somewhere along the way
because Fynn would never be Joel to her. The name just didn’t fit.
“Catherine?” her mother prodded firmly.
“Sure you like Fynn. It’s me you have a problem with,”
she groused, wallowing in self-pity.
“Oh please, give me a break.”
“You thought I was nuts when I showed up with him last
spring, for the whole way we met—flying out there, chasing a lost toy—for
everything.”
“Sure I thought you were nuts—you’re my daughter, I know you’re nuts.”
“Thanks,” she said lowly.
“Did I ever tell you how I met your father?”
“He was the quarterback of the high school football
team and your eyes locked with his in the middle of a play, all the way from
where you sat in the bleachers,” Catherine recited, sounding bored by the old
story she’d heard countless times.
“Actually, he was the quarterback of the other team.
Our biggest rivals. He lived three towns away.”
“So?”
“We didn’t go to the same school. We didn’t have the
same friends. We were sworn enemies. And yet we made it work.”
“Nice try, Mom, but I hardly think a few towns and a
football rivalry equate to what I’m going through.”
“I was fifteen. I didn’t drive yet. He didn’t have a
car. I used to take the bus to see him when I could because it was safer than
him coming to see me. In a lot of ways it was probably harder than what you’re
going through. But this isn’t about me…” she said pointedly. “I just hope that
whatever is going on with you two, you don’t let a few miles get in the way.”
“A few miles?” Catherine scoffed. And then the dam
broke. “ Hundreds of miles, Mom. I don’t know up from down half the
time.”
“Maybe that’s a sign that you need to make a change.
You have been dating like this for months.”
“I think so, too.”
“Good,” her mother said, like the conversation was
suitably concluded. She’d said her evasive piece and Catherine had responded in
kind and everyone was roughly on the same page as far as Elizabeth Hemmings was
concerned. She got up to go, walked across the room, and as she was reaching
for the doorknob Catherine shattered their common ground.
“So we broke up,” she said, her voice even, like she
was stating a simple, unemotional fact.
She watched her mother’s shoulders slump in defeat for
exactly one heartbeat, and then Elizabeth composed herself and turned to face
the bed. “Well, then I guess another year has passed, hasn’t it?” There she
went, passive aggressively counting the time down to her daughter’s old-maid
status. Suddenly she was all business again. “Why don’t you get dressed, come
downstairs, have some of my famous French toast, and then we’ll take that trip
to the store that I was talking about.”
-8-
“There’s Little Miss Sunshine!” William Hemmings
announced from the table, eyes twinkling, bald head polished and shining in the
daylight that was streaming through the windows behind him. He’d taken to
calling her that ironically when she was in high school and obviously her dour
mood had brought it back into play.
“Whatever,” Catherine said begrudgingly, her usual
response to the greeting.
“Just like having a teenager around the house all over
again. Ah, those were the days,” he swooned facetiously.
Her father had gotten the worst of her teen years, but
in her defense, he was blind, deaf, and dumb to her growing pains. She was
awkward and gawky and slow to bloom, except for her face that bloomed mounds of
puss like a mutant garden. She was a complete mess in her teen years. But for
some reason he never noticed, so when his generally agreeable daughter turned
into a shrieking nightmare or slipped into absolute contrariness unexpectedly over
what seemed to be mundane things, he didn’t get it… at all…. Like the time he
tried to take her for an ice cream and she balked, refusing to go in the parlor.
They fought the whole way
because Fynn would never be Joel to her. The name just didn’t fit.
“Catherine?” her mother prodded firmly.
“Sure you like Fynn. It’s me you have a problem with,”
she groused, wallowing in self-pity.
“Oh please, give me a break.”
“You thought I was nuts when I showed up with him last
spring, for the whole way we met—flying out there, chasing a lost toy—for
everything.”
“Sure I thought you were nuts—you’re my daughter, I know you’re nuts.”
“Thanks,” she said lowly.
“Did I ever tell you how I met your father?”
“He was the quarterback of the high school football
team and your eyes locked with his in the middle of a play, all the way from
where you sat in the bleachers,” Catherine recited, sounding bored by the old
story she’d heard countless times.
“Actually, he was the quarterback of the other team.
Our biggest rivals. He lived three towns away.”
“So?”
“We didn’t go to the same school. We didn’t have the
same friends. We were sworn enemies. And yet we made it work.”
“Nice try, Mom, but I hardly think a few towns and a
football rivalry equate to what I’m going through.”
“I was fifteen. I didn’t drive yet. He didn’t have a
car. I used to take the bus to see him when I could because it was safer than
him coming to see me. In a lot of ways it was probably harder than what you’re
going through. But this isn’t about me…” she said pointedly. “I just hope that
whatever is going on with you two, you don’t let a few miles get in the way.”
“A few miles?” Catherine scoffed. And then the dam
broke. “ Hundreds of miles, Mom. I don’t know up from down half the
time.”
“Maybe that’s a sign that you need to make a change.
You have been dating like this for months.”
“I think so, too.”
“Good,” her mother said, like the conversation was
suitably concluded. She’d said her evasive piece and Catherine had responded in
kind and everyone was roughly on the same page as far as Elizabeth Hemmings was
concerned. She got up to go, walked across the room, and as she was reaching
for the doorknob Catherine shattered their common ground.
“So we broke up,” she said, her voice even, like she
was stating a simple, unemotional fact.
She watched her mother’s shoulders slump in defeat for
exactly one heartbeat, and then Elizabeth composed herself and turned to face
the bed. “Well, then I guess another year has passed, hasn’t it?” There she
went, passive aggressively counting the time down to her daughter’s old-maid
status. Suddenly she was all business again. “Why don’t you get dressed, come
downstairs, have some of my famous French toast, and then we’ll take that trip
to the store that I was talking about.”
-8-
“There’s Little Miss Sunshine!” William Hemmings
announced from the table, eyes twinkling, bald head polished and shining in the
daylight that was streaming through the windows behind him. He’d taken to
calling her that ironically when she was in high school and obviously her dour
mood had brought it back into play.
“Whatever,” Catherine said begrudgingly, her usual
response to the greeting.
“Just like having a teenager around the house all over
again. Ah, those were the days,” he swooned facetiously.
Her father had gotten the worst of her teen years, but
in her defense, he was blind, deaf, and dumb to her growing pains. She was
awkward and gawky and slow to bloom, except for her face that bloomed mounds of
puss like a mutant garden. She was a complete mess in her teen years. But for
some reason he never noticed, so when his generally agreeable daughter turned
into a shrieking nightmare or slipped into absolute contrariness unexpectedly over
what seemed to be mundane things, he didn’t get it… at all…. Like the time he
tried to take her for an ice cream and she balked, refusing to go in the parlor.
They fought the whole way
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