THATCHER
Maria paces around my workshop with me, helping to select the final piece to stick in the new showing at the Andy Warhol museum. It's a big fucking deal to have a piece in that museum, and I know that, but I'm so wrecked emotionally that I can't get it together to micromanage my display. Thankfully Maria knows her way around my work and the look I am shooting for. She's got Cody boxing up my new series of green glass. I'd been melting down old beer bottles and adding in bits of cobalt, sculpting ephemeral looking shapes. Lots of swirls. People are into swirls these days. I like them, but Maria frowns, walking past, tapping her fingers against a clipboard.
She walks over to the shelf where I keep my Emma. I'd been calling the piece she inspired my Emma. I stare at it for hours each day, trying not to think about her, but unable to look away. I know I need to call her, talk to her. I haven't seen my brothers since Sunday, either. Just been holed up in my studio working at the furnace nonstop.
"This one," she tells Cody, reaching for Emma.
"No. That's not for sale." I fly off my stool.
"Thatcher," Maria looks at me, puts her hands on her hips, and scowls. "You don't need to sell it. You just need to display it. This is the fucking Andy Warhol museum."
I shake my head vehemently. "Not that one. That one's private, Maria. I told you that last time."
"I remember. And I disagree with you." She turns to Cody and insists he box up the piece. "We'll display it in the center of the green glass swirls. I like how they go together."
"If you so much as chip it, Cody, I'm going to pull out your teeth one by one." I start pulling my hair, which reminds me that I promised Ty I would trim my hair and my beard before his wedding. Just make it so it looks deliberate, he'd said. He really did ask nicely, and I make a mental note to visit the barber. Anything to keep my mind off all this shit with Emma and my family.
When Maria and Cody take off with my glass, I feel unsettled. I don't like being in the studio without my Emma. I think back to how I was feeling the day I made that piece, how I'd just come from sitting with her in the hospital and then taken care of her like it was nothing. And it was nothing--it felt as effortless as taking care of my nephew. I do that for family. Not anyone else, though. It's too risky. Safer to just keep everyone distant before they get a chance to walk away from me when I'm an asshole. The thing is, Emma isn't going away. She left me a bunch of messages this week. I'm the one who isn't calling back. It's me not letting her in. I keep telling myself if I ignore her, she will go away and I can focus on my art in peace. Just how I like it.
Only today I can't find any fucking calm. My refuge is buzzing. The empty space on the shelf makes me uneasy, and I don't want to be in here anymore. I close up shop and drive over to find my brothers. I can be near them even if we're all mad at each other.
Tim's office is closest, and I'm surprised when I run into Ty at the reception desk. Then I realize he's probably there to fuck Juniper on her lunch hour. I'm not sure why that pisses me off, but it seems like everything irritates me this month. "Thatcher," Ty yells. "Good. You saved us a trip. Come on."
"Where are we going? What's going on?" Tim walks into the hallway, adjusting his tie as I see Alice slink out of his office, smoothing out her work coat.
I snort. "Jesus, Tim. Can't you guys do that at home?"
He coughs and mutters something about the childcare at work, and then turns on Ty. "What was so important I had to leave my meeting early?"
"Your meeting? Come on, man."
We ride down the elevator and pile into Ty's new Range Rover. "You like?" he asks. "Juniper bought it for me as a wedding present."
"You two are ridiculous," I mutter, punching Tim's shoulder since he made me sit in the back seat. "Where are we going?"
Ty sighs. "I don't want to get married and start a new life with JJ until we hash shit out with dad."
"Nope," I say, pulling on the door, which unfortunately locked when Ty put the car in gear. "Not going with you for that." I jiggle the handle to no avail.
"Fuck you--I have it on child lock in case Petey rides with us," Ty says. "This is what I want from my best men. I want us to go together and tell our father to go to hell, but also I want us to invite him to clean his shit up and maybe stick around. Meet his daughters in law and grandkids someday."
For the next hour, I remain silent. When we get to the hospital, Ty tells him exactly what he said in the car. Ted asks questions about Tim's wedding band, waves around Emma's article from the Post, asking about Ty's wedding this weekend. I roll my eyes. "You don't get to know any of those details," I tell him, pressing Tim back into his seat before he has an aneurism. "You didn't show up for Ty's junior league games, you didn't pay the bills while Tim was in college working full time to support us, so you don't get to know about the ways we turned out happy despite all that." I'm just getting started now. "I fucking know you've read about me in the paper, too, and I don't care. Do you know I looked into giving you my liver? What the fuck was I thinking? You don't care enough about your own sons to get healthy, work on your grief, and be part of this family. Let me give you some parting comfort: we turned out ok. All of us. And it had nothing to do with you."
Tim and Ty just stare at me, and our father starts crying then. He buries his head in his hands and sobs and Tim pulls us all out into the hallway. "Enough," Tim says. "Let's get out of here. We've said our piece. Now let's let it lie." I exhale, feeling the weight of the years lifting a little bit. We start walking toward the elevator, but a nurse comes jogging down, calling out, "Stags? Are you Ted Stag's sons?"