She Has Your Eyes (16 page)

“I’m tired,” she complained.

“How—how long?” Joey stammered.

“What do you mean, ‘how long’?” Tony shot at him. “Just because it’s cancer doesn’t mean it’s automatically a death sentence.”

“Hard to tell. Could be a year. Could be more or less. I start chemotherapy on Wednesday.”

The word
chemotherapy
stabbed me like a needle, and I winced and cried out, covering my mouth with my hand. “Oh, God.” I could barely process the rest of what she said before it.

“Wednesday!” Tony blurted. “You found out you have cancer
last month
and you
start
chemo on
Wednesday
? What the hell were you waiting for, an engraved invitation?” And with that, he stood up and headed for the front door. “I need some air.”

“Tony,” said Joey, “don’t drive like this, man.”

“I’m going for a walk,” he said. “Don’t come after me.”

We all seemed to need a break at that moment. Joey got up and paced from room to room, while Mom went in the kitchen to run the dishwasher. But I remained frozen in place, invisibly tethered to the chair as her words pulled the knots tighter with every echo in my ears:
It’s cancer. It spreads.

Mom went from the kitchen to the living room. Joey went to look for Tony, and I finally moved to the wing-tipped chair opposite the sofa. “Mom, did you know about this when we met for lunch at Danford’s that day?”

“I’d found the lump by then, yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I’m not mad, I just—”

“What good would it have done? You had your own problem to deal with.”

“
What good would it have done?
I could’ve
supported
you, for one thing! I could’ve dropped what I was doing and been there with you when you got the results of your biopsy. I could’ve—”

She interrupted me again. “You have a life of your own, Andi. You have a job and a relationship and a house to take care of, and now you’ve got this Wylie situation.”

“You make it sound like there’s no room for you.”

“There
is
no room for me. There’s not supposed to be.”

“You really think that?”

“That’s the way it’s always been, Andi. You’ve fit me into the margins of your life. And that’s fine. I can live with that. It’s not like we ever subscribed to those mother-daughter luncheons and fashion shows and whatnots. My mother did the same thing with me.”

Forty years of our frosty relationship played before my eyes, and all of it meaningless. And she was right: I’d blamed
my mother for the way my life had turned out before I met David, or Sam. And after Sam’s death, even though I’d worked so hard to make my relationship with her better, I still attached an asterisk to it. At that moment I regretted every minute of it—regretted not trying harder, not seeing that she’d passed down the sins of her own mother, who, when she died (also of cancer, I’d forgotten), probably hadn’t been much older than my mother was now. I had been so young when she died. Too young. I was too young to understand cancer back then. Too young to understand death, to understand loss. Loss was something you stored away in a container and never reopened, like nuclear waste. But you shut away a piece of yourself too. That was the way Mom handled it, and taught us all to do the same. It was why Joey never talked about his failed marriage, why both of my brothers performed themselves weary in nightclubs across the country for so many years until they were hollow. And it wasn’t until my husband was killed that the loss had leaked before it could be contained—contaminating everything it touched—and after all this time, no matter how much I’d cleaned and cleared it away, every now and then I still found a spot of it somewhere, hidden in a crack or crevice.

The facial muscles I’d been clenching to keep from crying gave out, and the first tears rolled down my cheeks. It wasn’t my mother’s diagnosis I was mourning as much as all that wasted time, all that stupidity and self-absorption.

“That was beyond wrong, Mom.” I was admonishing the both of us, and for the first time, I think she understood me without my needing to clarify or her getting defensive.

“I suppose so,” was all she said.

About a half-hour later Joey returned, alone.

“Where’s Tony?” asked Mom.

“He’ll be back soon,” was all he said. He sat at the other end of the sofa and seemed to be trying to speak. Maybe he was trying to think of what to say. Or maybe he was just as angry and frightened and confused as Tony and I were.

The three of us sat in dead silence. Even the usual squeaks and hums of the house had gone quiet. But that was on the outside. Inside each of us rattled screams, mobs, glass shattering into millions of shards.

It was about four o’clock and Tony was still MIA, and I was getting worried. Mom checked her watch.

“What can we do for you now?” Joey finally asked. I was so grateful he chose the word
we
; being the oldest, he knew to speak for us. And as if on cue, the front door opened and Tony strode in, seemingly collected. His eyes looked red and glassy, his face windburned.

Mom and I each exhaled a sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry for running out like that.” He shook off a shiver as he spoke.

“It’s OK,” said Joey. “I just asked Mom what we can do for her.” He sounded so diplomatic. All I managed was a sniffle that broke into a sob. Tony grabbed a tissue from the box on the end table and handed it to me without taking his gaze off our mother.

“Well, for starters, I’m going to need someone to drive me to and from my chemotherapy appointments,” said Mom.

“Joey and I will switch off,” said Tony.

“What about me?” I asked.

“What, you’re gonna come down from Massachusetts every week?” he said.

“Why not?”

“It’s a helluva commute, for one thing.”

“It’s not like I’m flying out of Guam or something.”

“The ferry expenses alone are going to bankrupt you,” said Joey.

“Money is not an obstacle,” I insisted. I had never let on to my family about how well off David and I were. One more topic we avoided, especially since my brothers struggled financially as working musicians, and I felt guilty. I had once offered to help Tony buy a new car when his transmission went out. He flat-out refused, and I never brought it up again.

“We’ll work something out with you, Andi,” said Mom. “It doesn’t have to be every week. I’m also getting my finances in order, appointing one of you as executor of my will—I’ve already written the will—and I also have another request. It’s for you, Andi.”

I sat up. “What is it?”

“Well, this is a lot to ask, but…” She paused as if to work up the nerve. “I want you and David to get married, before…” She trailed off.

I sucked in a breath and reflexively edged out my hand, palm down, the engagement ring catching the light and glistening. She didn’t need to finish.

“Obviously that’s something you need to talk about with him, but I hope you’ll consider it.”

“Of course,” I said softly, as teardrops beaded down my face, one by one.

“That’s enough for today,” she said sternly. “We’ll discuss more tomorrow.” It occurred to me that normally I’d dismiss her tone as being bossy and shutting down as she always did, but in the blink of an eye everything had changed and it was as if we finally spoke the same language. She was drained—physically and emotionally. That’s what she’d meant earlier when she said
I’m tired
. And not just from tonight, and the frenzy of the diagnosis, the prognosis, the overwhelming preparation
and facing the unknown. She was tired from shutting so much of herself away all these years.

All four of us stood up, and without thinking, I made a beeline for my mother’s arms and attached myself to her. She embraced me in a way she’d never done before, but released me quickly. Joey and Tony took turns afterward, and she did the same. But when she let go of Tony, I saw something I’d never seen on her before.

Tears.

chapter twenty-one

I awoke without an alarm clock the next morning. Rays of sunlight shone through the window, happily greeting me, oblivious to the heaviness inside. As if the day were a perky blonde telling us to buck up! and smiling sweetly. It didn’t feel like a Monday, however Mondays were supposed to feel.

I had gone to bed without calling David—it had been too late, I’d rationalized, although that never stopped us before; the last time he traveled overseas without me, we defied the time difference and Skyped at all hours just to check in with each other. Since leaving him and Wylie yesterday morning (a year ago, seemingly), I’d done nothing more than fire off a text shortly after settling in to let him know I’d arrived safely. When I got out of the shower and towel-dried my hair, I checked my phone for incoming messages. Nothing. My chest tightened. Never before had I simultaneously ached to hear the sound of assurance in his voice or feel the protection of his arms and bubbled with resentment for his not calling to check in, not exhibiting the slightest bit of worry or concern, too preoccupied with his daughter and ticked off at me to care.

Judging by the circles under Joey and Tony’s eyes when they emerged, they hadn’t fared much better than I in terms of
sleep. We all followed the delicious scents of breakfast into the sunroom (aptly named), where Mom had set out trays of bagels and lox, cream cheese, scrambled eggs and bacon, and a pot of coffee with a miniature carafe of cream next to delicate stacks of china plates and teacups and saucers and silverware and cloth napkins. Sunlight permeated the entire space, decorated in various shades of buttery yellows and lime greens and creamy whites, and I almost believed just sitting in here could melt away any ailment, as if the sunbeams could go straight through your skin and neutralize malignant cells, healing all the way to your soul. God, I was desperate to believe it.

Our moods couldn’t help but be lifted, enough to make a few jokes, although we were all aware of the cancer in the room, plopping itself down and helping itself to our food and company like an uninvited, obnoxious guest.

“So what would you all like to do today?” Mom asked, almost sounding cheery. “I was thinking we could all take a ride into town. Or drive farther out to Montauk and spend the day at Gossman’s Dock. Remember when Dad and I used to take you there as children? It’s perfect now that we’re in the off-season months. We’ll practically have the entire place to ourselves.”

“Are you feeling up to it?” I asked.

Her expression soured. “Now, listen. I don’t want any of you pussyfooting around me, understand? If I wasn’t feeling up to it, I wouldn’t have suggested it. For God’s sake, don’t treat me like I’ve got one foot in the ground already.”

Of course I couldn’t help but feel once again as if I’d just been scolded, as if nothing I said or did was right. Tony, however, stifled a giggle. We all turned our attention to him.

“What,” I said, annoyed.

“
Pussy
footing?” He pealed into laughter.

“What are you, twelve?” I said, but my own voice broke into a laugh, and it quickly spread to Joey.

Mom shook her head in exasperation. “You’re all a bunch of degenerates.” That only made us laugh even harder, and we dug into the feast before us. I couldn’t remember a bagel ever tasting so good.

The four of us decided to forgo Montauk and stay local. We drove into town and walked along Main Street, perusing its boutiques and antique shops and cafés—a more upscale and affluent, less bohemian version of Amherst. Joey, Tony, and I played Punchbuggy while Mom seemingly stopped to say hello to everyone in town. For someone who never liked to host a dinner party, she sure was well-connected.

We hadn’t spent a day like this since our trip to Rome.

I had reserved the latest ferry back to New London, and considered postponing my return for another day, but I knew my mother would see it as “pussyfooting” (I couldn’t think of the word without conjuring Tony’s mischievous smile) and scold me once again. A part of me couldn’t help but wonder if the real reason I wanted to postpone going home was because I didn’t want to face David and
his
new reality. Still, neither of us had called the other. As I took my bags out to the car, my brothers followed me out, with Mom lingering behind.

“So I’ll be back here in two weeks for Mom’s chemo,” I reminded them.

“You sure this is going to be OK with your job? And what about David?” said Tony.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. Then I pulled both of them to me for a group hug, and not just to warm me because the temperature had dipped in the last two hours. “I can’t imagine going through this without you,” I said, fighting to keep my
composure, my voice muffled in their coats. “Please don’t keep me out of this,” I said. “I’ll even move back here if I have to.”

Joey let go abruptly and looked at me. “Seriously?”

“It’s too soon to talk like that,” said Tony. “Chill out on the ferry—literally—and go home and talk to David.”

With that they headed back into the house. Mom was next. I looked at her arms crossed to shield herself from the cold. I never saw her look so fragile before. A wave of panic hit me that I might never see her like this again—hair intact, makeup applied, clothes stylishly put together. What image would stand in her place next time?