Everything Changes

didn’t have to say anything, because by that point we were already living with the painful consciousness of what he’d become, or what he’d always been that had been obscured by the veil of marriage and fatherhood. We knew that within a year, two at the most, he’d have been fired over some misunderstanding or another, or yet another inadvisable workplace tryst. Or he’d have quit because they were damn fools who didn’t know what they were doing and who didn’t appreciate the wisdom of his suggestions. But we listened as if we believed, exclaiming positively at all the right pauses. At some point in the disconnect, a role reversal had taken place, and we now humored him as if he were an errant son in constant need of stroking and encouragement.
    So we hugged him good-bye and watched him go, hoping in the manner of children that despite all we knew, this time things might be different. And for the first few months, it seemed as though they might be. Norm called regularly, telling us about his fancy new office with a view of the Charles River, and relating amusing stories of the you-had-to-be-there variety about his new buddies and his life on the road. Every other weekend he would drive down to New York to visit us, handing Lela his child support checks with a beneficent expression that made the veins in her neck bulge. We were living on Lela’s teaching salary, and the added money should have been a boon for us, but she resolutely banked the checks with a severe frugality, like a squirrel anticipating the inevitable frost of winter.
    And after about a year the visits started becoming more sporadic, and Lela began having to fight for her checks, and one day I called Norm’s apartment and the phone was disconnected. We heard nothing from him for a spell, during which time Lela assured us that Norm would resurface. “He’s like a bad penny,” she said. “He always turns up.” I didn’t know what that meant, but he did resurface five months later, living in London, of all places. I was eighteen, and a month away from my high school graduation. Although I didn’t like to admit it, I’d been harboring hopes that he would attend, and see what a success I’d become in his absence. “I’ve met a wonderful woman,” he told me, his voice distant and hollow over the long-distance connection. “Her name is Lily, and she’s a singer. We’re getting married and I’m going to manage her career.”
    “You’re getting married?” I said. “When?”
    “We haven’t set a date yet,” he said. “She’s a real bohemian, so we’ll probably just have some wacky private ceremony on the beach.”
    “I didn’t think there were any beaches in London.”
    He laughed, too hard. “Yeah. Well, I guess you’re right about that.”
    “I’m graduating next month,” I said.
    “I know,” he said. “I feel terrible I can’t be there. But this opportunity came up and I just couldn’t pass it up. I hope you understand.”
    “It’s okay,” I said, because really, what the hell else was I going to say. I wished it was Matt and not me on the phone, because Matt would have simply cursed and hung up on him. But as soon as Matt had heard “London,” he’d stormed upstairs and sequestered himself in his room, and I just didn’t have it in me. I was the soft touch, and Norm knew it.
    “Listen, we’ll come stateside as soon as we can, okay? I’m dying for Lily to meet all of you. You’re all I ever talk about.”
    “Why didn’t you call to tell us you were leaving?”
    He sighed. “Everything just happened so fast,” he said. “I met Lily and then she was leaving, and I just couldn’t let her disappear like that, so I flew with her, and the next thing you know, I’m living in England.”
    “Just like that,” I said.
    “Yeah,” Norm said with a chuckle. “Just like that. Listen, give my love to the boys, okay? And tell your mother I’ll send you all some money as soon as I get myself set up here, okay?”
    I hung up in a daze, and Lela, who’d been listening from her chair in the kitchen, put down her crossword puzzle. “If there’s one area in which your father is completely reliable, it’s in being unreliable,” she said.
    “He’s still my father,” I said defensively.
    “He’s gravy,” she said dismissively. “All flavor and fat. No meat. Expect nothing. Then you can appreciate him without letting him hurt you over and over again.”
    I nodded, struggling to swallow the lump in my