Chapter_16_Return_to_

The next morning, Wyatt and I wake up at the same time.

He’s perplexed. In a daze.

“Don’t tell my mom we found the letters yet,” he says to me as I stretch awake.

“I won’t but she probably knows,” I say.

Wyatt isn’t ready to reveal to his mom what he learned about his dad.

Makes sense. I still haven’t told Wyatt about my job. How can I now?

The smell of bacon pulls us both out of our cloud of confusion.

“Let’s just get through this breakfast,” Wyatt says as we both manage to get out of bed.

Lemon poppy seed ricotta pancakes, crispy bacon, a spinach and goat cheese quiche, freshly squeezed orange juice. Beverly has prepared an impressive breakfast for us, officially outdoing my dinner last night.

I secretly want mimosas but then I remember we have to take turns driving.

Beverly is even wearing a send-off outfit: a smart plum-colored pantsuit with matching eyeglasses. She looks like the commander of a futuristic army.

I imagine she’s keeping herself busy all morning to avoid the bittersweet feeling she experiences every time her son leaves home.

She even showers us with a half dozen new onesies for the baby. Stylish outfits from the chic grandma-to-be.

“Any word from Alex or Megan?” Wyatt asks. He has intense eye contact with his mom, like he wants to say more. I could tell something like resentment is probably sizzling inside him, like the nearby bacon. I just wish he would say something to his mom.

“Oh, his headache is gone. Megan texted this morning and said he wanted to go for a run. I’m gonna visit them after you guys leave.” Her voice cracks with vulnerability on the word “leave.” “You’ll come back with the baby and see them?”

“Of course. We want the cousins to be friends,” Wyatt says.

Beverly doesn’t want us to go. We’re fun and up for doing just about anything—more than Alex and Megan, who usually keep to themselves. We make Bev feel like a peer. Our fun friend.

“Thanks for clearing out your boxes,” Beverly says. “I saw you emptied a few.”

“I threw some things away but I’ll have to do more next time we’re back. Lots of stuff I don’t remember,” Wyatt says.

A loaded pause hangs in the air. I’ve known him long enough that I can tell when he’s holding back.

“Oh my god. It smells like heaven,” I say. Someone needs to keep the conversation moving if they’re not going to actually talk about anything real.

“We can eat if you guys are ready. I know you like your bacon extra crispy.” Beverly places a hefty pitcher of orange juice in the middle of the picture-perfect kitchen table. I snap an overhead photo of the Instagram-ready spread.

“I’m not sure we can eat all this. I don’t want to feel full while driving,” Wyatt says. Now everything is starting to emerge with a slightly angry, bitter tone.

“Eat what you can,” Beverly says, gesturing for us to sit. Matilda waddles in and Beverly seamlessly pulls a treat out for her to munch on.

“No!” Wyatt shouts, scaring everyone including Matilda.

“What?” Beverly asks.

“Matilda can’t eat right before we get in the car. She throws up. You know that. Jesus,” Wyatt overreacts.

He tries pulling the tiny morsel out of Matilda’s mouth but she won’t budge. She swallows it whole, almost smiling at getting away with it. And of course now she wants a full meal.

“Oh, one little treat isn’t going to do anything.” Beverly attempts to smooth it over.

“You don’t know our dog. She gets sick every five seconds. You’re not helping.”

“It’s okay, Wyatt. Relax,” I say, for the sake of Beverly.

I hand Wyatt a piece of bacon, hoping to diffuse his sideways emotion.

As we fuel up with Beverly’s power breakfast, I see Wyatt torturing himself, waiting for the right moment to bring up the letters. It’s all so troubling to me.

Beverly realizes she hasn’t asked enough about my family. While Wyatt broods over his black coffee, I go into depth about each of my sisters and parents. Later, Beverly and I fake argue over who will do the dishes with Beverly winning. Before I know it, we’re loading up Virginia Woolf, ready to leave.

We stand in Beverly’s driveway saying our goodbyes under the morning sun. I give Beverly a giant hug and her warm embrace makes me feel like her third son.

“Don’t let him backseat drive you,” she jokes at Wyatt’s expense. We both laugh too hard, knowing how true this is, but Wyatt doesn’t find it funny or he’s ignoring us. His focus is on opening the convertible top. We could all use some fresh air.

The mechanics of the car keep Wyatt busy. He manually rolls down the windows, lifts the roof up and over the car, pushes it down hard to make sure it’s snugly open. It’s his way of delaying his turn to say goodbye to his mom.

Finally... “Bye, Mom,” he says flatly and hugs Beverly like a wet noodle. As Wyatt pulls apart before Beverly is ready, she blinks, knowing something is off.

“You seem like you’re in a hurry,” she says.

I swear, the passive aggression between these two people is off the charts. My family would never let this wound sit unattended, festering.

“We’ve got almost three thousand miles to cover. Just want to get going,” Wyatt says.

Wyatt lifts Matilda into her little bed in the back seat and we both run around the car a few times, making sure our luggage is all there and everything is tucked away.

“Drive safely, you two. And text me when you get to Saugatuck,” Beverly calls out to me because it seems like Wyatt isn’t even paying attention.

When we close the doors, Beverly starts waving a hand in front of her eyes.

“Here come the waterworks,” Wyatt says under his breath.

“Darn it, I told myself not to do this!” she says as tears well in her eyes and an ugly cry ripples through, giving her short, sharp spasms, like she’s about to give birth to an alien.

“Don’t worry, Beverly. We’ll call you every five minutes,” I joke.

“Please do, Biz,” she sniffs, pulling out a rumpled tissue from her pocket, which looks like she’s already used it for a pre-cry cry. She blows her nose and waves as Wyatt snaps his seatbelt shut tight, getting out one last microaggression.

“Don’t forget my turkey sandwiches. I threw in some Ruffles too.” She’s never once packed us a farewell lunch when we’ve visited. She must feel extra bad. “Next time I see you, you’ll be dads!” Beverly realizes out loud. “Love you both!” she yells.

“Love you!” I call out. But Wyatt stays silent. He just tightly smiles and waves. He can’t summon those words right now. Wyatt has quick eye contact with his mom before he backs out of the driveway.

Knowing Wyatt, he’ll have to process what he discovered on the road first. He needs to form a solid take on those letters. And then he’ll have to reassess his relationship with his mom. And now his dad.

I look back and see Wyatt’s mom dabbing her eyes with the tissue and waving at the end of the driveway. It’s the exact same tableau every time we visit. Only this time, Wyatt doesn’t share her tears.

I can sense his blood start to boil.

Virginia Woolf travels as far as the house next to Beverly’s and stops.

That’s when we hear the sound.

Matilda throws up.

After I clean up Matilda’s bed, we eventually make it onto a long stretch of highway as the bossy GPS lady on Wyatt’s phone continues to tell us where to go. With Matilda finally napping, we settle into an uneasy silence.

“I feel like you let your mom off too easy,” I begin.

“What do you mean?”

“It just seems like you’re in denial about your dad’s letters the same way she’s been.”

Wyatt glances at me, maybe thinking I’m right. “I’m not like you. I need a minute to process all of this. Of course I won’t let her off easy. It’s hurtful what she did.”

We turn to look at each other. I’m proud that Wyatt can admit he’s hurt. A step in the right direction.

“I know there are two sides to every story,” Wyatt says. “But I just need to figure out the next move with my mom. It’s always been that way with us.”

“Maybe it’s time to face the truth,” I suggest.

“You’re a hundred percent right,” Wyatt admits.

Scrolling through my phone, I see a new work email.

It’s a form letter from my job listing my severance package (eight months—one month for every year I was there) and continuing insurance benefits (one year).

I’m going to be such an awesome dad, I immediately joke to myself.

Seriously, though. How am I going to be a father if I can’t hold down a job?

As discussed, your employment will terminate...

Reality sets in.

Stressed-out gray hairs sprout and worried forehead lines form on my face by the second.

I know I’ll have to tell Wyatt eventually. But not yet. I should tell him while we’re in the car though. He can’t push me out of a moving vehicle.

How ironic that I’m telling Wyatt to face the truth when I’m not ready to face my own.

“Everything okay?” Wyatt asks, sensing the weight of my silence. Does he know what I was reading?

Or maybe he’s projecting and wants me to ask him if everything is okay.

“Yeah. Why? Just ignoring a work email,” I say, staring straight out of the windshield. It’s the truth, after all. “Everything okay with you?”

Wyatt nods.

So much is left unsaid between us. But first, I have to tell him about my plan to go home.