Page 28

Palm Springs

January 4, 2023

12:30 P.M.

“The oranges here are amazing,” Dort said. Juice dripped down her chin, and she left chunks of rind in a pile on Basil’s coffee table next to her bare feet.

“They’re from that tree right there.” I pointed out the window, but all I could see was the mountain, and when I saw the mountain, I saw Grant.

Her messes usually made me nuts, but I didn’t care.

All that mattered was that she’d flown halfway around the world to be here. March was here, too. Our girls had somehow managed to land at the Palm Springs airport within minutes of each other, just like when they were born.

I tried not to get too comfortable. Having grown children can be destabilizing; you’re with them, everything is perfect, then they’re too much, then they’re gone. Part of you is glad, part of you misses them terribly.

“Coco picked the oranges for us,” I said. “The best tree on the property is behind the hot tub.”

Dort tore into another wedge. “I’m so sick of schnitzel and cabbage soup, I can’t even tell you. And speaking of oranges, you know what else I’m sick of? Old Eastern Europeans telling me stories about the communism days and how they had to wait in line for three hours to get an orange from Cuba that was hard as a baseball. I’m also sick of airplanes. This guy who sat next to me from Paris to LAX took his shoes off, then his socks, and I was like, Oh no, no no no, you don’t… but he did ! Dude crossed his legs and put his nasty gangrene foot on his lap and caressed it like a pet ferret. And when dinner came, he picked up his roll in that very same hand. Then he gave me his number! Men are disgusting.”

I hadn’t seen Dort in almost a year, but she was refreshingly, maddeningly, the same. Like Grant, she took up all the oxygen in the room. Her bag sat open on the floor next to the couch, with the entrails of her nomadic existence scattered about.

One minute she sounded light, the next she was sad. “I thought that when my flight landed, I’d check my phone and everything would be fine again. How can Dad be missing still?”

“He’s not missing,” March said, “he’s lost.”

“Same thing, fact-checker.”

March paced around the room in her kitten heels, which click-clacked efficiently on the terrazzo floors.

Everyone was so casual in Palm Springs that her outfit made me uncomfortable, and the sound of her shoes went straight to my spine. “Take off your shoes,” I said. “Please. I feel like you’re a Realtor.” She’d left Houston straight from work and was still dressed in a blazer, low-cut silk tank, and tight leather pants. Her long dyed-blond hair, thick like Grant’s, was parted down the middle.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” March jutted her manicured left hand in front of our faces to show us her giant diamond. “You haven’t seen my ring yet.”

We didn’t know Simeon well, but we liked him when she’d brought him home over the summer. He’d moved to the United States as a refugee from Sierra Leone, and he clearly adored March, allowing her to dress him, photograph him for social media, and generally lead him around.

“Wow, look at that,” I said brightly, thinking about the ring I’d found in Grant’s underwear drawer the week we’d arrived. It had been Mitzie’s wedding ring, with a pear-shaped diamond set in a filigreed platinum band—a ring that, to her, said, “I made it,” and to Grant said, “I settled.” He’d never been a big fan of Stew’s, although he grew on both of us as he aged. After everything Mitzie had been through with Grant’s dad, I could see why she chose stability and security over love, companionship over being alone, steadiness over chaos.

Dort stood and hugged her sister. Only when they were right next to each other could you tell they were twins. “You and Simeon look good together. You’re the kind of couple that stars in a reality television series about bosses who fire people.”

“He’s a recruiter. He actually helps people find jobs. He could help you, in fact, when you’re done doing whatever it is you do all over Europe.” March’s composure began to dissolve. It was amazing how I could see her at seven and twenty-nine in the same moment. “Mom, what if I get married and Dad can’t walk me down the aisle? What if we have kids and they never meet their grandpa?”

“Stop!” I said, a shrill edge to my voice.

Dort’s arms were still wrapped around March. “It’s okay for us to be scared. We have feelings, Mom.”

“ I have feelings.”

“Well, you never show them. The past few days you’re like he’s fine, he’s fine , nothing to see here, and you know what? He’s not fine. He left for a hike three days ago and he hasn’t come home.”

“I didn’t want you to worry, that’s all.”

Dort snorted. “Of course we worry. It’s right to worry.”

“As we speak, there’s a swarm of rescuers and helicopters flying all over the mountain. They are total pros, they know what they’re doing.”

March began pacing around the room, then stopped to look at my paintings propped up against the wall. The one on top was of Cassie on her yoga mat, her mala beads in her hand. “Mom, this is actually pretty good.”

“Thanks?”

“Wait, is her name Cassie? I think I follow her. Is this the shaman? I bought some pants at Target because of her. They’re actually super-comfortable. How in the world do you know her?”

“Cassie lives here. In Le Desert. We’re friends. I took some of the photos she posted. Dad is especially close with her.”

March flipped the canvas forward and saw my favorite painting so far: Grambo. She caught her breath. “Oh my God, look at Dad. That’s him. It’s like he’s in the room with us.”

Curious, Dort walked over to look. “This is good, Mom. I see you’ve entered a new artistic period. You moved on from garbage, parking lots, and abandoned couches. This has more soul, like you’re tapping into—” Out of nowhere, Dort began to cry. For someone as tough as she was, Dort could be an ugly crier. “That’s Dad. God, this really makes me miss him.”

I thought back to the moment I snapped the photo of Grant as Grambo. I had been overcome with a wave of creative inspiration unlike any other I’d ever experienced—I felt an urgent need to paint him; I could see the finished product before I’d even begun. I knew I could work from the photo, sure, but I felt a desire to discard it and capture him in the space between what I saw and what I felt when I looked at him—really looked.

I had excused myself, run into the condo, and made a quick drawing. I took notes about the colors I was looking at and the feelings I wanted to capture—of the day, of the place: the temperature, the mood, and my feelings about Grant. How proud I was of him for embracing this new activity, how respectful he was of Cassie’s beliefs, how kind he was with Gene and Jeanie, driving them to their doctor’s appointments and helping them get around, how friendly he and Thomas and Raul had become. I wasn’t sure if he’d always been this man and I hadn’t seen him in whole, or if he’d changed, or if both of those things were true.

I felt a pleasant flutter in my gut when I thought of Grant. Melody was right: after thirty years together, we really could fall in love again. I’d assumed it was too late for that. I thought our feelings for each other would, at best, continue to deepen and evolve—or at worst, go away entirely. I never imagined that they’d be new.

And I never imagined that it would be just as thrilling and terrifying to fall in love now as it was when I was young. Or that these new feelings were setting me up for even greater heartbreak if Grant didn’t make it off the mountain.

I went over to hug Dort and March. The three of us were in a slobbery huddle when the door flew open and Octavia marched in without knocking, as usual.

“Make room, bitches!” Dort and March considered Octavia to be a “sister mom.” She showed up to all of March’s Model UN and mock-trial events, and to Dort’s concerts and Roller Derby competitions. When the twins graduated from high school, she gave them subscriptions to Ms. magazine. She was someone they could turn to when they were too embarrassed to ask me about how to treat a yeast infection, and she offered additional comfort when they went through breakups or suffered from friend drama.

Melody had picked her up at the airport. Melody stood in the doorway staring at the big, teary mess. “Get over here, Mel!” Octavia said. “Give it up.”

I closed my eyes and tried to savor the feeling of being surrounded by everyone I loved most.

All except for one.