Page 9 of Love and Lies

“Adam wore his shorter,” she said quietly, and I saw a sadness in her eyes that she hardly ever showed. And an accusation, too. That was a given, even if she didn’t say it out loud.

“I know,” I replied, moving out of her reach. “But I’m not Adam.” Such an unnecessary thing to say. We were both more than aware.

A moment passed, before my mother wiped all emotion from her face again and took her hand away. “You’re early,” she commented, checking her watch.

“Yeah, I thought I could spend some time with Eli.”

“He’s been in his room all day. He and Henry were planning to go to the Yankees game, but Eli changed his mind at the last minute.” She stressed it in such a way that I couldn’t escape her meaning.

“It’s bad again?” I looked at her with concern. I’d seen my brother about a week ago and had had the impression that he was doing okay.

“I have no idea—he’s worse, he’s better, he’s worse again. I’m not seeing any real progress.”

My mother shook her head. It was that same lack of understanding of Eli’s situation I saw in her eyes that kept me here in New York—among other things. She simply wouldn’t tolerate any fear or weakness—either her own, or other people’s. She never had. And her ex, Eli’s father, Henry, was similar in that regard.

“It’s hard for him, you know that.” I went to bat for my little brother. “He’s been through a trauma. That doesn’t go away from one day to the next.”

“No, not from one day to the next.” My mother sighed. “But it’s been more than five years, Jess. I’m beginning to think he’ll never get over it.”

I took a deep breath. “He was pretty good for a while. But first the divorce, and then Adam’s death on top of that… they set him back.”

“Let’s not even talk about the fact that you just vanished from his life after you graduated,” she retorted, straight off the bat.

“Eli was doing okay when I left,” I answered in brusque self-justifcation.

Trish scoffed. “And how would you know? You weren’t even here; you moved to the other side of the world because you couldn’t stand it here!”

“How could anyone stand it?” I yelled. “How is anyone supposed to live in this fucking city without going crazy?!”

“Right—as if that had anything to do with New York City and not the fact that you never wanted to be part of this family!” My mother stared at me furiously.

That hit hard. It always did when she reminded me how much I’d hated having to move in with her after my father died.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” I said through gritted teeth. “Isn’t that enough for you?” Of course not. How could it be, after everything that had happened.

From the outside, my parents had been a real cliché when they’d met—she was the young, beautiful woman and he the rich older man. There were over thirty years and many more millions of dollars between them. But Trish had had no interest in being a trophy wife, spending his money on clothes and champagne. She wanted something to nurture, to create her own empire—and Dad was man enough to support her in her endeavor. In return, she’d given him two children, something that had previously eluded him.

But a few years after I was born, my parents realized that they didn’t really have anything in common except their sons, so they filed for divorce. Neither Adam nor I were old enough to decide who we wanted to live with—he was ten, and I was seven—but they listened to us anyway: I stayed with Dad, and my brother with Trish. For me there was no question. I’d never forged any real connection with my mother because she’d always been working, and I didn’t even have anything in common with Adam, who was so serious and sensible, even from a young age. My dad was my hero, and when we moved to the Village, into our bachelor pad, as he called it, I thought it was brilliant. I was practically brought up in his restaurants, given free reign, and hardly ever took advantage of it. We used to drive to his farm upstate, too, where there was more nature on offer than I could ever take in. He always made time for me, the total opposite of Trish. It was the perfect life. Right up until the moment he disappeared, from one day to the next.

I had just turned fourteen when Dad died, a bit younger than Eli was now. It was an undetected aneurysm that ruptured while I was at school. He died instantly, leaving behind a void that was beyond my comprehension. After it happened, I had to go live with my mother and Adam in their swanky apartment—an angry, grieving teenager who hated high society because his father had had no interest in it. They don’t know how to live, he’d always said. And he was right.

From then on, my life had been governed by rules—strict rules, which I proceeded to break, one by one, over the next few years. I stayed out late, skipped school, hung out with the shadiest people I could find, and made sure to let my mother know whenever we fought just how little I gave a shit about her or her lifestyle. If she had a business dinner, I would throw a house party. If I had to go to one of her lame events, I would screw some Upper East Side princess in the cloakroom and make sure everyone heard. I was driven by my rage—that the only person I counted as family had been taken away from me. And my mother, who had no idea how to deal with a son who’d always been a stranger to her, echoed that rage right back.

It was Adam, in the end, who managed to mediate things between us so that I no longer rebelled so hard, and my mother for her part stopped demanding that I attend her high-society charity socials or play the respectable son in front of her business associates. It was a ceasefire that had lasted until Adam’s death, but we were on shaky ground again now. Even though I was prepared to fulfill part of my brother’s role—and virtually to the letter, without any hint of scandal.

“Yes. You’re here,” my mother finally answered my question. But the implied too late rang out clearly. Our relationship was constantly on the brink, and not just because of my teenage antics. There had also been that conversation years ago, after the news broke on social media that Adam Coldwell had asked Valerie Weston to marry him.

Jess, you have to come home and talk to your brother. Trish had sounded beside herself. He’s gotten engaged to that woman. I’ve told him it’s a mistake, but he won’t listen. If anyone can talk some sense into him, it’s you.

He’s in love, that’s all, I’d replied, and at that point I knew exactly what that felt like. Let him have his fun for once—he’s always toeing your line.

She’s a Weston! Getting involved with that lot always ends in disaster.

That’s bullshit; you’re totally paranoid. Adam is finally enjoying life—don’t ruin it for him.

Two weeks later, my brother was dead. And now, two and a half years on, I stood before my mother and knew we were both asking ourselves the same question. If I’d listened to her and come home, would I have been able to prevent it?

“Whatever.” Trish exhaled audibly. Neither of us apologized; we never did. But I could practically feel the rift between us cementing itself a little deeper. She avoided my eye as she continued, “I found a new therapist, an expert in exposure therapy. Maybe she’ll make some progress with Eli.”