as us. His words.”
“So I guess the question I have for you is that if dad sees how different we are, if he went out of his way to tell you how much he loved that, if Jim and Amy and Paolo see us for who we are…why do you keep insisting that you have to react in a situation the same way Kyle would?”
He furrowed his brow. “I don’t.”
“You’re feeling guilty right now because you think Kyle ‘noticed’ before you did. Long before you did, at that.” She employed annoying little air quotes and then shook her head at him, as if telling him that sometimes, she just didn’t get him. In reality, it was something a far stretch more complicated than that.
“It’s not that, it’s-”
“I know you, Michael Andrew. Sometimes I think you forget that.” Her admonition was gentle and quiet, but Michael still felt a sting hit the middle of his chest. She stopped herself in the swing and sat still in it, her toes digging below her into the sand. “I know what the very worst moments of your life have been…and I know the best. I know your happiness doesn’t always show on the outside and I know that the way you smile at Maria has changed over the years, but it’s always been warm. I don’t know if Kyle sees that or not. But that’s the thing about coming from a big family, Michael. There are plenty of people who see you for who you are, even if they all see you in different ways.
“Mike…what’s the last thing you say to me before we hang up the phone?”
Easy answer. “I love you.”
Liz nodded. “And what’s the last thing you say to me when we’re at home in Napa and we’re heading off to bed?”
“I love you.”
“And what do you say when you’re exasperated with me?”
He laughed softly and rolled his eyes. “I love you.”
“Exactly.” She started to sway a bit in her swing then and one of the tails of her striped scarf brushed gently against the side of her face as the wind tossed it. “You tell me you love me constantly, and most of your I Love Yous aren’t verbal. Maybe if I were someone else, someone who didn’t know you so well, maybe I’d expect every single I Love You to come from your mouth. But I’m not anyone else, I’m Liz. I know you.”
Michael shook his head. “I know I’m different from Kyle, Liz. I just… It doesn’t matter what you expect from me. I should tell you more often how much you matter. And I don’t. What kind of brother does that make me?”
Liz groaned a little in exasperation. “You’re just not getting it, Michael. You
do tell me. All the time. An I Love You is in every silly little gift you send me through the mail, in every piece of advice, in every repacked suitcase, and in every single stack of pancakes.”
“I Love You is not the same as Thank You. I should have thanked you.”
“That’s exactly what I Love You means, Michael. It
is a Thank You, an expression of gratitude. Sometimes it means thank you for making me laugh and sometimes it means thank you for holding my hand. Sometimes it means I’m really glad I know you and sometimes it means thank you for picking up your phone at two in the morning. You’ve thanked me every single day for as long as I can remember. So you don’t say it the way Kyle does. So what? You’re not Kyle. I wouldn’t want you to be, anyway. I love you just as you are.”
Liz lifted her feet from the ground and her swing twisted, snapping her around. The swing made its way slowly back into its starting position and Liz lifted her feet in the air, just barely missing hitting the metal support bar with her toes. When the swing stopped she began to swing again, gently leaning back as she went forward and leaning in as she went back. She wasn’t swinging very high, but that was hardly the point. She just wanted to give Michael his time to think it over.
With his swing still twisted, Michael ran over Liz’s words in his mind. She wasn’t lying – Liz rarely lied, especially when making a point – but still he had a hard time seeing the truth in the foundation of her words. It was as though his mind was full of fog and no matter what, he couldn’t see the reality on the other side. Had he been wrong this whole time yet not really wrong at all? Was that even possible? Maybe Michael really was the densest man in the entire state of Illinois, just not the way he had supposed.
He watched Liz swing contentedly, a small smile on her face, and smiled just a little too. No, he wasn’t dense, not really. He’d just committed a very human mistake, that’s all. He’d simply forgotten that people who love you see you, even when you have a hard time seeing yourself.
She swung past him and he called out, “Bet you I can swing higher than you.”
She gave him a look, stopped her swing abruptly, and said, “Yeah…right. I’ll beat you anytime. I’m more aerodynamic.”
“Yeah, well I’m heavier. Better momentum.”
“We’ll just see about that.” She put her feet on the ground and waited for Michael to do the same. He snapped his swing around and stuck his feet in the ground to keep it from snapping back. “Anytime you’re ready, Mike.”
He gave her a soft glare, one with a smile behind it, and started to walk his swing backward, so that he was standing with the swing still on his bottom. He stood, with legs extended, and waited for Liz to walk back. “Anytime, princess.”
She laughed and followed his lead. When they were standing side by side, hands high up on the chains of their swings, she said, “You know who you need to see next?”
“Dad?”
“Nope. Maria.” And then Liz was off, swinging hard.
“Hey! You’re such a cheater!” He laughed as he jumped off the ground and began to swing hard. Liz giggled back in response. At some point their swings began to match up and they were swinging hard, side by side. Michael turned his head and said, “I think I will go see her.”
“Good. You need it.”
“And you don’t need to see Max?”
“No, I do…but Jacob has a major shoot tomorrow.”
“How’s that going?”
“Great.” She grinned at him.
“Good.”
They swung on in silence and Liz started to get a little higher than Michael. Liz’s braids were tossed back and forth much quicker now and Michael could feel the cold wind rushing up through the bottom of his pants. They both shivered a little as the cold air slapped them in the faces, but they were having too much fun to slow down.
When Liz swung by Michael, he shouted at her, “I Love You!”
But Liz knew that what Michael really meant was “Thank you for listening to me”.
When Liz swung by the other way, she shouted, “I Love You!” right back.
But Michael knew that what she really meant was “I’m really glad you’re my brother”.
