Page 32 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
She brings me water in one of the good glasses; the ones reserved for company, and perches on the armchair across from me. Her posture is perfect, hands folded in her lap, the way she sits when she’s about to ask for something significant.
“So,” she begins, drawing out the word. “Thanksgiving is coming up.”
I nod, taking a sip of water. “Just a few weeks away.”
“It’s going to be… difficult this year.” Her voice softens, and genuine sadness crosses her face. “For Rhonda especially. And Millie.”
And there it is. Millie. I should have known.
My chest tightens. Eric Greene’s death hit everyone hard. He was my dad’s best friend, a fixture in our community, in my life. My high school football coach, who’d always pushed me to be the best version of myself, the man who’d taken me fishing when Dad was too busy with work. He was the man who always let me help him with his carpentry projects. Who’d first instilled in me a love of working with my hands. And he was Millie’s father.
“Yeah,” I say, because what else is there to say? Death leaves these craters that nothing can fill.
“You know Thanksgiving was Eric’s holiday.” I nod. It’s true. The Greenes hosted Thanksgiving for our two families for as long as I can remember. Mom’s eyes are distant now, remembering. “He insisted on deep-frying the turkey every year, even after he nearly burned down their garage.”
I smile despite myself. “And he made everyone wear those stupid felt pilgrim hats he bought in bulk.”
“Exactly.” Mom leans forward. “Rhonda’s been beside herself thinking about it. She can’t bear the thought of the holiday without him, but she doesn’t want to disappoint Millie by not celebrating at all.”
I nod, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for whatever favor she’s building up to asking.
“Your father and I have been talking, and we think we’ve found a solution.” She reaches for a brochure on the side table and hands it to me. “A Thanksgiving cruise. Five days,four nights. The ship leaves from Miami the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.”
I flip through the glossy pages of smiling families, buffet tables, and ocean views. “A cruise?”
“We’d all go. Your father and I, Lauren and Jake, Hailey, and of course Rhonda and Millie.” She watches me carefully. “We thought it might be good to create fresh memories this year, somewhere completely different.”
My stomach sinks as I scan the brochure again; it doesn’t escape me what name she didn’t mention. “And Caitlin?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
Mom’s smile tightens at the corners. “Well, darling, this is very short notice. I imagine she couldn’t get the time off from that new job of hers.”
“She might be able to.” I set the brochure down. “She should at least have the option to try.”
Mom sighs, the kind that says I’m being difficult when I should be reasonable. “Adam, this is really about Millie and Rhonda. About helping them through their first holiday without Eric.”
“I understand that,” I say, though what I understand more is the subtext: Caitlin isn’t family, not really, not in Mom’s eyes. “But Caitlin’s my fiancée. If I’m going on a cruise for Thanksgiving, she should come too.”
“Millie’s been so fragile lately,” Mom says, changing tactics. “She acts strong at work and when around others, but Rhonda says she cries herself to sleep most nights. Poor girl just hates the idea of others worrying about her; she doesn’t want to be a burden.”
The weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders, familiar and suffocating. I’ve been expected to take care of Millie Greene since we were kids. Born with a congenital heart defect, Millie endured open-heart surgery twice before her fifth birthday. Andprotecting Millie just gradually became my responsibility. Both my parents and the Greenes encouraged me to make sure other kids didn’t hurt her by playing too rough with her. To make sure nobody picked on her at school.
And then when we were teenagers, a visit to the doctor to find out why Millie had so many bruises on her legs ended with a diagnosis of leukemia. I can still remember Rhonda sobbing in my mother’s arms the day she got the call. The way my dad and Eric sat together on the Greene’s front porch, eyes glassy, saying nothing, dad’s hand on Eric’s shoulder.
Millie’s survival became the focus of both our families. And somehow, her happiness became my responsibility. I sat with her during every chemo session, shaved my head so we’d match when hers fell out. I was the one who talked her through it when her fear of dying got the better of her. With her parents, she put on a happy, cheerful face, not wanting to add to their worries. It was in my arms she cried.
“Mom—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“She asks about you, you know. Rhonda says your name is the first thing Millie mentions when she gets home. ‘How’s Adam?’ ‘Have you seen Adam?’ ‘Is Adam coming over?’ She doesn’t understand why you don’t visit more.”
I run a hand through my hair, feeling trapped. “I spend more time with her than I do with my fiancée these days.”
“I’m sure you’re doing your best,” Mom says in a tone that makes it clear she doesn’t believe it, or rather, she believes I should do more. “But you’ve always been there for her during the hard times. And this… losing her father… this is the hardest yet.”
The guilt creeps in, insidious and familiar. I’ve spent most of my life feeling guilty about Millie. Guilty for not loving her the way everyone expected me to. Guilty for breaking up with her before college. Guilty for leaving Iowa and the weight of everyone’s expectations.
And now, guilty for loving Caitlin instead.
“I don’t know, Mom. I need to talk to Caitlin about this.”
