Thomas Farina was charming and handsome. He studied under some of the best doctors in Europe and finally got his medical degree at Harvard. By the time he married my daughter, he was a prominent surgeon. Their wedding was written up in all the society pages; they were the picture-perfect couple. Sully said Tom looked exactly like the groom on top of the wedding cake—plastic and shiny. He shrugged off his son-in-law’s superior attitude, never taking offense at his condescending remarks. As long as Lizzie was happy, that’s all that mattered.
I, on the other hand, knew right from the start that Tom wasn’t the right man for Lizzie. I tried, ever so gently, to point out little things that would sooner or later become major issues. But she was blinded by love. And being my only child, I didn’t want to ruin our relationship, so I learned to shut my mouth and smile . . . a lot.
When Tom gave up his practice and joined Doctors Without Borders, I still kept silent. Lizzie needed support while she was working full time as an attorney and raising two children. I did what I could to help, but I came to think of Tom’s working in foreign countries as more of an escape than an altruistic act. When everything finally came to a head and divorce papers were drawn up, I still kept my mouth shut, but I couldn’t help but be relieved.
I drove into Tom’s complex expecting to see nondescript apartments crammed together on small parcels of land. But as I passed a fountain, populated by baby ducks, I was impressed. Large oak trees bent over the private drive that wound between brick townhouses. Yellow and red mums trailed along either side of the road. Ornate wrought-iron lampposts held white globes that lit the way. I passed tennis courts, a swimming pool, and a clubhouse before finding his front door and parking in a spot marked “Visitor.” As I got out of the jeep, I could see Chloe through a large bay window. I started up the steps. Before I could knock, the door was jerked open.
“Grandma!” Chloe shouted. “Daddy, Grandma’s here!” Then she threw herself at me and hugged with all her might.
Chloe was thirteen and at that uncomfortable age when she was unsure how she felt about anything. And that uncertainty manifested itself in moods ranging from nobody-loves-me depression to Taylor-Swift’s-new-album-came-out-today euphoria.
“Hey, Chloe Girl.” I hugged her back and kissed the top of her head. Soon enough she’d be just as tall or taller than me, and I wouldn’t be able to bury my nose in that soft red hair. The choppy layers that had been there on my last visit had grown out and now fell down to her shoulders.
“Let your poor grandmother come inside,” Tom told her, smiling at me.
Walking across the threshold was like wandering into a magazine spread. Surely Tom must have hired a professional decorator. It was beautiful. Every detail was done to perfection, all in masculine browns and beiges with touches of burgundy. As I took it all in, I scanned the room for my grandson, Cam.
“Wow! Tom, this is gorgeous.”
He smiled broadly. “I’m so glad you like it. I was worried you’d think I was forcing the kids to stay in some dirty hovel.”
“Well, it’s wonderful.”
Chloe ran into the kitchen. I could hear her whisper to her brother, “Cam, Grandma’s here. Come say hi.”
Slowly Cam walked into the room, keeping his distance. But I was used to his reticence and never took it to heart. Asperger’s syndrome made social interaction difficult for him. I just had to respect his space and give him a few moments to adjust to me again.
“Hi, Grammy,” he finally said.
“Well, you look handsome as ever. And I see you still have the Mohawk.”
Cam was a year older than his sister, a B student and exceptionally creative. I took all the credit for his artistic soul . . . but kept that to myself. Some of my happiest times have been sitting alongside him, each of us painting, sharing our thoughts and secrets.
“We’ve been waiting for you so we can eat,” he said.
“Sorry, but I’m glad you did. I’m so hungry I could eat a . . . plate of frogs.”
He laughed. “Gross, Grammy.”
As his mood lightened, he walked toward me for a hug.
“Chloe,” Tom called, “is the table all set?”
“Yep.”
“Right this way.” Tom motioned for me to follow him.
To the right of the living room was a formal dining area. The walls were painted a rich taupe, hung with pictures from Tom’s travels, all framed in gold. A large table was positioned beneath a chandelier that appeared to be made of teak. There were four places set with elegant dishes and linen napkins. Sensing Tom’s happiness at pleasing me, I realized that while he was wrong for Lizzie as a life mate, that didn’t mean he wasn’t still a good person. And as he was still Cam and Chloe’s father, I owed it to him to give him a second chance.
We all took our places, and Chloe started by passing a large bowl of white rice. Cam sat across from me, next to his father.
“So how long are you home for this time?” I asked. I was still aware of his questionable history.
“Dad’s staying longer,” Cam answered before his father had a chance to speak. “He says he wants to know us better.”
I looked from Cam to Chloe. “That’s great. Isn’t it?”
“I wanted the chance to be with the kids more. In a few years, they won’t have time for me. You know how it is, Kate . . . ahh . . . Mom.”
I nodded. “When Lizzie was Chloe’s age, all of a sudden she wanted to spend her time with friends, not Sully and me. But by this age, you’ve taught them all the basics. Now your job is to just stand on the sideline and shout advice.”
“I’ll have to work on the standing back part,” Tom said, grinning.
Cam scooped up a large spoonful of rice and carefully emptied it onto his plate. “That’s for sure. Dad still thinks I’m a little kid. He’s always trying to tell me how to do things I learned years ago.”
“I just haven’t been around you a lot recently,” his father told him.
If Tom blamed the divorce or my daughter for his situation, he was smart enough not to complain in front of his children.
“So, Chloe”—I turned toward her—“are you still friends with Jennifer?”
Chloe nodded enthusiastically. “Jen’s so cool. Every morning we send each other our OOTDs and—”
“Your what?”
“All the girls do it now,” Cam grumbled. “They take a selfie before they go anywhere. Like they need all this approval. As if anyone cares what their Outfit Of The Day is. Stupid, huh?”
“I think it sounds like fun,” I said. And I meant it.
Every time I ranted about recorded messages instead of real people on the other end of a phone, or how every computer had a built-in obsolete factor, or there being thousands of TV stations and nothing to watch, I knew I was standing on a senior soapbox. But if I were Chloe’s age, I’d be the champion texter or queen of the selfies.
“See!” Chloe gloated. “It’s not stupid.” She stuck out her tongue at Cam.
Tom seemed to be enjoying himself, watching his kids.
We passed around the chicken. Tom had brewed a pot of tea and placed a matching porcelain teacup by our plate. The atmosphere in the room was light, and that night, neither of the children seemed to want to hurry off. They chattered about school and Thanksgiving vacation, when Tom would be taking them to the Bahamas. Their happiness filled the dark hole in the pit of my stomach . . . for a while. By the time we were done with dinner, it was almost nine.
“You guys can watch one hour of TV and then it’s bedtime.”
They didn’t argue with their father.
“I’ll come in to say goodnight before I leave,” I told them.
“Will you come back tomorrow?” Chloe asked.
“For sure.”
“TTFN,” she said after kissing my cheek.
Tom leaned in to translate, but there was no need. I knew a “ta-ta for now” when I heard it. So I replied with text speak of my own, just as a reminder to never underestimate her dear old grandmother.
“SYL,” I said and waited.
Chloe stopped dead in her tracks, looking confused. “What?”
“See you later.”
After she left, Cam walked over to stand by my chair. “I hope you find Mr. Walker. He’s an awesome dude.” A quick hug and he was off.
Surprised, I turned to Tom. “I didn’t think you’d tell them the reason I’m in town.”
“I didn’t. But you know Cameron. He might not show it, but he catches every little thing that goes on. A very wise soul resides inside that boy of mine. Sometimes I feel like I’m the kid, and he’s the father.” Tom got up to clear the table.
I pushed back my chair and stood to help. At that moment, it seemed important that I let Tom know how I felt about him. “I’m very proud of you, Tom, for moving home to be closer to the kids and be a bigger part of their lives.”
“Thanks. That means a lot to me.” He glanced up at the clock. “We have a few minutes before the kids go to bed. Let’s adjourn to the living room. You can tell me all about how bored you are now that you’re retired.”
“I noticed how awkward it was for you at dinner. Not knowing what to call me after the divorce. Please, whatever makes you feel comfortable is okay by me.”
“I guess I’ll have to feel my way along. This is all so new and strange.”
“For both of us,” I assured him. “But it’ll be fine.”