I swallowed a lump in my throat over the thought of calling her again tomorrow. Any minute she would demand a doctor’s note for my supposed cold symptoms. And when I finally did get back to work, I’d have a cut on my face, and maybe my sore wrist would be in a brace by then, if it continued to hurt me as much as it had so far. How would I explain all that?
My phone chimed with a text from Drew. He’d finally confessed that he was house-sitting at his girlfriend’s house and taking care of their dog. He claimed that Miranda’s folks just wanted a family-only vacation and that it worked out well he could watch the dog for them, but I suspected trouble in paradise.
Want some help? Drew’s text offered.
Sure, I typed back. I’d never say no to my son wanting to see me. I’d blinked and he grew up and suddenly was never here, and I still wanted to cuddle him and ruffle his hair. I couldn’t even reach his hair anymore without standing on a stepstool. Mom once told me the nights are long, but the years are short. No joke.
A knock on the door sent my heart dropping to my gut, but I remembered it would only be Seth. Too early in the morning for Ayana.
I let Seth in. His eyes looked red and bloodshot. “You look terrible,” I told him.
“Good morning to you, too. Mary up yet?”
“Not yet. Soon, I imagine. I’ll make coffee.”
“I brought some,” he said, gesturing with a travel mug as he followed me inside.
I knew I should thank him, this stranger, for doing this for me, but in this early-morning moment, before it was time to confront my clutter for the day, I found myself instead overtaken by curiosity. What was his deal anyway? Why the hell was he here? I asked, “Did you and Mary ever date or anything?”
Seth leaned against my kitchen counter and half smiled down at his running shoes. “Nah. Her roommate was my steady girlfriend.”
“Ah. And after you guys broke up, it would have been too weird, I guess.”
“Well. We didn’t break up until after college. One of those high school sweetheart things that we actually thought would last.” He chuckled, shaking his head.
“So . . . what exactly brings you here, now, then? Unless you run a charity that provides free cleaning for crazy hoarders . . .”
Seth squinted into the distance as if considering his answer very carefully. Just then the door swung open and Mary appeared in my entryway, blinking furiously, the bright morning light behind her setting her in silhouette.
She was wearing her bathrobe and slippers and carrying a travel bag. “Oh. Morning. Could I use your shower?” She pulled the door shut behind her.
The robe was tied loosely, so that she had, in effect, a plunging neckline. Mary seemed too sleepy or dim to realize. I, however, noticed Seth noticing.
I waved her in. “Of course, ninny. You could sleep in the house, too.”
She stepped past Seth, and I watched him watch her go. Mary really was pretty, and she seemed to have no idea. Common for women to underrate themselves, of course, but she had the worst attraction-detection system I’d yet seen.
Hours later, fueled by Mötley Crüe on my old tape deck, we’d cleared off the counters and floor in the kitchen. I could actually see my kitchen canisters, which were an array of blues from deep cobalt to spring sky. As Seth and Mary rested in the dining room chairs, I opened cupboards, marveling at their interiors: organized, spacious.
I’d culled all the duplicate appliances I had, which left breathing room right there, and I’d hoped would bring me some cash at a yard sale. For a time I’d had a weakness for appliances, believing the new would always be better, faster, nicer than the old, only I couldn’t easily get to my old ones to replace them, so I’d put the new stuff in a bag on the floor or on the counter and get distracted . . .
With the best of the new appliances freed from their boxes and displayed, my kitchen looked new again.
I tried not to think about how much wasted money was gleaming now on my counter.
“What’s done is done,” Mom always used to say when we hassled her over something. She could somehow never find the receipts to return anything. I always suspected she threw them away on purpose at the doorway to the store for this very reason.
“Let’s celebrate with real food,” I said, dusting off my hands, though they were clean anyway. “Let’s buy some actual produce and make a salad. Some deli-meat sandwiches. We can buy some pasta for dinner. If I had time, I’d cook a ham, I’m so happy. Let’s head to the store . . .”
“I’ll go,” Mary interrupted. “You’ve been working so hard, you rest here and enjoy your new kitchen.”
I put my hand on my hip. I could read through her like glass. “You don’t trust me in a store.”
She turned so pink she nearly glowed. Then she said, “The Target boots, remember?”
Seth stood up. “I’ll go keep Mary company. You can call your sons and check in with them. Watch some TV and rest. We’ve still got a long haul.”
I did want to check in with Drew, I realized. Since our texting this morning he had not arrived nor given me an update.
“Fine.” I sighed. “Whatever.” I sounded like Drew, spitting out a “whatever” as a substitute for “fuck you.”
It would be good for Mary and Seth to talk anyway, because it seemed that this Seth character kinda liked my weird little sister. And we were only fortyish. That’s half a life left, God willing.
After they headed out to the store, my exhaustion caught up with me in aching waves, plus my swollen wrist had begun to throb. I took my cell phone into the bedroom to call the boys.
First, Jack. I called Ron’s cell.
“ ’Lo,” he answered.
“Hi, Ron,” I answered, correcting myself from the old “hi, honey” I still wanted to say. “Calling to check on our boy.” That was an endearing term I never intended to give up. No matter what else, that would always be true.
“I’ll let you talk to him. He had kind of a rough night.”
“What’s wrong?” I sat up on the bed.
“Nothing serious. Homesick.” I heard a tiny crack in Ron’s voice, and I felt a sprig of sympathy for him, trying to enjoy spring break with his little boy, but his little boy wanted to go home.
He put Jack on, and my boy was trying to sound brave. “Hi, Mama. I’m fine.”
“I heard you were a little sad last night, pal.”
“Yeah,” he answered, his voice gravelly.
I clutched my hand over my heart. “Honey, your daddy misses you, and he wants to spend time with you.”
“I know.” I heard him suck in a shuddery breath. “Hey, Mom?”
“Yeah, pal?”
“If you get the house all clean, can Daddy move back home?”
I curled over on the bed. “Um. Pal, it’s not that simple. Sometimes two people . . .”
The words caught in my throat, all that two people can’t live together anymore bullshit I spit out for days and days and weeks after Ron left. I cleared my throat and struggled to finish my thought. “. . . It’s just not that easy, honey.”
“Summer went home.”
I sat up at this. “She did?”
“Yeah.”
Don’t ask him, I told myself. Don’t grill your son. I blurted anyway, “Why?”
“I dunno.”
“Well, never mind. Hug your dad if he’s sad, OK? Is your shoulder OK?”
“It’s OK. I’m tired of the brace; I want it off.”
“You have a checkup after spring break. It’ll probably come off then.”
“OK.” He sniffed hard. At this I knew he was crying.
“Pal? I love you, you know that? You’ll be back really soon.”
“I know. Is the house getting clean?”
“It’s getting there. Mary’s friend is helping. And Drew is coming over later.”
“I wanna come, too.”
Me, too. “Pal, your dad wants to spend time with you.”
“I wanna come home.”
“I love you, Jack. Let me talk to your dad, OK, pal? I’ll call you later. And you call me anytime you want.” I made a kiss noise into the phone and heard him still sniveling as he handed it over.
Ron took the phone back with a heavy sigh. “Hi.”
“I’m sorry he’s so upset. Honestly, I’m trying to be positive about it.”
“I know, Trish. Maybe I should just bring him on home. He’s not having any fun, and watching him cry to be home with you is no day at the beach for me.”
“Oh, but, Ron, your special time with him. . . . And I know he’s crying now, but what if he feels rejected by you?”
“I’m the one who feels rejected, honestly.”
I bit my tongue not to say, Now you know how I feel. “Well, if you want to bring him here, of course you can. I’m not going to stop you. But try to make it fun, maybe if you guys went fun places . . .”
“It’s the first week of April. It’s too cold at the beach. He can’t go to Chuck E. Cheese or any of those crazy places with a broken shoulder. He can’t even go to the mall and play on those play things. We tried that and someone crashed into him, and he cried for ten minutes it hurt so bad.”
“Well, if you have to. I’m just saying it’s not what I want, you know that, right? I want you guys to have your time together.”
“Whatever, Trish. It’s fine. I’ll call you when I decide.”
We hung up with the simple “Bye” used between vague acquaintances.
I lied to Ron. I did want Jack back here. I was also glad that Summer chick bailed, even if it hurt Ron’s feelings. As Jack and I always said, “Mommy’s not perfect.”
I called my other son, listening to his cell phone ring, trying to remember the last time Drew was eager to see me, his mother.
Chapter 32
As we pushed a cart along the aisles of the store, it occurred to me how much we looked like a married couple. Like those people over there, the young woman with her fingers woven through her husband’s as they stood considering what kind of milk to buy. Milk buying could be a hand-holding occasion for some couples, it seemed. I wondered if they had sex every night, too.
I wondered if George and Nurse Melissa held hands in the grocery store.
“You OK?” Seth asked.
“Why?”
“You looked kinda pissed off just now. I hope you’re not upset with my bread selection. I find Wonder Bread fairly tasty, myself.”
I laughed in spite of myself, something I remembered doing often in Seth’s company, in our college days.
“Just remembering this guy I worked for. He owned the bookstore that just closed.”
“Pissed off at him for closing it?”
I could nod. I could pretend that was the truth and hide the truth of my humiliating Miss Moneypenny act, but this was Seth here. Seth who never passed judgment, who had endless wells of compassion. At least, he always used to. It seemed.
“Pissed off at him for breaking my heart like a toothpick and pretending he didn’t notice.”
“He was your boyfriend?”
I sighed. “No, which is what makes it pathetic. I just let myself moon around and pine after him, and he flirted with me all the time, and never went any further. Stupid me thought it was because I was his employee. And the store closed, and I thought, at last! We could be together! Turned out he got engaged.”
“He got engaged when his business closed? Wow.”
“Family money. He’ll be fine.”
“Will you be fine?”
“What choice do I have?” We wheeled past the cheeses, and I nabbed some sharp cheddar slices.
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“I know.”
“Are you sure you really wanted to be with him?”
“Why do you ask?” I decided that having a serious conversation in a grocery store was just grand. I was looking at the list, and all the products, and I could look anywhere but at Seth with his blue eyes and ridiculously long lashes, probably the only hair left on his head. I barely stifled a giggle at this thought.
“I would think that if the job was the only obstacle between the two of you, you could have solved that one on your side of the equation. You could have looked for another job.”
“The economy’s terrible.”
“Ten years? It hasn’t been terrible that long.”
“Do we need mustard?” I asked, searching for the condiments aisle and pondering what Seth said. Had I deliberately stayed in a pretend relationship with my boss?
Seth picked up some mustard, stubbornly saying nothing, letting his challenge just sit there in the air around us.
“You’re right,” I said, folding my arms and suddenly feeling cold in the store’s sterile aisles. “If I’d gotten a new job, I had no confidence he would still be interested. Out of sight, out of mind, as always with me.”
“As always?”
“When I left home, my mother closed off from me, emotionally. After the funeral, Trish stopped calling me. Even you never told me anything important in all those phone calls. I was just some annual obligation.”
I dared not look at him. I hadn’t meant to say that.
Seth stopped the cart. I could sense him turn toward me, and step closer, but I remained staring at the pickle relish.
“I wasn’t trying to close you out. I just didn’t think . . .”
“. . . that I might care? That I might matter? You only told me about the good stuff. Why bother talking at all if you’re just going to edit out anything you don’t like to say?”
I screwed my eyes shut tight and bit my lip. I really would drive him away at this rate. No more phone calls, no more postcards. No reason to remember my birthday at all anymore, except to renew my license plate.
“I wanted . . . I think I wanted you to think well of me.”
I finally looked at him. He’d stuffed his hands in his pockets and was working the toe of his shoe into the tile, like he was trying to stub out a cigarette. He shrugged. “I wanted to seem like I had it all under control.”
“Why would I think less of you because of your daughter’s . . . Because of what you can’t help? And your divorce?” And, I finished in my head, whatever else you haven’t bothered to talk to me about?
“Maybe I also could let it not be real. Once a year I could be a college kid again, talking to you. Carefree.”
I laughed, and he jerked his head up.
“I’m sorry, but do you actually remember college? Carefree my foot. You were working yourself sick with all your classes, and your dad had a heart attack all the way across the country. Every little mistake seemed like the end of the earth. And remember when Rebecca dumped you?”
Our eyes locked and I jerked away, remembering that drunken kiss that he might be remembering, too. I shook the memory out of my head and went on.
“Be honest with yourself. That’s what you tell people in your job, right? You didn’t tell me anything because I wasn’t important. You tell important people important things. That’s the way it works.”
“Do you tell people important things?”
“I don’t have any important things to tell.”
“I can’t believe that’s true.”
“What difference does it make now?” I could feel myself flush, wishing I could have just a moment or two of Trish’s blithe confidence. She always knew what to say in a group of people, always seemed to be the bright center of attention at school, at football games, roller rinks, anyplace outside our house. Whereas I would leave a note for a boy in his locker and he’d avoid my eyes in the hallway and I’d know I stepped in it again, violated the invisible rules of the social world t
hat my sister had absorbed somehow.
Seth began to navigate the cart toward the checkout lanes. He was silent, and his face had that look of concentration he’d get when he came over to our dorm room to study with Rebecca. Back then he’d have a highlighter always in his hand, tapping the back end quietly against the pages as he read.
“I don’t know what I expected,” I said, as he wheeled the cart into a checkout lane and started stacking groceries. I leaned on the handle of the cart, and my gaze skimmed the tawdry covers of the gossip rags. “I was just your girlfriend’s roommate. It’s not like I was special.”
Seth paused in the act of dropping the bread on the moving belt. “Really? That’s what you think? You weren’t special?”
“Of course I wasn’t.”
“But that one time—”
“You were drunk,” I said, too loudly, causing the people in front of us to swivel their heads backward a moment, then face forward so they could pretend not to eavesdrop.
“I didn’t mean then,” Seth said, quietly as he could manage and still be heard. “I meant when my dad had a heart attack. My supposed girlfriend couldn’t be bothered to come back from her trip, or even take more than five minutes on the phone to talk. The guys I knew were all, like, ‘Bummer, dude,’ like I’d run out of weed or something. You were the only one who understood. The only one who made it better.”
Then our groceries were at the front and the cashier said, “Paper or plastic, sir?”
As Seth answered and became absorbed in the mechanics of groceries, I let his words echo in my head. The only one who made it better.
Chapter 33
This time, Ayana’s smile seemed genuine. Either that, or today she was in better shape to fake it.
She stuck out her hand, but I turned around quickly, pretending not to notice. Honestly, did she think I’d be her pal now? I don’t care if she did rent a Dumpster. With a few keystrokes she could send me to beg for my son in front of a judge.
“You’ve made some good progress here, Mrs. Dietrich,” Ayana said, pulling my door closed behind her. Mary and Seth had taken some of the boxes from the front room and moved them to the garage. They were not yet sorted, but they were out of my living space.
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