Beautiful Graves(39)

Another day my mom won’t get to see.





TWELVE


On the drive to Dover on Christmas Eve morning, Dom tells me that he bought us a cooking-class pass for the next six months, and that he signed me up for a calligraphy course as an early Christmas present.

“You know, because you said you used to do art.” A shy smile touches his lips.

Art is such a big, wide field, and calligraphy is definitely not my thing.

I am grateful for his thoughtfulness, but I also feel a little suffocated. I get that he lives in high gear, but I live at a turtle’s pace. I always feel like I need to catch up.

“That’s a lot of extracurricular activity,” I note lightly.

“Well, you can’t be doing what you’re doing forever. For one thing, you hate it. For another, art is more fun, more fulfilling, will offer you better prospects.”

I haven’t told Dom about designing gravestones. I’m pretty sure it would make him run for the hills. I kept it vague, so I can’t exactly get upset that he got it wrong.

“Yeah,” I say. “Guess I could try and see. Maybe it’s my thing.”

“Have you talked to your dad recently?” Dom asks.

“We spoke on the phone before you picked me up.”

Honestly, I wouldn’t qualify what we had as a conversation. We shared empty miss-yous, hollow inside out. But we didn’t address the fact that I’m not in California right now, or that he sent me the box, or that the gap between us is widening every minute of every day.

“I hope you figure it out. If you go in January, maybe I can tag along. I have a lot of vacation saved up,” Dom offers. Just thinking about it makes me want to heave. I haven’t mentioned Dom to Dad. I’m too ashamed to admit I might be happy.

“What should I expect of your family?” I ask, to change the topic. “Prep me.”

“Well, Mom’s just the best. No preparation needed here. She is warm, sweet, and enjoys company. She will love you instantly because you love her son.” He lets the statement hang in the air for a beat before continuing. “As for Dad, he keeps to himself most of the time. He and Seph have the same personality. Dark, broody, skimming the verge of rude. As long as you stay away from politics and the Red Sox, I’m pretty sure you’ll have no trouble winning him over. And then Seph, you’ve met.”

“Actually, I haven’t,” I say. Dom and I haven’t discussed Scone-gate, but since I’m going to meet Seph in about an hour, it’s time to fess up. Dom arches an eyebrow, surprised.

“I thought you did?”

“No, he was in the shower. I just picked up some scones and left.”

“Seph’s a real gem once you get to know him. Hard exterior, but inside he’s a kitten. He’s a wiseass but makes up for it with a heart as big as his trap. I don’t know what I’d have done without him.”

“Why didn’t we drive to Dover with him?”

Dom shakes his head. “He doesn’t do lovey-dovey couples. Can’t stand them. He probably wanted to make sure he wouldn’t get stuck in a make-out-fest.”

“Isn’t he happy for you?”

“He is, but it’s complicated,” Dom says. His phone rings. He puts it on silent. I wonder what’s so complicated about being happy for your older brother and his new girlfriend.

“He sounds like a character.”

“He is, but . . .” He smiles. “Don’t write him off just yet, all right? He’s a good guy.”

An hour and a half after we hit the road, Dom pulls up at a gray shingle-styled house in a picturesque cul-de-sac. With three garage spaces, big bay windows, and tended rosebushes.

Dom turns off the ignition and rounds the car. He opens the door for me. I get out and smooth out my oversize black sweater, which serves as a dress over my black leggings. I put on a white dress shirt with a Peter Pan collar underneath, to look more preppy than goth. I also tamed my fire-engine hair into a braid and tucked my septum piercing into my nose so it’s not visible. If Pippa saw me right now, she’d call me a sellout. A fraud. She wouldn’t be off base. I feel strange in my own skin.

Dom hauls both our suitcases out of his trunk. The front door opens.

A petite woman with sharp yet pleasant features hurries toward the car. Her hair is naturally gray and cut short. Her smile makes her entire face open up. She is wearing a red turtleneck dress.

She flings herself over Dom and cries, “Oh, honey. How I’ve missed you.”

Something inside me breaks. Because there is nothing I want more in this world than to hug my mom, but she is six feet under.

Dom kisses his mother, cups her cheeks, and takes a step back to observe her. I love seeing men being affectionate with their mothers. I love seeing them tenderly clasp the women who made them, especially when they’re over two heads taller than them.

“You look amazing, Mom.”

“You look tired. And stunning. But mostly tired.” She laughs. I realize that she is spot on. Dom looks exhausted. I normally don’t pay attention to it because . . . well, because he is a nurse, and maybe that’s just the way they are.

“Let me introduce you to my girlfriend, Lynne.”

I don’t correct him that my name is Everlynne. It seems redundant at this point. He likes the name Lynne—so what?