“Which one should I get?” he asks, pointing to the olive-oil selection. “Look, there are five, no, six different kinds.”
“It doesn’t matter. Just pick one,” I say, cheek pressed to his back. He does, and I steer us, still holding tight, toward the checkout line.
Reality
After we’ve eaten, we watch Don’t Tell the Bride. The groom has allocated half the wedding budget to a Dolly Parton tribute act and bucking-bronco hire.
“Uh-oh,” says Luke when the bride states to her bridesmaid in no uncertain terms that the one thing she categorically doesn’t want is for the wedding to have a Wild West theme.
“Where exactly is Baltimore,” I ask, “in relation to, say, New York?”
“Claire.”
“Yes or no.”
“It wasn’t a yes-or-no question,” says Luke.
“Is it close?”
“Ish. A three-hour drive.”
“So if, in theory, I knew someone who was doing a junior-doctor residency at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore, and if, in theory, I were to visit, would it be possible to spend the weekend with them in New York?”
“Claire…”
“I said in theory.”
“Stop it.”
I give him a little respite, then, feeling generous, a little more. The bride is trying on the wedding dress her fiancé’s chosen: a white lace and satin saloon-girl outfit, complete with feathered headpiece.
“I can’t believe it. I actually really love it!” she gushes. “Oh my God, it’s stunning!” It’s unclear whether the Wild West implication has properly sunk in. I mute the TV.
“Hey!” says Luke. “I want to hear what she says about the cowboy boots!”
I throw the remote across the room onto the armchair, out of reach. “You have to listen to me for a minute.” He stares mutinously at the screen. “Luke. I honestly, truly, completely, unequivocally, passionately think you should go. It has one of the best neurosurgery units in the whole world. It’s crazy of you to pass this up.”
“I already told you: it’s too late.”
“I bet it isn’t. I’m sure it isn’t. There’s always a way — you have to at least ask,” I say. “They already accepted you. The hard part is done. Just explain you had some personal matters, which have now been resolved. Is any of this getting through? Luke? Will you do that? Will you ask?”
He finally peels his gaze away from the TV and studies me: wary, but a little hopeful too.
“You really would be okay with me going?”
“One hundred percent. Do you promise you’ll ask?”
“I’ll ask.”
“Do you promise?”
“I do.”
—
At the wedding reception, the bride’s astride the bucking bronco, whirling an air lasso above her head and having the time of her life.
“Will you lie on me?” I ask.
Luke obliges, pressing the full weight and warmth of his body on mine.
“Don’t die, okay?”
“On the mean streets of Baltimore?”
“I meant ever, but now you say it, the crime rate over there isn’t ideal, is it? Don’t get mixed up with any drug lords.” I squeeze him so hard his bones crackle.
He raises head and shoulders up to look into my face, as though deliberating whether to speak. “You’re sure you wouldn’t mind that Fiona’s going too? I know you have a weird thing about her. Completely unfounded, obviously.”
“Please,” I say. “I’ve met her friends: I’m not worried. I really don’t think you’d last five minutes with someone who consorts with Totty and Clem.”
“Oh, them! I’ve met them! They’re not so bad.”
“Totty. A person who calls herself Totty.” I sigh. “Have I really got you so very wrong all these years?”
He puts his head on my chest and we lie there in silence for a while.
“Ow,” I say. “Knobbly knee. Ow, shoulder. No, your shoulder in my arm. Collarbone — your chin’s digging in mine!”
We wriggle and shift, realigning our edges. “Better?” asks Luke.
“Yes.” There’s a brief pause. “I’d miss you if you died, is what I was getting at.”
Symbolism II
“Why don’t you come?” Luke says. We’re brushing our teeth, and what really comes out is, “I oh oo uhm?”
“No, thanks.” (“O anx.”) I spit. “I have things of my own to get on with.”
“Such as?” he says. (“Uh ah?”)
“Making plans. Still need to work on the finer details, but I think I’ve decided I’m going to temp for a bit to save up for a proper trip somewhere.”
“Oh.” He thinks about it. “That’s a good idea. Cuba? Or Peru. I can’t believe we’ve never been to South America.” He resumes brushing.
“I was thinking more like Iceland. Or Canada. As I say, need to work out the specifics.”
“Those don’t really appeal so much,” he says through gritted teeth, white flecks flying everywhere.
“That’s fine,” I say. “You’re not coming. You’ll be in Baltimore.”
He spits. “But…how will that work?”
“Well, instead of me being here while you’re at Johns Hopkins, I’ll be somewhere else.”
“I thought you said you wanted to meet me in New York.”
“I could still do that on my way to wherever.”
“Why don’t you just come out and stay with me? Free accommodation. New city. We can go on weekend trips on my days off.”
“Because you’ll be there to do your thing. I’d just be hanging around like a spare part. I want to do something for me. Aside from these last few months, I’ve been in full-time work or education for over twenty years.”
“Okay…so then what happens after your trip?”
I sit on the edge of the bath. “I’ll come home and get a job.”
“Yeah, obviously, but what? Isn’t this just putting off the same old problem?”
“I think I’m coming round to the idea that there’s a whole world between any old thing and the thing.” Luke looks quite impressed, so I decide not to credit my father with this wisdom for now. “I know what I’m like. Being somewhere different will make me nostalgic for a routine. I’ll find something, give it a go. If I don’t like it, I’ll try something else.”
“I’ll hire you,” he says. “A new role’s just opened up, actually, in the Department for Hugs and Kisses.” He looms toward me, clumsy like Marshmallow Man, toothpaste froth spewing from his lips.
“Maybe six months apart isn’t nearly long enough,” I say, leaning back into the bath.
He grins, rinses his toothbrush and drops it in the cup, where — as random good fortune would have it — it swings round to nestle next to mine.
Parental guidance
I phone Dad to hear how things panned out at work.
“What’s the verdict?”
“It’s over. I’m out.”
“I’m so sorry. Can’t you appeal?”
“No, Claire: I resigned! I told them I’d had enough of being treated like a second-class citizen.”
This, I really did not expect. “Oh wow. Are you okay?”
“I think so,” he says, but after the spirited announcement, he sounds a little shaken and tired.
“Congratulations, Dad. That was very brave.”
“I took your advice. If something isn’t making you happy, change it: isn’t that what you said?”