Knit Two

by Kate Jacobs

  “I made her dinner,” she told Dan, not for the first time, and not for the first time that very day. “The first night she was home from the hospital. I made spaghetti and meatballs with Rosie. We took turns looking after Ginger and making food while Lucie snoozed on the couch.”

  “That was nice of you, hon,” said Dan. He was tired, too, actually. There were good parts about being the dad—great stuff, actually—but the man tended to get lost in the shuffle of the baby process. As a doctor, it made sense: The woman went through the physical stress, the labor pains. But, as a father, he wouldn’t have minded a bit more empathy from the world at large. Fewer hearty pats on the back and more offers to mop the floor.

  “Are you hungry?” he said to his frowning wife. “I can do Italian, too, you know. We have jarred sauce in the cupboard.”

  “I don’t want any food,” said Darwin, following him out of the nursery to the kitchen, which was conveniently attached to the babies’ room. Even as she spoke, she opened the fridge and began pulling out leftover containers of rice and veggies. Dan kept his mouth quite shut.

  “What I want to know is what the hell is going on with her!” said Darwin. She had that little-girl look that Dan recognized as a lead-up to a crying jag.

  “Go take a bath,” he said, nervously watching the door to the nursery. “I’ll bring this in and you can eat in the tub.”

  One wail from Mommy and they’d be in business all hours without reprieve, just like the night before and the night before that. Was this what it was always going to be like? Small things were setting off Darwin and when she became upset, Cady and Stanton picked up on her emotions and voiced their shared outrage. He wasn’t too impressed with Lucie, either, but he wasn’t about to make a big deal out of it. Instead, he had decided to get things under control. Dan had invited Lucie over for lunch the next day. His plan was to get Darwin up and into the shower beforehand, then smash up some tuna and onion with mayo and serve tuna salad sandwiches. He still needed to get something for dessert—fruit salad, maybe?—but he could do that on his way to pick up Betty from the airport. And the whole thing hinged on getting just a few minutes of rest. . . .

  The beep of the microwave startled him; he nearly beaned himself on an open cupboard. Dan put out a hand on the counter to steady himself, the crunch of crumbs underneath his fingers reminding him to wipe it down later. Wow. He’d just fallen asleep standing up, he marveled, something he hadn’t done since med school. Grabbing the rice and one of the few clean spoons—most of the dishes having piled up in the sink—he headed to the one bathroom in the apartment to make sure Darwin hadn’t passed out in the tub.

  They were the walking exhausted. And yet he only wished they could have become parents sooner.

  “Why are you letting the dirty laundry pile up in the living room?” Betty hadn’t even seen the twins yet and she was already critiquing the apartment. When Dan met her at the baggage claim, just in time to pull a very large suitcase off the carousel, she had not looked pleased to see him. Even now she was frowning.

  “There is a lot to do,” she said as he carried her bag out to the taxicab line, waiting with all the other passengers to pay for a ride into Manhattan. He’d taken the subway to the airport to save a little cash. Betty had put on her seat belt and then pulled a thick yellow notepad out of her oversized purse, followed up with a gift of an old pen.

  “That’s for you,” she said. “So you can write down what I tell you.” And then she launched into a coherent schedule of tasks, a conversation she picked up every time she saw him. “And one more thing . . .” was Betty’s constant refrain.

  Now, Dan had always had a friendly relationship with his in-laws, who approved of his medical degree and his obvious devotion to Darwin. (Even if Betty found her daughter to be exasperating most of the time, she certainly still wanted her to be in a healthy marriage.) However, as content as they may have been in their relationship, it was clear to Betty at the airport that her son-in-law was over his head: he hadn’t been able to match up the buttons on his shirt to the correct holes, giving him a haphazard appearance. His eyes looked a little puffy underneath his wire-rimmed glasses, and he was constantly yawning.

  No, Betty was not about to allow these parenting neophytes to make all sorts of wrong decisions. She had come to the rescue.

  “Daniel,” she said now as she surveyed the very small apartment, “you should hire a service to come and clean up your house. I’ll do it for now, but when I’m not here, you won’t be so lucky.”

  “I can do it,” he said, mentally calculating the annual cost.

  “You have no time.” Betty had not flown all this way and slept in an uncomfortable chair between two smelly businessmen to waste her breath in a discussion. She was here to issue orders. “Children don’t need a house cleaned once a month, or even once a week. Children need a clean house each and every day.”

  “Do you want to see Darwin?”

  Betty shook her head. “Let her sleep,” she said. “I’m going to wash my hands, wash the babies, wash the laundry, and then get started on washing the floor. After that I’ll make breakfast.”

  “The babies are going to want to eat before all that—” started Dan.

  “How long do you think it’s going to take?” asked Betty incredulously. Clearly, she told herself, it was a very good thing she was on the scene.

  In the space of five days, she and Dan had more homemade meals at their tiny dining table than Darwin thought they’d ever had in a row. Her mother always had one pot on the stove simmering for the next meal even as they sat down to eat. Everything in the house was an assembly line: up, feed, wash, feed, clean, feed, scrub—a kid, a floor, a wall. Funny, but she didn’t remember her mother being so competent when she was younger. Bossy, yes. Annoyed, yes. But clever? No. Yet suddenly this brisk efficiency made sense, was even admirable.

  Having children had somehow made her own mother far more interesting to Darwin. Plus she did the laundry.

  “Our clothes have never been so clean,” whispered Dan as he climbed into bed with Darwin for their few minutes of shut-eye before Cady and Stanton started up their hungry chorus. “Even the dish towels are folded and smell like lemons.”

  The change in the household was obvious upon entering the apartment.

  “Holy shit,” said Lucie when she came for a visit shortly after Betty’s arrival. She’d rescheduled after Dan’s invitation, was only now showing up. “Did you paint? It’s like Mr. Clean came to your house and sanitized the place. Even the dingy little corners. You’ve been de-grunged.”

  Betty came bustling out of the bedroom, a laundry basket under her arm.

  “More laundry, Mom?” asked Darwin. “Maybe you should take a break. Come, meet Lucie.” She pointed to her friend standing just inside the doorway.

  “Hello, Lucie,” said Betty, who knew that Darwin had a close friend by that name but had never actually met her. Nor had she heard too many details about Lucie and Ginger, seeing as Darwin had resisted opening up to her until she’d arrived with her rubber gloves conveniently tucked away at the bottom of her purse. But no matter: she was more than willing to clean her way to her daughter.

  “You should see her suitcase,” said Darwin with enthusiasm. “It’s like Mary Poppins’s bag. There’s always something to eat, or a gift for the kids, or a special soap that makes my skin feel soft. It’s amazing.”

  Lucie was taken aback. Over the years, she’d heard one constant theme from Darwin: She and her mother didn’t get along. And yet here they were, acting for all the world like a model family.

  “I have no time to talk,” said Betty. “If I don’t secure four washing machines right away, I’ll spend all day riding that elevator. And don’t make the mistake of thinking you can just put your quarters in and reserve a machine. New Yorkers have no respect for someone else’s money.”

  “What can I do?” asked Darwin, as Lucie stared.

  “Why don’t you put together a handful of s
andwiches and we’ll all have some nice lunch when I get back?” Betty nodded toward Lucie. “If you’re here, you’ll get to work. You can set the table.”

  Lucie watched Betty march off toward the elevator, then closed the apartment door behind her.

  “Shoes off,” said Darwin, pointing to a mat to the right of the door. Lucie obediently took off her loafers and set them next to a row of perfectly aligned sneakers and slippers.

  “What gives?” she asked.

  “Oh, my mom went out and bought those slippers,” said Darwin casually. “She thinks we’ll be able to keep the floors cleaner, which will be important when the babies start crawling.”

  “They’re two weeks old,” said Lucie. “They can’t even pick their heads up.”

  “I know,” said Darwin. “But it’s always good to be prepared. You know, I never realized before how much my mother and I have in common.” She motioned for Lucie to follow her into the galley kitchen, which, never spacious, was definitely crowded with two people. Darwin began pulling condiments out of the fridge, as well as a tomato and a container of egg salad.

  “Who are you?” said Lucie. “You’re so . . . placid.”

  Darwin shrugged. “It’s kinda cool to have her around,” she said. “Besides, Rosie was all over your place after Ginger was born.”

  “I guess,” said Lucie. “But I don’t remember that it turned everything so upside down.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence as Darwin meticulously cut thin slices of tomato, moistened the whole grain bread with just a touch of mayo, and spread a medium layer of egg salad.

  “Oh, Luce,” she said, suddenly looking up. “I just remembered that you hate egg salad. Dan made tuna salad before but it’s been eaten, of course. By me. I can get you something else.”

  It felt peculiar, because they’d spent so much time together for so long, to just forget a preference so easily. Friends knew certain things about the other: favorite TV shows, how much cream to pour into the coffee, and to not be able to remember such things seemed proof positive of their growing distance.

  Being a friend was not something that came naturally to Darwin: she hadn’t had much opportunity when she was growing up and had cultivated an aloof stance as a defense mechanism. But connecting with Lucie had changed her, opened her up to being a more generous person, quite frankly. All it takes is one good, true friend to not feel so isolated. And the thought of losing that friend was heart-wrenching.

  “Lucie,” said Darwin, her heart racing even as she pretended to really, really care about the crusts on her egg salad sandwiches. “Do you not like me anymore?”

  What was going on? Sure, Lucie had had a few theories, but now, in Darwin’s Betty-ed kitchen, with the crumbs cleaned out of the cupboards and a stove actually being used, she began to feel something new. Something a little surprising.

  “I’m a little jealous,” she said, incredulous. “It’s been hard for me.”

  “Rosie does stuff for you,” said Darwin.

  “Rosie’s getting old,” said Lucie, leaning against the counter and tearing apart a slice of bread, eating it piece by piece. “I’m more than fifteen years older than you, Dar, and I was Rosie’s youngest. She’s gotten up there and I guess I haven’t noticed.”

  “Or made a point not to notice.”

  “Yeah, that, too,” said Lucie. “I’ve got a kid entering first grade in the fall and a mother who should be thinking about nursing homes. It sucks. And then there’s Dan.”

  “What about him?”

  “He exists,” said Lucie. “He’s here. You have a guy and I don’t.” It had felt fair, somehow. An arrangement. She got to be a mom to Ginger, and Darwin was wife to Dan. They each had a piece of the puzzle and could share, in a way, the other part. Ginger would have a devoted auntie and uncle, always up for endless rounds of horse and Play-Doh projects, and Darwin would have a baby for cuddles and squeezes. Lucie always had a place at the table for whatever meal Darwin was ordering. In return she shared Rosie, with her stories of growing up in Italy and raising her family in New Jersey, and Rosie included Darwin and Dan in endless family barbecues during the long summer weekends. It was a trade. They each had something the other coveted.

  So what did it mean now that Darwin had everything?

  It meant that Lucie was going to be a third wheel. That was her fear, anyway. Finding out that what she had to offer—time with Ginger, cookies from Rosie—was far less valuable. For another thing, it made it very clear to Lucie that she didn’t have a partner. That shouldn’t exactly have been a startling revelation, seeing as she set out to become a single parent and all. But that was years ago. She’d planned very well. For then. She just hadn’t been able to divine her future needs with as much accuracy.

  Now Lucie wouldn’t have minded someone to run Ginger to ballet class, or to have the secret knowledge to corral Ginger when she was having one of her tantrums and make her stop. Or maybe—just maybe—someone with whom to enjoy lazy, middle-of-the-night, pleasant sex. Humans like to pair up, she thought. And while she hadn’t exactly become a nun, juggling a soaring professional life with mommyhood didn’t exactly lead to a frequently scintillating private life.

  But did it mean she should have told Will she’d gotten pregnant, maybe settled down and done the white picket fence, er, tiny one-bedroom-converted-to-two Manhattan apartment thing? She wasn’t sure. Though such a future, which might have become hers had she made different past decisions, seemed newly attractive as she watched Darwin make sandwiches and flutter about. There was something so unusual about Darwin, so starkly different from how she’d ever seen her.

  “You’re like someone who’s just had the most amazing orgasm,” said Lucie. “You look totally calm and zoned out at the same time.”

  “Uh, we’re so not having sex,” Darwin reminded her. “Even when we get the okay, it’s going to be years before I’m open for business. I hurt.”

  Lucie waved her off as they carried their sandwiches to the table, walking through the door in the kitchen that adjoined the babies’ room, glancing at the infants, who were beginning to sleep much more soundly now. After a quick peek, the two exited out to the compact room that comprised both the living and dining area.

  “That’ll pass,” said Lucie. “The desire for sex returns. Trust me.”

  “No sex talk when my mother gets back with the clothes,” said Darwin. “I’m not sure she knows how babies are made.” She laughed.

  “That’s it!”

  “My mother doesn’t understand sex?”

  “You’re laughing.”

  “I’m more relaxed than I have been in, well, ever,” said Darwin. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’ve started a new series of lists.” She went over to a binder on the living room coffee table about three steps away. “Medical concerns, saving for college, friend-making skills, miscellaneous. I’d have more categories but I haven’t had much time to get going yet.”

  “You look exhausted but relaxed,” insisted Lucie.

  “I’m sure it’s just the hormones,” Darwin replied. “My mom is in my home twenty-four/seven and it seems pretty good to me. So I’ve clearly lost my mind, yes, but I’ve just accepted it as the new normal.”

  “Dar, I know I said I’d be here and I totally bailed,” said Lucie. “So I want you to know that I’m going to try to push back the shoot in Italy and stay here for a bit.”

  “When are you supposed to leave?”

  “Really soon.”

  “What if you lose the assignment?”

  Lucie took a deep breath. “I’d rather lose a work assignment than a friend,” she said.

  In a millisecond, Darwin was out of her chair and pacing around the living room.

  “It’s that sort of attitude,” she began, waving her index finger in the air, “that keeps women struggling in the professional realm. A man would never do that.”

  “Probably,” conceded Lucie.

  “You worked hard to get to this level,” s
aid Darwin.

  “Yup,” said Lucie.

  “So why on earth do you think I’d even consider letting you make such a ridiculous mistake?”

  “Because I’ve been a lousy friend and now I’m ready to step up.”

  “Well, bully for that, Luce, because it’s about time,” said Darwin. “But the kids and I aren’t going anywhere. You’ve got a lot of time to grovel and be nicer to me. In the meantime, I think you should set a good example for Ginger and the twins about the global marketplace.”

  “So you’re saying . . . what, exactly?”

  “I accept your kind of lame-ass apology,” said Darwin. “And I expect you to make one hell of a video.”

  Just then Betty fumbled at the door, trying to get her key into the lock and turn the handle at the same time.

  “Well, one last thing, because I’m hightailing it out of here before your mom throws me in the laundry,” said Lucie, going over to the front door to unlock it for Darwin’s mother and to pick up her handbag at the same time. It was a roomy blue felted computer case more than a purse, part of Peri’s new business line, and Lucie found the pleather bottom meant she could load it up and not worry too much about sag. She returned to the table with the blue bag, placed it on the chair she’d just been sitting in, and withdrew two tiny little knitted hats, white with a delicate stripe of green and yellow.

  “For you,” she said.

  Darwin’s eyes watered, just a little. “It’s just the hormones,” she yelled, forgetting—and instantly regretting—that her voice would set off her tiny duo in the thin-walled nursery.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll just cuddle them for a little bit,” said Lucie. “But then I’m really going.”

  Betty continued to fold towels and socks and underwear without seeming to pay any attention to her daughter and her friend. But she was pleased. A mother never tires of seeing her own child flush with happiness, she knew, as she watched her Darwin proudly show off the twins to her dearest friend.