She ignores the joke and continues, "And Paxton idolizes you. I'm sure you've noticed, but he loves being around you. And I think it's good for him to have a positive male role model."
I laugh at that. "Bullshit. I'm nobody's role model."
She's not laughing with me. "Gustov, can I be honest for a minute?"
"By all means. And I appreciate honesty at all times, not just this once, just so you know." She hides a lot, I know that. Not that she's a liar, she just holds back. Information, emotion ... she's private to the point that I wonder if it's suffocating her.
Her eyes drop back to her mixing bowl. She's scooping cookie dough out of the bowl and dropping it on the baking sheet. She's thinking about what I just said. Thinking about it a lot harder than I intended, but probably not as much as she truly needs to in order to believe it. After several seconds, she nods. "Point taken."
When she looks at me again I nod to acknowledge her.
She continues. "When I first met you, I thought you were an asshole."
I nod again. "You were probably right. Especially back then."
She shakes her head to dismiss my comment. "Stop. Let me finish." She takes a breath. "I was wrong. I was so wrapped in my own issues that I let it cloud my judgment. Every guy I saw, every guy I met, was automatically an asshole. It wasn't just you. But because you were the one I was forced to deal with for my job, that animosity was amplified. I have things in my past," she pauses like she's contemplating stopping right there, and then she sighs, "I made some bad choices. I did things I'm not proud of. For a long time I tried to blame that on other people. Now I'm trying to take responsibility." She pauses again, trying to compose herself. "Sorry, this isn't about me. What I'm trying to say is that I was wrong about you. You are a role model. You're kind. And you have this charisma that attracts people to you. You don't try, it just happens. Because it makes them happy to be around you. I know you're dealing with something right now, something dark, but in your heart of hearts, you're just ... happy. And good. I don't know how to do that. But, it's who you are. I admire that. And I want Paxton around that. I think that's who he is, too, but he's never been surrounded by it. I try my best with him, but I'm not like you and Audrey."
It makes me sad to hear her doubt herself; she's so much more than she gives herself credit for. I wonder if she's ever had anyone tell her so. "You don't see yourself, Impatient. You don't see the person the rest of us do."
She shakes her head in disbelief as she walks to the oven to put the cookies in. She's not just feeling sorry for herself; this is ingrained self-loathing.
When she shuts the oven door, I take ahold of her arm and gently turn her to face me. She closes her eyes when we're facing each other. "Look at me, please." She does. "Nobody's perfect. Believe me, I know that. But you sell yourself so fucking short. You're smart as hell. Ma loves working with you. And that's saying a lot because Ma needs someone who can keep up with her intellectually. The fact that you could step into Mikayla's shoes and not miss a beat, is nothing short of fucking miraculous. And you pay attention to everything going on around you. Even if you're not engaged in what's going on, you're still paying attention. And it's not nosy or intrusive, you're just hyper-aware, that alone shows you care. And don't even get me started on Pax. That kid loves you. He'd be lost without you. And I have a feeling that's how it's always been. And I know instinctively that you've never let him down. Have you let yourself down? Probably. But not him. Not ever. And that says a lot about the person you are. Hell, he's here with you now. I don't know the circumstances surrounding the family dynamic you've all got going on, but the fact that you're taking care of him because Jim doesn't? That speaks volumes."
"You know about Jim?" She sounds surprised, I guess because it's never been brought up.
I nod.
She's trying to hold back tears. "I just want Paxton to turn out better than I did."
Pulling her into a hug, I tell her, "You'll both be fine."
"Will we?"
"Abso-fucking-lutely. And you aren't going anywhere. Ma gets fierce when her nest is threatened. You don't want that. Believe me."
Thursday, October 19
(Gus)
My cell is ringing. I don't recognize the number, and the area code is unfamiliar. Usually I'd let it go to voicemail, but I'm bored. So I answer. "Hola."
"Hello?" It's a confused female on the other end of the line.
"Hello?" I question back. I have a feeling this is a wrong number, but I don't want to be rude and hang up on her.
"Gustov?" Same confused female.
"Yup."
"Gustov, this is Clare." Long pause. "How are you?" Unease doesn't even begin to describe what's buried in her voice.
Clare? It takes me a few seconds before my mind catches up. Clare from the European tour. "Oh hey, Clare. All's well here. How're you?" I haven't seen or heard from her since the tour. Not sure what this is about, but I'm curious.
"Good. Better." She sounds nervous and sighs. "I've had a lot going on since I last saw you. Been working on myself. Getting cleaned up."
She pauses again and I feel the need to interject because she's struggling, stumbling over her words. Even though I didn't particularly like Clare, I can't abandon her now when she's obviously trying to reach out to me. "Good for you."