Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners

by Gretchen Anthony

  Well, that explained it. She was fighting cheese grease, not mustard. She added a dab of dish soap to her rag and got back to work.

  “Anyhoo...long story short, I decided today was as good a day as any for a cheddar dog.”

  She waited for a punch line.

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “And...you said it was a funny story.”

  “Who did?”

  “You did.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Ed. I asked if you’d picked up the list from Eldris and you said—and I quote—‘funny you should say that.’ So what’s so funny?”

  “Well, now I’d argue that my saying that was more of a turn of phrase. Not so much a statement of fact.”

  Violet felt the urge to grab a fistful of shirt and twist until his face turned blue.

  “Ed, what happened at the Home Depot between the time you ordered your cheese dog and your destruction of this shirt?”

  “Ah, yes! Now I remember.”

  She waited.

  “Edward!”

  “Oh, sorry. Just had an idea for the sink. But, yes, I was just finishing my lunch when I saw Richard walk out.”

  “And?” She couldn’t believe they’d actually crossed paths by chance. After all their attempts.

  “A man was handing him cash in the parking lot. I think he must be picking up odd jobs in his spare time. With all those legal fees, who can blame him?”

  33

  Cerise

  THIS TIME SHE’D really done it. She’d sat silently on the couch and watched the women she loved face each other down. Now the price she was paying for her mute cowardice was further silence; she and Barb had hardly said a word to each other in days.

  Her parents hadn’t stayed much longer after the face-off. Baby woke up and Cerise needed to nurse him, which provided a convenient excuse to leave. She knew her mother would have considered it ill-bred to argue with a baby present, and her father still couldn’t stomach being confronted with the utility of his daughter’s nipples.

  It all felt so strange to her now, as if she’d grown up while none of them—she or her parents—had even noticed. In many ways she still felt like a twelve-year-old girl, one who wanted a Christmas stocking and to go trick-or-treating on Halloween. And yet, she’d grown a baby in her belly, used her uterus for its expressed natural purpose and chosen to feed the child with the very same body that had created it. How was that even possible? Her boobs themselves had only been around a few years and now they had the power to drive her father out of the room.

  Her physical and emotional selves couldn’t seem to make any sense of each other.

  She’d owned a house and had a job and lived happily with her partner for years. She’d mastered the stuff of adult life, but she realized now she hadn’t felt like a grown-up in the midst of any of it.

  Because this new life—motherhood—was nothing but sheer, overwhelming, helpless terror.

  And yet...

  She was now part of a select group, those with the honor of being able to tell a child, “I was there the very moment you came into the world.”

  The magnificence of it made her shiver.

  She opened the door to the nursery and peeked in. Barb sat in the rocker with the baby. He was fast asleep but she looked wide-awake, mesmerized by his face.

  Here was the only other person who would ever be able to say the same to their son—“I was there the moment you came into the world.” She and Barb had chosen this road together and she knew they could not falter, couldn’t allow themselves to screw this up.

  That was just the trouble, though. When everything was changing so quickly, who could tell right from wrong? Was it her responsibility to mitigate every disagreement between Barb and her mother? They were both grown women. They could speak up for themselves. They were capable of managing their own relationship.

  That was rational terrain, the terrain Cerise had revisited several times over since the argument. It was a safe place, where she didn’t have to worry about anyone except herself.

  Now, however, she’d decided to leave that place behind.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Barb turned to look at her and even in the dim afternoon light Cerise could see the lack of sleep piling up around her eyes.

  “For what?”

  God, that was a good question.

  “I wish I knew.”

  The two of them remained quiet for a moment.

  Cerise said, “It’s really hard. All of it. And I think I’ve been acting as if I’m in this alone. As if I’m the only one dealing with it.”

  Barb gave her the pleasant, glazed smile she typically reserved for elderly people and toddlers. “But you’re the mother. It is harder for you.”

  The words went directly to Cerise’s gut, where she felt their immediate churn.

  “Please,” she said. “Don’t be cruel.”

  Barb did not respond.

  “You and I have never been this distant,” said Cerise. “Never.” She saw Barb’s face soften, if just slightly. “I didn’t plan to do this without you and I don’t want to.”

  Barb smoothed the blanket around baby’s shoulders and tucked the corner in on itself. Baby puckered his lips, still asleep and dreaming of food.

  “I don’t think you get it,” she said. “It’s like I’ve been left out of some game. Like you and your family have your own rules, your own language and I’m just expected to figure it out on my own.”

  This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation. Barb once described Baumgartner family holidays as being like a days-long charades tournament, everyone wordless and guessing at clues.

  For her part, though, Cerise wanted to understand Barb’s frustration and confusion—and she’d tried. Trouble was, she didn’t feel as if she knew the game any better, herself. “I don’t mean to leave you out. And I don’t feel like I do. Not intentionally.” Which was true. “I’m trying to figure this out just the same as you are.”

  “Then why does your mom get to dictate everything?” Barb’s tone rose just enough above a hush that baby frowned and kicked his legs.

  “You love to say that, but she doesn’t.” Yet another conversation they’d had countless times before.

  “She tried to name our son.”

  “She did not. Those were just samples. And be honest—if it were up to us, we’d never even get the announcements out.”

  “But that’s just it.” Barb was rocking ever more quickly and Cerise worried that soon the sheer velocity of the chair would wake baby. “Did we even talk about doing announcements, the two of us? It just so happens that, yes, I’d like to announce the birth of our son. But that’s not something we decided together. Your mom went full speed ahead on her own.”

  “So?”

  “So, I don’t always want to be in reaction mode. I don’t always want my parenting decisions to be in response to something your mother thinks.”

  Cerise put her palm up to stop all the talk. She needed a second, the span of a breath, at least, to process.

  It wasn’t as if she’d never agonized over her mother before. She’d been doing it since she could remember. She learned to walk, learned to go potty, learned to look to her mother for approval—it was that fundamental. She could remember being thrilled as a child by the Dr. Seuss “I can read it myself” books at the library. It wasn’t until years later, as a teenage babysitter, that she realized the actual purpose of those labels—to guide beginning readers toward books they were capable of reading. She’d always shown them to her mother as proof that she’d used her library time wisely.

  Plus, her mother was useful. It was as if she just knew the way of things in life—what to do and how to do it—and that lifted a burden from Cerise. School and wo
rk were enough to think about. “You just focus on your studies,” her mother always said, “and let me worry about the rest.” Who wouldn’t want to accept that deal? Her father certainly had.

  But motherhood changed all of that. She’d suddenly been forced to switch roles. She was the one worrying now.

  “I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to leave my mother out of all this. Honestly, I don’t think I’d even know how.”

  Barb nodded as if that’s what she’d expected her to say.

  “You know that I’ll never understand your relationship with your mother.”

  Cerise shrugged.

  “And I’m not asking you to leave her out of it. I am asking for you to put me first.”

  “But I do put you first.”

  Barb shook her head. “No. Not when you treat every decision we make as preliminary. As if it’s pending Baumgartner approval.”

  The churn in her gut wasn’t going away and, in fact, gave no sign that this argument was getting them anywhere. Still, here they were.

  “What does it feel like?”

  “What?” said Barb.

  “To not need your mother’s approval?”

  Barb smiled and thought for a moment.

  “Lonely,” she said finally.

  That was not the answer Cerise had expected. She crossed the room and sat on the floor next to Barb and baby, her back supported by the wall. She realized that her recovering belly wouldn’t have allowed this a few days ago, and she was glad now that it did. She reached up for Barb’s hand but they were both tucked under baby, holding him. Cerise took his foot, instead.

  He was their bridge.

  After several long minutes of silence, Barb said, “How do you like the name Adam?”

  “Adam,” repeated Cerise, considering.

  “I’ve been thinking about all the firsts for this kid—first child, first grandson, first boy on both sides of the family.”

  “First boy in our lives, for sure,” said Cerise.

  “Adam,” said Barb. “I like it. It’s strong.”

  “I agree,” said Cerise. “And he’s gonna need it.”

  Christmas 2000

  Dearest loved ones, far and near—

  Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners!

  As I write, the December snow is blowing in great gusts, winter’s own drama playing out just beyond our windows. But here we sit, Ed and Cerise and I, safe and warm and happy. I hope this letter arrives to find you equally blessed.

  2000 was filled with milestones for our family—of the emotional, familial and professional varieties, all.

  First and foremost, this was a monumental year for our dear Ed. As most of you are probably aware (thanks to recent coverage in the Minneapolis-St. Paul Standard, but who am I to brag??) Edward has received the first series of patents for his F8 Tri-scope Method, which he and his team worked on tirelessly. Needless to say, Cerise and I missed him terribly during those late nights and weekends away, yet our family’s sacrifice is but a tiny thorn when compared to all the millions of people who have, for years, suffered the pain and humiliation of chronic gastrointestinal disorder. It simply gives me chills to think about the lives that will change because of one man—and we are just lucky enough to call him our own. Dearest Ed, we are so proud of you!!!

  I must admit that the outpouring of congratulations has been truly humbling. It began when BiolTech held a lovely reception at their recently renovated corporate headquarters (Oh, the glass! Oh, the chrome!) to celebrate—and even found it fitting to invite Minnesota’s very own governor! (Sadly, he was unable to attend (as I have been told by a discreet little birdie) for reasons related to a last-minute summons to a house of a particular color in our nation’s capital. But I shall say no more!)

  As if that weren’t excitement enough for one year, we have news on the familial front, as well: Our little Cerise has finally become a woman. One Sunday in May, while all dressed in white, our lovely daughter celebrated the Rite of Confirmation at Faithful Redeemer Lutheran, our church home of many years. It was a joyous day and we watched with pride as she and her fellow confirmands stood for the first time as full members of the congregation, publicly professing their faith and thereby reaffirming their baptisms. Cerise, this marks the end of a serious, thought-filled journey for you and we could not be more proud.

  Which brings me to the milestone I met this year: I am now the mother of a teenage girl. Oh, why didn’t you warn me, dear friends??!! The emotional turmoil of parenting a teen girl is relentless. How many days must I feel like the lone keeper of the lighthouse, fighting in vain to guide her embattled ship safely to shore amidst a hurricane that rages and storms without warning?

  Those of you who know me, of course, know that chaos is not a state in which I prefer to operate. It is, in fact, a state I actively work to avoid. I am proud to have earned my reputation as a woman who can be trusted, who comes through in a pinch, who knows how to get things done. Is it any coincidence that I carry a calendar in my wallet and a spare pair of stockings in my purse? If life is a course to be run, may I forever choose to be its mapmaker.

  That is, after all, the mind-set required of excellent parenting. If you think it was easy for Cerise to earn a Five-Star Student award for nine quarters running, you are sorely mistaken. Yes, she is bright and works hard, but the foundation for those awards began in her earliest years: musical immersion programs as soon as she could walk, preschool interviews as soon as she could talk, children’s book clubs as soon as she could read. Some may call me overbearing, but I am a mother who is prepared, come what may.

  And yet...I was blindsided by the day she chose friends over family. (Ed tells me that growing apart is a way of growing up, but I can’t settle for a trite euphemism, especially not when I’ve worked so hard for so long to help our daughter achieve so much.)

  The trouble arose when I made plans for a wonderful mother-daughter outing a few months ago. Cerise and I were to go see the theater rerelease of Disney’s Fantasia, a movie we’d watched together countless times on the VCR, followed by reservations at the Russian Tea House in St. Paul. We were both excited and had been looking forward to our mother-daughter adventure for days.

  And then the phone rang. (I was prepared for boys to begin calling someday, but who would have known that passing into the teen years meant a fivefold increase in the time our daughter spent chatting with girlfriends??!!) The call, of course, was from Cerise’s newest best friend (who shall remain nameless (even though I’m certain she would have remained clueless about her mention in this year’s Baumgartner Tidings, as her family is not included on our Christmas card list, nor is she the brightest bulb in the pack)). To my consternation and extreme surprise, Cerise hung up the phone and canceled our day! Even more, she announced her intention to see the movie Never Been Kissed (for the fourth time, I might add!!) with Brittany her little friend! Can you imagine my reaction??

  Well, any mother will relate to my shock, not to mention the betrayal I felt at the hands of my very own daughter. We weren’t simply dashing out to the store together. We’d made plans. I’d confirmed and reconfirmed our reservations for tea. I’d special ordered low-cholesterol piroshki to go for our dear Ed. We’d made commitments—and now our daughter’s friend was encouraging her to toss them aside without a second thought.

  You’ll be glad to know, fellow parents, that I put a stop to what I imagine could have become a highly unfortunate collapse of integrity that very day. I made clear in no uncertain terms (and, yes, a few tears—I am human, after all) that FAMILY COMES FIRST.

  I’m pleased to share that we’ve had no further recurrences of what I can only describe as a misguided, teenage brush with disloyalty. And if my story lends any guidance or faith to any of you reading this, please know that I am one friend who will always support your choices as a parent, as difficult as they may be. Stand
firm. Stick to your principles. Learn from our pain.

  May 2001 bring you every blessing and every abundance that this wonderful world of ours has to offer.

  Christmas Blessings to each and every one of you,

  Ed and Violet Baumgartner

  34

  Richard

  WELL, HELL, IF that wasn’t Ed Baumgartner in the car behind him. How many times had he seen him lately?

  There was the Home Depot—twice. Man, that guy loved a messy hot dog. Both days he’d seen him, his chin was dripping with mustard. Like a kid caught sneaking chocolate syrup out of the refrigerator and pretending he wasn’t up to anything, only his mom knows it’s a bald-faced lie on account of the evidence dribbling down his face and shirt. Ed was that kid. Only, Richard suspected—no, he knew—that Ed was trying to avoid his wife.

  That Violet. She was always around these days, too. She’d spent more time at Richard’s house in the past few months than all the twenty years they’d known the Baumgartners, combined.

  Ever since they’d been married, he’d never known what Eldris got herself up to on, say, a Tuesday afternoon. He was always gone. At work. Earning the money she spent while he was away.

  Richard, though, was finding it easier and easier to adapt to the idea of early retirement. Who wouldn’t want to spend a Wednesday morning at the movies? Theaters handed out incredible discounts while the rest of the world was at work.

  He hadn’t had the time before. But now he did. Now he and Eldris could actually spend some time together, actually escape life’s drudgeries for a bit. Except, she claimed he wasn’t retiring. She refused to even discuss it. All she wanted to talk about was the wedding and why couldn’t they landscape the front lawn before then and how was she going to manage all of her church responsibilities and the wedding, both?

  The stoplight turned green and Richard put his foot to the gas. He couldn’t remember if it was easiest to turn right on the next block or the one following that. The theater he was heading to today had always been tricky to find. Of course, Eldris had pitched a holy fit when he announced his plans—how could he just go running off willy-nilly—yeah, she had said exactly that—when there was so much to do? But he was heading to the movies, anyway. Clint Eastwood had a new film out and who knew how much longer that old son of a bitch was gonna be around to make them? He had to be ninety at least.