“Did you tell Danny about what Tiffany did to you?” Cliff asks.
“Yeah, I did.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“He didn’t give you any advice?”
“I didn’t ask him for any advice.”
“I see.” Cliff grabs his chin, which lets me know he is going to say something my mother has told him. “Pat, I know how you lost your memory. Everyone does.” He pauses here, gauging my reaction. “And I think you remember too. Do you?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to tell you how you lost your memory?”
“No.”
“Why?”
I don’t say anything.
“I know Dr. Timbers used to tell you the story every day as part of your therapy. That’s why I never brought it up. I thought maybe you would talk about it when you were ready, but it’s been almost five months—and now you have a broken leg, and things seem to have gotten worse. I can’t help feeling as though we need to start trying other tactics. What Tiffany suggested about closure is true. I’m not saying her methods were honorable, but you really do need to come to terms with what happened, Pat. You need closure.”
“Maybe my movie isn’t over,” I say, because sometimes moviemakers trick the audience with a false bad ending, and just when you think the movie is going to end badly, something dramatic happens, which leads to the happy ending. This seems like a good spot for something dramatic to happen, especially since it’s my birthday.
“Your life is not a movie, Pat. Life is not a movie. You’re an Eagles fan. After watching so many NFL seasons without a Super Bowl, you should know that real life often ends poorly.”
“How can you say that now, especially since the Eagles have won four straight and are headed into the play-offs—even after McNabb went down!” Cliff just looks at me, almost as if he is scared, and suddenly I realize that I was just yelling. But I can’t help adding, “With a negative attitude like that, it will end poorly, Cliff! You’re starting to sound like Dr. Timbers! You better watch out, or you’re going to be defeated by pessimism!”
There is a long silence, and Cliff looks really worried, which begins to worry me.
On the drive home, Mom tells me that people are coming over for my birthday. She is making me a birthday dinner. “Is Nikki coming?” I ask.
“No, Pat. Nikki is never coming,” Mom says. “Never.”
When we arrive home, Mom makes me sit in the family room while she cooks meat loaf and mashed potatoes and green beans and an apple pie. She keeps trying to talk to me, but I really do not feel like talking.
Jake and Caitlin arrive first, and they try to cheer me up by talking really enthusiastically about the Birds, but it doesn’t work.
When Ronnie and Veronica arrive, Emily climbs onto my lap, which makes me feel a little better. Caitlin asks Emily if she wants to draw a picture on my cast, and when she nods, Mom finds some markers and we all watch little Emily draw. She starts off by making a wobbly circle, which is understandable, since the cast is not perfectly flat, nor smooth. But then she just scribbles all sorts of colors everywhere, and I cannot tell what she is up to until she points to her creation and says, “Pap!”
“Did you draw a picture of Uncle Pat?” Ronnie says, and when Emily nods, everyone laughs because it looks nothing like me.
When we sit down at the dining-room table, my father is still not home. Even after the win over Dallas, he has been pretty distant lately, hiding in his study again. Nobody mentions my dad’s absence, so I don’t either.
Mom’s meal is delicious, and everyone says so.
When it is time for pie, they sing “Happy Birthday” to me, and then little Emily helps me blow out the candles that make the shape of the number 35. I hardly believe that I can actually be thirty-five, because I still feel like I am thirty—maybe I only wish I were thirty, because then I’d have Nikki in my life.
After we eat our pie, Emily helps me open my presents. I get a brand-new wooden hand-painted Parcheesi board from Mom, who says she invited Danny to my party, but he had to work. Ronnie, Emily, and Veronica give me an Eagles fleece blanket. Jake and Caitlin give me a membership to a gym in Philadelphia. The brochure in the box says the club has a pool and a steam room and basketball courts and racquetball courts and all types of weight-lifting equipment and other machines that build muscles. “It’s where I work out,” my brother says. “And I was thinking we could start working out together once your leg mends.” Even though I’m not all that interested in working out so much anymore, I realize that the membership is a nice present, so I thank Jake.
When we retire to the living room, I ask Veronica about Tiffany. “How’s Tiffany?” I say. I’m not really sure why I ask. The words just sort of slip out of my mouth, and when they do, everyone stops talking and a silence hangs in the air.
“I invited her to your party,” Mom finally offers, probably just so Veronica will not feel badly about her sister being excluded.
“Why?” Jake asks. “So she can lie to Pat again? Set him back a few more years?”
“She was only trying to help,” Veronica says.
“Your sister has a funny way of helping.”
“Stop,” Caitlin says to Jake.
And then the room is silent again.
“So how is she?” I ask, because I really do want to know.
I Need a Huge Favor
On New Year’s Eve day, after agreeing to buy unlimited beer for our neighbors, Jake manages to trade seats with the season-ticket holder in front of me—and once Jake is seated, he props my cast up onto his shoulder so I am able to sit down during the Falcons game.