It Was All About Love For
By: December
Chapter 9: It's probably because
Last time: It was surreal, being in that house….James found he didn't sleep well that night.
He woke up the next morning, very disoriented. At first, he felt confused, as he didn't recognize where he was. Then, for a moment, he wondered if he was still seventeen and the last ten years had been a drug-induced whacked-out dream. It was seeing his duffel bag sitting next to his desk and his cellberry lying on that desk that brought it all rushing back. Somehow, he had managed to land himself in Venturi's house. He had a feeling this was a really bad idea.
Sitting up in bed, he tried to figure out what to do next. Obviously, he was going to see Harry today. He did say he would and there was no way he was staying in the great Venturi's house all day. Being out of the house for a while might actually help him get his thinking together. He'd been having a hard time thinking straight since he'd gotten out of his rental yesterday evening.
First things first, he needed to get ready to face the day. Getting up and reaching for his bag, he figured this was a khakis and nice shirt moment. Recalling the times he'd gone with Harry to visit Harry's grandfather's grave, Harry had always insisted they dress up. James figured that Harry deserved the same respect.
It was eerie, in a way, how easily James fit into the routine in that house. As he came down the stairs dressed, he followed his nose to the kitchen. There was the entire Venturi clan, up and dressed. Mrs. Venturi was even cooking bacon…and chocolate chip pancakes.
"Good morning, James," Casey Venturi said as she'd noticed him first. "I was just thinking that I might need to send Emily up to get you. Would you like some pancakes?"
"Yes, thank you," James blinked as he sat at the island in the kitchen, in the space where he normally sat all of those years ago. Emily was on his right, the great Venturi reading the Entertainment section in his left. James was really feeling sixteen again. Well, the past eleven years hadn't changed his love of chocolate chip pancakes. "Wait, I thought Emily said something about having practice this morning?" James asked, remembering some of the conversation from last night.
"Since you were visiting, I decided to practice after school instead. You know, so I could be around for breakfast and all," Emily smiled at him as she reached over and took a slice of bacon from the plate Casey Venturi placed in front of James…just like she used to when she was six.
James just raised his eyebrow, but decided not to comment. He bet Emily got away with a lot of stuff. Besides, he found he didn't mind. He'd bet Imani would say it was cute.
"When are you heading out this morning?" Casey asked again. Venturi merely grunted, but didn't make any effort to add to the conversation.
"Um…soon, I guess. I hadn't really thought about it. I might need extra time to keep from getting lost."
"Lost?" Emily asked
James shrugged, "I've only ever been to the cemetery the once, for the burial. And that was years ago. I'm not so sure I'll find it on the first try."
Emily's sad eyes were making James a little uncomfortable, so he turned to Mrs. Venturi, expecting to see annoyance, which he could handle. Unfortunately, she was wearing an expression similar to her daughter's. "James…your father has lived in London all of his life. He could ride with you, navigate you to where you want to go. I'm sure he wouldn't mind," she finished quietly.
"And still be stuck at a graveyard for hours? Yeah, right," James just shrugged. "I'll find it. I'll figure it out. I'm used to doing that."
"There are worse ways to spend a day than at a cemetery," Derek Venturi suddenly added before taking a rather savage bite of bacon.
"Sure, but no one wants a root canal or a five hour French exam," James shuttered in response. French was still one of those things he'd probably be cursed to deal with in hell, but he was determined to conquer the language at university since he didn't actually beat it in high school. Almost like he was trying to prove something – not that he cared enough about anything that happened a decade ago to try to prove anything.
"A French exam?" Venturi turned to look at James.
"I like French," Emily shared quietly.
"You would," James found himself laughing at the way things turned out, which lessened any bite that response had. "I bet you had a much better teacher than I had."
"Madame Davis is great," Emily smiled. "We even have the same name."
James coughed a little on his pancakes when Emily named her teacher. "Madame Davis? Really?" Before Emily could answer him, and James knew she would, he turned back to Mrs. Venturi. "I don't want to be a bother about getting back in. Is there a time I need to return?"
"Oh, well…" Casey Venturi seemed to pause and think. "I'll be in and out most of the day. And most of my errands are close. As long as you are back before two or after four this afternoon, the door should be unlocked-"
"You don't lock your doors? Seriously?" James stared at the older Venturis.
"Not really an issue," Derek shrugged.
"But anyone could walk in! Thieves. Murderers. The press!"
"Now, I don't think a member of the press is the same thing as a murderer," Mrs. Venturi pointed out.
"And our neighbors pay attention. We've hadn't had a problem," Venturi shrugged.
"And they won't call the cops on me? You know, since I must be hiding from the law or something," James returned. He didn't mean to refer from that statement from the day before, but it still annoyed him.
"James-" Mrs. Venturi began.
"I'll be back by four," James said as he swallowed. Standing up to leave, mainly because he wanted out of the conversation, his manners prodded him to say, "Thanks for breakfast," even though he'd left most of it there. Which was a shame because those pancakes were just as good as he remembered them.
James left the house soon after that. He wasn't sure if Emily had left for school by that point or where the other Venturis were. He told himself he didn't care. It's not like they really cared about him.
He'd only gotten lost once in trying to find the cemetery. After he was there, he found Harry's grave rather easily. He must have stood there and stared for an hour. He didn't really know what to say. He felt it should say something. He wanted to say something…but what could he say, when Harry couldn't answer back?
Finally, James opened his mouth and said, "Hey, bro. Know I've been MIA. Sorry about that, but rehab's a bitch."
That seemed to be all the opening James needed to poor everything out to Harry. The good, the bad, and the ugly of the last two years came out in a rush. The hell that was rehab. Reconnecting with his mother. The opportunity to finish high school and go to university in the States. He talked about Imani and Dr. Lawrence and how much he envied that family. He talked about his university classes and how he felt old some days. And he shared how much he missed Harry. As the flow of words finally stopped, James shook his head. Somewhere, Harry was laughing his ass off at James' monologue in front of the grave. He'd probably say something like, "The verbal diarrhea is nice and all, but it don't take all that, bro! We crew. I fuckin' get it."
Taking a deep breath, James looked at the resting place of his best friend again. "Sorry about always unloading on you, but where else could I, you know? Harry – you'd get a fuckin' kick out of this if you were here – you won't believe who I'm staying with while I'm in London. The Great Venturi himself. I didn't plan it – the opposite of that, actually. I just figured he'd be gone, so I'd just tour the house and have a 'fuck this shit' moment before I appeared at Mom's in Sarnia or went to Windsor, just to be in Windsor. But Venturi was there, the little terror pulled me in and now I'm staying there."
James shook his head as he paused. It was like he could hear Harry laugh, "Oh, don't even pull that shit, bro. I know you like her."
"Yeah, well. It's not the most comfortable of vacations. And I get the feeling that this is a really bad idea, but we all do stupid shit, right? Poor Mrs. Venturi is probably beyond horrified that I somehow found my way back. Although, oddly enough, she did make chocolate chip pancakes this morning."
James left soon after that. Being that he was a little cold, he stopped in one of those café places for coffee. He figured he picked out one of the teen hangouts, given the crowds. Looking over at the laughing table filled with guys and girls, James thought back to high school. He and Harry were crew, and given everything else James wouldn't trade that, but James had never had a chance to meet up with friends at some place that served bar food without serving the bar alcohol. It made him feel disappointed in some way. Just something else Venturi managed to take from him.
James finally arrived back at the Venturi house about 4:30. He had thought about not returning several times that day. But he needed some of the stuff in his bag and he couldn't afford to replace everything that he'd brought with him, so he came back. He let himself in, and was relieved that no alarms went off. It also appeared that none of the neighbors were calling the police.
Wanting to avoid anyone who might be home by that point, James walked up to the room that he was using during his stay; it was hard to think of it as "his room" anymore, although nothing had really changed about it since he'd lived there. He stopped suddenly when he noticed that there was someone standing in the middle of the room. Her back was facing the door, so she didn't know he was there. What was the little terror up to now?
Leaning against the doorframe, James tried to sound casual as he said, "If you are looking for something in particular, you can just ask. I might be willing to help you find it."
The teenager jumped before she turned to stare at James accusingly, "Mikey! You scared me."
James shrugged as he came into the room. "Any particular reason you are casing my room?"
"I…I'm not!" Emily Venturi insisted. "I just wanted to be sure you had everything."
"And you couldn't have just asked me?" James raised an eyebrow as he sat on the bed he'd actually made up that morning. If you lived with Casey Venturi for any stretch of time, you made beds you slept in. He even did it in hotels, much to Harry's amusement all those years ago.
"But, if you needed towels or something, they could have already have been waiting for you," Emily replied.
"Uh-huh," James returned.
"What?"
"I just don't think Venturi's training you for maid service."
Emily laughed at that. "No, of course this wasn't Daddy's idea. Daddy wouldn't make up his side of the bed if Mom didn't insist. Besides…Mom has said that Daddy isn't allowed to determine my career path."
"Smart move on Mrs. Venturi's part, seeing how well Venturi did with me," James shrugged.
Silence met this response. Then, Emily abruptly sat in the chair by his old desk. She looked right at James and said, "That's not fair, Mikey."
"Truth rarely is."
"It's not truth either! Mikey-"
James held up a hand and Emily stopped. "You don't have to defend your father to me, Emily. I shouldn't have said anything."
Emily looked like she still wanted to say something, but she seemed to decide against it. "Dinner's in an hour," she shared she stood up and walked toward the door.
"Thanks."
"And Mikey…he's your father, too," Emily said quietly as she left.
James shook his head as Venturi's daughter left. It's odd that she would emphasize their shared father. One would think that she wouldn't want to maximize the connection. If that ET clip from all those years ago showed him nothing else, it showed the PR side of the Venturi image had clearly decided Venturi wasn't his father. Why should Emily want to disagree with that? The fastest way to stop being seen as the world's sweetheart is to have a druggie older brother in your past.
James wasn't sure why part of him wanted Emily to keep the adoration of the world and its press. Maybe he just wanted to see something that wasn't destroyed by the train wreck he'd seen in his life.
An hour later, with a slight headache from thinking so hard, James went downstairs for dinner with the Venturis. He couldn't help the "Whoa" that escaped him when he saw the spread of food that Venturi and his wife were putting on the table. "Do you eat like this every night?" he asked as he waited by his chair until Emily and Casey sat down.
"No," Emily laughed.
Casey Venturi shrugged, "I just thought some different things might be nice, is all."
"Some different things" must be code for "enough to feed an army", because there was more food than four people needed on that table. The spread included a Greek salad, a zucchini casserole, mashed potatoes and gravy, macaroni and cheese, a fruit salsa, fresh baked rolls – and those were just the side dishes. At the center of the meal was a stuffed pork loin in a rosemary and raspberry glaze.
It made James' stomach turn.
In his other life, James had loved that pork dish. Probably second only to her chocolate chip pancakes, James had adored that dish and usually asked for it during special occasions after Casey had first fixed it – the night after the custody hearing. But now…James rarely ate pork now. Not for any kind of health reason at all, he just associated pork too much with his life with the Venturis. At another point in his life, smelling pork was enough to want a hit. He was stronger than that now, he hoped, but he definitely didn't want pork that night.
At the beginning of the meal, people were relatively quiet as they loaded their plates. James didn't think anyone was paying too much attention to his choices until Venturi said in an off-handed way. "With all of that rabbit food on your plate, you won't have room for any pork."
"Huh?" James replied, a little startled. It seemed something about being in the Venturi household was interfering with his ability to understand basic English. Or "Canadian English" as Imani would call it.
"You know," Mrs. Venturi turned to look at her husband, "it's possible that James might want to finish his salad first before partaking in the main course."
Venturi snorted as he looked over at his wife, "And who does that?"
Mrs. Venturi pointed to her own salad on a salad plate that sat on top of her unused dinner plate.
"Okay," Venturi conceded, "who, besides you, does that?"
James thought he should say something before everyone focused too much on what he was eating. That and the politeness that Nana Abby tried to teach him had never really left him. "It's a wonderful salad, Mrs. Venturi. And I'm sure it will be enough for me."
Instead of encouraging the rest of the table to focus on him less, that statement seemed to make him focus on him more.
"You aren't going to have any of the pork?" from Venturi.
"It's Mom's best dish. You have to have some of it," from Emily.
"Are you a vegetarian now, James?" Mrs. Venturi asked quietly. "I didn't think to ask about dietary needs."
"This isn't some snooty conference," Venturi objected. "You shouldn't have to ask him about food preferences!"
James silently agreed with his father, if only because family should know what their children prefer to eat without asking. His mother and Nana Abby hadn't tried to give him pork in recent memory, after all. Regardless, he felt he had to respond to all of the comments. "No, I'm not a vegetarian. I just don't eat pork."
"Did you stop eating pork for religious reasons?" Emily asked. "I've always admired people who have done that."
That question caused James to laugh, as it was too close to a conversation he'd had with Imani and his roommate right before fall break. "No, I haven't 'found religion'. At least I haven't found one that bans pork consumption. It's just that pork holds some…bad memories for me."
"Oh," Casey Venturi said quietly as she looked at the pork roast on the table. It looked like Venturi was going to fire something back at James, but decided against it at the last minute.
Dinner was almost silent after that. James got the feeling that the lack of conversation was his fault. The problem was that he didn't know how to fix it. He got the idea that complimenting the casserole or fruit salsa would be a bad thing. James excused himself as soon as he could. There wasn't any reason why he should stay and inflict indigestion on everyone else. And he had to get away from the pork smell. Bacon didn't affect him the way pork roast did. He was having an association reaction, he was sure. His version was blurry for some reason. It absolutely wasn't because he was about to cry. One of the few functional things he learned as a child was that men didn't cry. Ever.
Besides, if he were prone to crying, it would have been what he overheard later that night that would have reduced him to tears.
If asked about it later, James wouldn't have been able to say why he was even in the hallway in the first place. Dinner was amazingly uncomfortable and he'd been avoiding the rest of the house ever since. He was trying to decide if he should leave before breakfast in the morning as it was. It was really only the need to go to the restroom that had him leaving the room where he was sleeping. It was the snatches of conversation that he heard from the master suite that had him pause.
"…like it was my fault," he heard Mrs. Venturi say.
"No. It wasn't your fault, Case. Not at all. It's Michael's." Venturi returned.
Clearly, they were both moving around the room, so even crouched by the door, James couldn't hear everything that was said. For a few moments, all he heard was murmuring until he heard Mrs. Venturi said, "Maybe it was a mistake?"
"Mistake?!" Venturi snorted, although he didn't sound amused. "This whole thing with Michael has been a train-wreck from the beginning!"
Venturi said some other things, but James had straightened and moved away from the door. In fact, he found himself back in the room where he was sleeping before he knew it. All he heard running through his head was Venturi, the man who fathered him, saying "This whole thing with Michael has been a train-wreck from the beginning!" This "whole thing"? He knew he wasn't Venturi's favorite child, by a long shot, because he wasn't Casey's, but the "whole thing" was a mistake? From the beginning? Did his father really think he was a mistake?
That question had come up in rehab once. James remembered he had stormed out of the group session to avoid answering it. But there it was again. Was he a mistake?
One thing that was certain, it was time to leave London. Spending time with his mother in Sarnia was looking better and better. At least in Sarnia, more bad news wouldn't push him to self-medicating. His mother had been clean for two years longer than he. Her house would be a safe place to have a moment where he didn't feel so strong.
Early that next morning, he packed and left the Venturi household. He didn't stop to talk, but he did leave a thank you note of sorts. He also left all of the cash that he had with him. Sure it was US currency, but, given what the Venturi's had spent because he showed up on their doorstep? Well, he felt like he owed them something. They could exchange it at a bank or something.
Lwdloveforlwdloveforlwdlovefor
Dr. Lawrence blinked. "You left them another note? You don't think that might have been a little harsh?"
James shrugged. "Not really," he replied, but he didn't mean it. When he had left the first note for his biological father all of those years ago he was angry. He was angry and he was going to stay with someone who had always been a support for him. When he left the second note, he felt queasy about it. He had chalked it up to being wounded at being called a mistake, mainly because he didn't want to explore any other reasons for the feeling.
Dr. Lawrence was silent for a few moments. "I…I understand that what you overheard was a little, well, hard to hear-"
James raised an eyebrow as he looked at the academic.
"Okay, more than hard," the older woman allowed. "But you were crouched outside of their bedroom door-"
"Which means I caught them telling the truth!"
"Which means," Dr. Lawrence corrected, "that what you heard, you heard out of context. Are you sure you didn't misunderstand?"
"How do you misunderstand 'this whole thing with Michael has been a train wreck from the beginning'?!"
"Rather easily, I should think," Dr. Lawrence countered.
"Well, I didn't misunderstand. My mother even confirmed it for me. I was a mistake that my parents had no idea how to deal with."
That stopped Dr. Lawrence for a moment. She opened her mouth a few times to close it. Then she asked, "You mother called you a train-wreck? She actually called you a mistake to your face?" Her voice was very quiet.
James found the need to be honest here. "She didn't call me a mistake, but her reaction confirmed it for me."
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He landed on his mother's doorstep by about ten that morning. As he rang the bell, he wondered if she would be home…and what he would do if she wasn't. His fears were put to rest when the door opened. "James! What a surprise. It's great to see you," Sally Kent Venturi exclaimed as she pulled him into a tight hug. "Come in. Come in."
James smiled at his mother as he followed her into the house. "It's good to see you, Mom. It's been awhile."
"It has. I haven't seen you since you started that university in the States. Speaking of, why are you even here? Shouldn't you be in classes or something?"
James laughed. "You realize you always ask me if I should be in classes or something, don't you?"
"Well," his mother shrugged, "I don't want you to become one of those students who always skip class. They get into trouble."
"More trouble than I've already gotten into?" James snarked back to his mother. She just shook her head at him.
"So, why the visit? Why aren't you in class?"
"Holiday in the States. I flew into Toronto and thought I'd hop on the road and visit you."
"Oh, so long flight plus hours on the road. That must be why you look like hell," Sally laughed. "Well, come in and sit down and fill me in on life since your October phone call."
"Okay," James smiled and he walked into his mother's living room a few paces in front of her. "I'm not keeping you from anything, am I?" he thought to ask.
"No. You actually timed your visit well. I just got back from Flow Yoga." His mother sat next to him as she smiled. "So, what's up?"
For most of their conversation, they just talked about inane things. As usual, Sally pushed that James find another counselor or therapist "because they are good for people like us". They compared notes about their AA and NA meetings, which prompted James to say "US Americans are weird" and his mother to laugh. James mentioned that he visited Harry's grave and Sally made the right supportive noises. Then James said, "I also spent some time with Venturi, his wife, and his daughter."
"Oh," Sally Venturi said quietly as she rose from the couch. She walked to the other side of the room to look out the window. After a few minutes of silence, she asked, "How was it? Did you and your father talk at all?"
"Mom, I know we have an agreement not to talk about the past-"
Sally smiled sadly as she turned to look at James. "Only because neither one of us seems to handle it well."
"I know," James agreed as he looked down at his hands. "But there is one thing I need to know. One question I have to ask."
"I'd rather you didn't," Sally shared quietly. "I don't think I could even tell a good white lie about any of it. I probably can't be fair or balance about it, either."
"That's fine. Because I want the truth." James got up and paced away from his mother before turning to look at her.
"James?" she asked.
"Mom, when you look back at your time with Venturi, when you think about it, do you think it was a mistake? I mean," he rushed out before his mother could get a word in, "do you ever wish you could have made a different decision, if you could do it over? Would you do something else if you had the chance?"
After his last question, he saw the sadness in his mother's eyes as they began to water. "Mom. I just – I just need to know if I was some kind of mistake."
His mother just looked at him. She opened and closed her mouth several times but nothing came out. Well, nothing came out of her mouth. Water did come out of her eyes and streamed out her face. A few moments later, her right hand ended up on her face, covering the mouth that couldn't seem to force out words.
It was too hard to watch, James decided. That's why he crossed the room and pulled his crying mother into a hug. What felt like hours later, Sally finally stopped crying and looked up at him, "James-"
James shrugged, "You were right. I shouldn't have asked."
"But, James-"
"It's okay, Mom," James smiled as he hugged his mother, even though his smile felt off center. "We don't handle the past well. Never have."
"We should talk about this, though," Sally started.
"Nope," James countered as he smiled harder. "I'm only in the country until Sunday morning. We shouldn't talk about this. We should make a triple layer chocolate cake instead."
Sally looked like she wanted to argue, but she ended up agreeing. It was probably because James suggested the cake. It was one of the first things Sally learned to make after coming out of rehab. Asking for that cake always seemed to stop tears and end difficult conversations.
The topic didn't come back up while James finished out his vacation with his mother. The conversation and the conclusion he had reached because of it, however, never really left his brain. He remembered feeling like he had to prove something when he returned to classes, but what and to whom, he didn't know. And, when he wasn't on the mission was secret even to him, he spent time with Imani or with the people in his building. He didn't go out though. Even he knew that bars in his mental state where not a good place to be.
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James looked up to see Dr. Lawrence crying in much the way his mother had. That unnerved him. He'd never seen her cry before. As she got up out of her chair, he thought she was going to kick him out. Instead, she pulled him to his feet – which was a feat in and of itself, since he was at least three inches taller than she was – and dragged him into a hug.
"James," she said as she hugged him. "You are not a mistake. You are not. You are meant to do something amazing. Do you hear me?" she insisted as she looked at him.
"Ma'am, yes, ma'am," James found himself replying, both to lighten the mood…and because Dr. Lawrence had sounded a little like a drill sergeant for a moment.
"Do you believe me?" she asked in a quieter voice as she stepped away.
James felt an off-center smile appear on his face. "I'm working on it."
"Good," his advisor smiled as she returned to her seat. "Because I believe it. And I'll believe it for you until you do. Maybe along the way you'll patch things up with your family. Maybe you won't. But you are someone we are all very lucky to have." Dr. Lawrence's smile, James was sure, had to do with the fact he was probably blushing a bit. "So, tell me about these plans of yours to have a great spring semester."
"Oh. Okay," James replied as he sat back down and began to lay out what he had figured out during the semester break.
As they were wrapping up the meeting twenty minutes later, Dr. Lawrence said in an off-handed way. "We are going to DC for a week for Spring Break. It's not a beach, but spending time with drunken vacationers has never been my thing. We haven't decided if we are driving or taking the train, but clear your whole week, just in case."
James blinked at the unspoken assumption that he was invited. "It's nice of you to think of me," he said quietly.
Dr. Lawrence smiled. "Don't thank me yet. My Keith will be watching you like a hawk the entire time we are on vacation."
"You think so?"
"I know so," Dr. Lawrence shared. "His only child is a daughter. Fathers of daughters are the scariest men on the planet."
"Duly noted," James nodded as he rose to leave. As he reached the door, he turned back to look at the academic who was finally opening the box of Kleenex that had sat on the right side of the desk for most of their meeting. "Oh, and Dr. Lawrence?"
"Yes, James?"
"Thank you."
Not surprisingly, she didn't need to ask for what. "You're welcome, James. You're welcome."
- the end -
And so ends (finally) story one of the trilogy. The next story in this series is called Unblended: A Beautiful Mess. I hope that the first chapter will be able to be premiered in June. Also, for those who stuck with this story, within the next few days, I'll conclude this story with a commentary on the writing of this piece and a soundtrack for this story. Feedback is always welcomed.
Thank you for reading.