A Lacson Family Christmas, Part 2
01 Jan 2023Ember Lacson
Part 1As I'm writing this it's already 3309. But remember, I operate on on Pacific Standard Time, so the Morningstar does as well. The festivities have yet to begin, but my first officer is getting everything started. If you haven't read part 1, I encourage you to do so, or this will make less sense.
I had to take a long walk after that confrontation to clear my head before I could even hope to get some sleep. I took a glow light from the utility shed and headed off into the vineyard instead of going off toward the guest houses. There was a light fog in the valley, which might have made for a romantic atmosphere under any other circumstances, but it was a much bleaker scene after all that had gone down that night. When Rogier saw me take off, he sent his dog Jake to follow me and make sure I didn't get lost. I walked out to the fence line, wishing I could sneak the occasional grape as I went. But the harvest was long over, and the vines were bare.
I came to the end of one of the rows and paused to lean against a tree for a few minutes. Soon afterward, Jake started nudging me and barking softly as if he were trying to get my attention about something. I wasn't in the mood, so I ignored his pleas, giving him ear scritches and praise instead. But that didn't shut him up; he's too smart for that. Apparently he could smell the petrichor that I couldn't, and as the weather approached he grew more insistent, until I almost snapped at him. I smelled the rain shortly after that, but it was too late to get to shelter, and I kind of panicked and shut down as the sound of raindrops caught my ears, and a few seconds later I felt the sprinkling start.
I saw Jake look up at me with his big, brown eyes and whimper, and I cursed myself for not listening to him. And when I thought I had finished, I kept going. Jake got louder and more agitated as I ran through every four letter word in every language I knew. Eventually I ran out of curses and just broke down. I sat down against the base of the tree and cried. Jake whimpered and licked the back of my hand as the rain got a little more intense, and after a few minutes I decided it was time to start heading back.
I told Jake, "Let's go home," and he started leading me back down the row. I met Dad and Rogier in the ATV about halfway down. They said they had heard Jake barking in the rain and were coming to see if I was okay. I told them I would be fine and hopped in the back with Jake, who laid his head in my lap as we headed back to the house. I thanked Rogier for sending him with me, then said goodnight to them both and started walking toward the guest houses. My dad stopped me and jogged out to meet me.
"Son, we need to talk about this," he said. "I know you don't feel like it, but the sooner we process, the sooner we can make a game plan and move forward. Come to the range tomorrow after breakfast."
"Do I have to?" I asked.
"No, but I want to help you through this as much as I can, whatever is going on."
I agreed to meet him and I gave him a good night hug and headed over to the bungalow. I was soaked to the bone and smelled like wet dog, so I went straight for the shower. Nicole stirred as I came in, and she asked if I was okay. I just said, "I'm fine," and shut the door. It was about half zero when I finally shut off the water, put on my pajamas, and tossed my damp clothes into the dryer. When I got back to the bedroom, Nicole was sitting up with the bedside lamp on.
"You look like shit," she said.
"I feel like it," I said. "I had a little 'chat' with your mother after you took off."
"What did you—"
"She pulled me aside after half a bottle of Zinfandel. Said I was holding you back from achieving your real dreams. Said the reason you're with me is because you feel obligated after I saved your life. She's right, isn't she? You don't actually want to be with me; you're either just tagging along or medically grounded. I mean, it's obvious the reason you wanted us bunking together was just to get your mother's goat. So, is she right or not?"
She sat there with a befuddled look on her face, and after ten seconds of silence, she said, "She's not wrong, but...."
I would have rather sold my favorite ship on accident than be forced to hear those words. I would rather have clipped the toast rack after a two year expedition and lost billions of credits in data. I didn't react. I didn't have any sort of outburst. I just said, "I'm sleeping on the couch," and left the room.
I'm sure Uncle Rogier would have gladly dropped everything and set up another bungalow for me. He's service minded like that, especially for family. But I didn't want to bother. Nicole tried to claw it back, but the damage was done. There was no use in trying to explain or add nuance. Neither one of us got much sleep that night.
The next morning we had a fairly tense brunch. Nicole and I sat across from each other like we had at dinner, but we didn't speak or make much eye contact. The older adults in the room all took notice, and those on my side of the family were especially displeased. But for the sake of their kids they didn't put up a stink. My father and Jonathan kept exchanging knowing looks, and I concluded they must have had a chat about the drama from the previous night.
After brunch, I went to Rogier's archery range with Dad. I didn't feel like shooting, but that distraction was the whole reason Dad had asked me to come out to the range to talk. While we were stringing up our bows, he said, "John told me what happened. What Anneliese said was inexcusable."
"But it was right," I replied. "Nicole confirmed it herself."
"What did she say, exactly?" he asked.
"I told her what Anneliese said, and I asked her if she was right. She said, 'she's not wrong.'"
"That doesn't mean the sum of its parts," he said. "If Anneliese were right, Nicole would have said so. There's more to this than you think."
I sighed. "Any insight for me? If Anneliese isn't wrong, what's the nuance?"
"That's for Nicole to answer," he said. "But my guess is it's a mixture of both. Women are complicated creatures." He took a warm up shot and got pretty close to the bull's eye, in the middle of the inner red ring.
"Well, whatever the case, Anneliese is right about one thing—I am holding Nicole back, even if it's not Anneliese's dreams I'm keeping her from." I nocked an arrow and drew back. "And she's right about another thing: she's too pretty for me." I released and the arrow went wide, striking the net behind the bank of targets.
"She said that?" Dad said with a grimace. "She didn't give that one up to Jonathan. One hundred percent bullshit." He got another shot next to the bull's eye.
"You sound like Mom," I said.
"I know you're sick of her platitudes, but the only reason Anneliese said that was to get under your skin. Nicole is not that shallow, and she would never be that full of herself. You know that." He drew back and nailed the bull's eye. "I may not know everything that's going on with your relationship, but I've been married to your mother long enough to know what a good woman looks like. If she loves you, she'll put in the work. But if you love her, you'll have to put some in, too."
"Instructions not included," I said, and I launched another couple wide shots and swore under my breath.
"Skill issue," he said. "I remember when I was there. I was about half your age, but I had to bumble my way through it, just like every other man. Your mom was the only one who made it worthwhile."
"So there's no hope for this one, but maybe another thirty years down the road I'll have the skills to find someone else."
He shook his head. "That's not what I said. Took me four tries, but it takes some people one. Erin was Rogier's high school sweetheart. They've been through all kinds of shit that would disintegrate a lesser marriage. But they're willing to put in the work, and it pays dividends." He looked over at my target. "I know you can shoot better than that. Slow down, take a breath, and focus. Don't let your emotions lead you to make bad decisions." He recalled the targets and activated the floor conveyor to retrieve any arrows that hadn't stuck. "Some free advice: You have a lot of insecurity, and it's pretty obvious. You're thinking, 'How could a woman this wonderful possibly love a schmuck like me?' That mindset repels women like a bad smell. But it's like a...prismatic shield. It offers us protection from a bad encounter, but it comes at a cost. More often than not, it's a liability."
"Since when have you studied combat ship building theory?" I asked as I collected my arrows.
"Hey, I've been building ships for longer than you've been alive," he said. "Even though I'm retired, it pays to keep the knife sharp." He pointed to his temple. "You can't treat a relationship like a Haz RES and expect to come out on top. Women are more like thargoids. You can run in shielded and find some success. But for anything truly worthwhile, it takes time. It takes effort. And it takes a willingness to fly without a shield."
I stared at him dumbfounded as he restocked his quiver. At length, I said, "I'm appalled at how poetic that analogy is."
"It's the truth," he said with a shrug. "A good woman is like a Hydra. Beautiful, deadly, but worth the effort. But a good woman is also the wingmate helping you take that Hydra down—working with you, watching your back, sharing in the glory."
"Well, what if I screw up? If you've read my logbook, you know I've done that before."
"You're going to. God knows I have. But a good woman is three things: compassionate, humble, and, most importantly, forgiving—the same three traits that make a good man. So, the way I see it, if you want to salvage this, you're going to forgive three people. First, Anneliese. What she said was unconscionable. But the reason she's taking it out on you is you're a tangible reminder that her daughter is not the daughter of her dreams. If you hope to stand a chance with her as a mother-in-law, you need to forgive her. It doesn't have to be today, but it does have to be sometime.
"Second, you have to forgive Nicole. You're not the only one stumbling through a first relationship. She knows as much about this whole being a couple thing as you do. Take her down off the pedestal and realize you're not the only person who can frak this up. And approach her with compassion. It's not going to guarantee a happy ending, but at least you'll know you did the right thing.
"Third, you have to forgive yourself."
"Myself?" I asked.
"Yourself," he repeated. "You blame yourself for everything. I know this because I've been there. Different circumstances, different time, but you're taking responsibility for things you couldn't control. Is some of this your fault? Bet your ass. Is all of it your fault? No way in hell. Now, when you untangle the mess and take responsibility for your portion—and only your portion—you need to not hate yourself for your shortcomings and insecurities. You need to accept them. That doesn't mean you can't or shouldn't change the ones you can, but you shouldn't think of them as making you lesser-than. You'll never be able to fix them all, because you'll develop new ones as you navigate life. If you're constantly beating yourself up, if you can't love yourself in spite of yourself, you'll be miserable for the rest of your life, no matter how much you succeed. And trust me, this is the hardest one. But it's something we all have to learn, because dealing with it is a part of the human experience."
He sent the targets back to thirty meters. "Now, we're going to stay here until you beat my score in a round of ten. Discipline yourself. Put your emotions aside. Focus on what is in front of you, nothing else. There's nothing wrong with taking a moment to breathe."
I stepped up to the line and took my time. I tried my hardest to think about the target and the flight of the arrow instead of my troubles. It didn't work. But at least I hit the target this time.
"Six points," Dad said. "Better."
"Not competition-winning material," I said.
"Doesn't have to be," he replied. "Better is better."
We spent the next four hours at the range, but I eventually beat him by a single point. The physical soreness is gone. But the emotional soreness isn't. While we were at the range, Nicole had Rogier set her up in the bungalow across the way, which is where she stayed for the rest of the trip. I wish I could say we were better. But we still haven't really talked about it. I still haven't forgiven Anneliese. I still haven't forgiven Nicole. I still haven't forgiven myself.
When the time came to go back to the Morningstar, Nicole said she was going to stay. She said she needed to take some time for herself. That was the twenty-eighth. We haven't spoken since. Mom and Dad are still on the vineyard grounds with her and her parents, and they've both told me not to worry. But that doesn't stop me.
Last entry I said I was spending New Year's Eve alone. Turns out, that wasn't entirely true. Edward Davidson, the Morningstar's first officer, dragged me to the bar for a toast at around twenty-three hundred Pacific. He and Nicole have become good friends, and he said he sympathized with me when I told him it wasn't complete without her. He missed her too. But he wanted me to know that I had people who cared about me. It softened the sting, but it wasn't enough to take away the pain. I told him this after the festivities died down, and he said, "I know. But it's better than suffering alone with your melancholy synthwave playlist."
Bright and early this morning he took it upon himself to call Nicole and wish her a happy new year. He talked to her about the reason she was still on Earth and not celebrating with her friends. He said she wasn't too forthcoming, but she only mentioned family drama. Nothing about me. When he told her that I said we were on the rocks, he said she started crying and blamed herself and her mother but not me. She thought I was upset with her. He told her I missed her and wanted to speak with her, and she said she might need some time to think first. So, I'm not counting on it. But at least I know that it is, in fact, more nuanced than I thought. Maybe one day we'll have this whole mess sorted—
Wait a minute, she's calling me. Gotta go.