He had a bit of news for me—he’s asked Rourke to be his best man, and of course Rourke said he would. And then Joey asked Rourke to take care of me while he’s gone. Those were his exact words: “Take care of her, man. I know that’s old-fashioned, but I’m not shitting you. Look out for her.”
Rourke said he would, as if he even had a choice.
Why do guys always feel like they need to look out for women? Hello, it’s almost the new millennium and I’ve been running a business on my own since I was seventeen. I think I can look after myself. It’s sweet of Joey to worry, though. Sweet, and maybe a little smothering.
And then he kissed me so long and hard that I started feeling self-conscious. Don’t get me wrong—I wanted that kiss. He’s a soldier, and he was going away again. I wanted to imprint him on me, somehow, but instead, all I could think about was that we were standing in a crowd of people, sucking face like there’s no tomorrow. I wish I could have just let the kiss sweep me away and make me forget the whole world, but my mind kept wandering to the spectators around us. Then Joey had to get on the train—“See you around, sweetheart,” he said as though he was just going to the next town instead of halfway around the world. And then he was gone.
As I watched the train pull out of the station, I didn’t look at Rourke. I couldn’t. I was afraid of what I’d see in his eyes.
Have you ever had that feeling, Mom? That if you look at something, then you’ll be forced to acknowledge it, and everything will change?
So Joey’s overseas, doing things I can barely imagine, and life goes along. I run the bakery, I take care of Gram. I don’t see much of Rourke these days. He dates a lot of different girls and he works hard. He calls now and then to ask about Gram and the bakery. Honoring his promise, I suppose, to “look out for me.”
And why in God’s name am I questioning any of this? Joey adores me. I adore him. After we’re married, he wants to live at Gram’s for as long as she needs us. He has a great dad. I love Bruno like a father. Each time we meet, Bruno folds me into his thick, strong arms. He smells of hair oil and peppermint gum, and he told me Joey had a heart like a lion.
And Joey has enough certainty for both of us. He knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I’m it for him, and I always have been. Joey claims that even when we were kids, he just knew.
I wish I could say the same. But guess what? I still don’t know.
Every year, I tell myself, I finally don’t need you, Mom. Finally, I’ve outgrown my needing you. And then I find myself wishing you were around, because I have so many questions. How do you know you’re doing the right thing? Is there any way to tell, or do you just have to go for it, hope for the best, and pray it wasn’t a giant mistake?
What good does it do to want something I can never, ever have? And here’s the thing. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think so—I get the idea Rourke feels the same way. And he’s just as scared as I am.
* * *
President Clinton was being interviewed on NPR about U.S. intervention in the Kosovo war, and Rourke wanted to listen, because he suspected that was where Joey might have been deployed. Instead of listening to the radio, he turned his attention to Naomi, his girlfriend. Well, she wasn’t his girlfriend anymore as of ten minutes ago. Once again, things hadn’t worked out.
“You’re a complete bastard.” Naomi yanked a T-shirt on over her head, covering her best assets. Her head popped out, and she glared at him. “A complete and total bastard.”
He wondered why he bothered. He kept going into these relationships thinking—hoping, praying—that this would be it, that she was the one he was looking for. And then, inevitably, things deteriorated. Wanting it to work out wasn’t enough.
Feeling weary, he peeled back the covers and got up and found a pair of shorts. Getting dumped was undignified enough. He might as well get dressed. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said, nearly choking on the words. He’d said them too many times before, to too many women.
Clinton was explaining how the nation was now out of debt, the budget balanced, the economy stable and it was time to turn our vision outward, to peacekeeping in the larger world.
“You don’t even see me,” she said. “You don’t even know who I am.”
God. She was right. He didn’t know who she was. He only knew who she wasn’t.
“I’m sorry,” he said. And that was true. He was sorry for her. Sorry for himself. And sorry he kept looking for something he’d already found but couldn’t have.
She left without another word, a beautiful woman,
