She flips a pancake. “I called off. Tobin was happy to fill in for me, and Nick understood. I said it was a family emergency.”
“He probably thought something was wrong with your dad!”
She waves me off, unconcerned. “He knows you’re family, too.”
Maybe this is what my movie should be about, I think as I lean against the counter and Chloe hands me coffee in Uncle Don’s favorite TALK WOOKIEE TO ME mug. Maybe it should be about the power of female friendship, not an unbelievable love story. Because this I can count on; at least I know Chloe isn’t going anywhere.
“Oh, PS, your phone kept buzzing, and I crawled around on my hands and knees looking for it and finally found it under the TV cabinet.” She hands it to me with eyebrows raised.
I grab it, a little too quickly, and scroll through my texts. They’re all from the library, reminding me of the books that are due this week.
“Expecting something?”
“Nope.” I slide the phone into my pocket. “Certainly not.”
“Convincing. So,” she says, her eyes on the pancakes, “how are you feeling?”
I take another sip of coffee. “Like I’ve had way too much wine two nights in a row and I’m not twenty-one anymore.”
“No.” She looks up. “I mean, about . . . Drew. And the whole thing with your mom.”
I shrug. “It is what it is.”
She drops the spatula. “Whoa. You must really be feeling bad, because the writer I know would never use a terrible cliché like that.”
I sigh. “Give me a break.”
“No, I’m serious. What does that even mean? It is what it is? Like, of course it is what it is! No shit!”
“Okay! Fine! I meant ‘it is terrible and shitty but I have to deal with it because that’s life, dude.’”
Chloe nods. “Better, but definitely isn’t gonna fit on a throw pillow.”
“Are my pancakes ready yet?”
“Patience!” she says, and I sip my coffee and she cooks in companionable silence until we hear the front door opening.
“Is someone breaking in?” I whisper.
“Oh no.” Chloe waves the spatula in faux-concern. “They’re going to steal all the pancakes.”
“Hide! Turn off the oven! Seriously, why are you not more concerned?”
But before I can duck behind the island, Uncle Don walks into the kitchen.
“Hey there, girls,” he says, gesturing to a petite purple-haired woman in horn-rimmed glasses who trails behind him. “This is Tyler.”
I can’t say anything for a few moments. Tyler is a woman—a woman who, if I’m judging correctly, appears to be about Uncle Don’s age but considerably prettier. I’d always assumed Tyler was a man, but now that I think about it, Don never specifically said so.
“But what are you doing home?” I ask, because ‘why is there a woman with you?’ seems like a rude question. “I thought you weren’t getting back until Monday morning.”
“I decided to leave early,” Don says, his eyes cutting to Chloe.
“I called him,” she says, and gives me a not-all-that-apologetic shrug. “I figured he’d want to know if his niece was having a crisis of faith.”
“Tyler was nice enough to come with me,” Uncle Don says, putting his hand on her elbow in a way that seems very familiar, “so we caught a flight home and left Earl, Paul, and Dungeon Master Rick there. They’ve gotta bring the Wookiee costume home, but oh well.”
“But . . . why?” I ask.
Don looks around the kitchen, then says, “Ladies? Could you give me and Annie a moment to talk privately?”
Realizing that there are things that should be said privately is kind of new for Uncle Don, so I’m worried about how bad this conversation is going to be, but Chloe winks and leads Tyler out of the room. Chloe could make conversation with a cast-iron skillet, so I’m not at all concerned about leaving her alone with a relative stranger.
“So,” Uncle Don says, leaning against a counter and crossing his arms. “Chloe told me you found some letters.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Some letters. Yes. Some letters that informed me I never really knew my own mother.”
He nods, and then I get it. “Wait. Did you also know that she had her heart trampled on by a married man?”
Don nods again. “She was my sister. Sometimes we talked.”
“But why didn’t I know?”
Don smiles gently. “You were a kid. Most parents—most good ones, anyway—probably don’t have in-depth discussions with their kids about their romantic lives.”
“This doesn’t make any sense!” I say, throwing up my hands in exasperation. “Mom believed in love. In true love. The kind she had with Dad and the kind that was in movies. Why would she have put herself in this shitty, not at all cinematic situation?”
Don shrugs. “I try not to judge people who face situations I’ve never faced.”
“Well, how wonderful that you’re so nonjudgmental,” I mutter, then add, “Sorry. That was unnecessarily mean.”
He shrugs again. He’s doing a lot of shrugging today.
“I don’t get it.” I slump over the counter. “This doesn’t even sound like Mom. I spent my entire life holding up her and Dad’s relationship as this ideal, of watching and rewatching the movies she loved because I thought they held some sort of secret, you know?”
Uncle Don doesn’t say anything, just waits for me to go on.
“Like if I could star in the perfect montage or have the ultimate sympathetic backstory, then that meant I would find love. And sure, there would be one big miscommunication, but nothing that couldn’t be solved with a romantic grand gesture set to a really great song.”
Uncle Don smiles a little.
“But that’s not how it worked out for Mom, is it?” I ask, my voice growing quiet. “She fell in love with someone who couldn’t even love her back, and it didn’t matter that she had the ultimate sympathetic backstory or whether she attempted any sort of grand gesture.”
“Your mom did have a great love story,” Uncle Don says. “I wish you could remember more about your dad, kiddo, because he was really one of a kind. When your mom met him, she told me, ‘I just met the man I’m going to marry.’ She really knew. And you could tell whenever they were around each other that he adored her.”
“But he died,” I say flatly.
“And that sucks Ewok balls,” Uncle Don says. “But that doesn’t make their love any less real.”
“Do Ewoks even have balls?” I ask, eyebrows raised.
“It’s not explicitly discussed, but I assume. All I’m saying is . . . just because your mom’s love story ended doesn’t mean it wasn’t real or that it didn’t mean something. It meant everything to her.”
“But then she died heartbroken,” I say. “And almost ruined another woman’s life.”
“She died with one heartbreak, sure,” Don says. “And you know what? All of us are gonna deal with a bunch of heartbreaks throughout our life. But she also died knowing that she was truly in love once, and not everyone can say that.”