“What’s your point, Jessica?” Chris asks.
“I’m just saying that your generation is the first to claim, ‘We can do it all!’ but that is not necessarily true. Stuff has fallen through the cracks. Stuff like knowing how to present yourself for a date during your second act in life. You, PBS, have one speed, and that speed is set to business. You approach everything like it’s a professional opportunity. Anything that falls outside the realm of business? Not your forte.”
“Again, your not-horrible, guest-in-this-home point is?” Chris queries.
She shrugs. “I can better prepare you for your next date, if there is a next date, if the full Angela Merkel you’re currently working didn’t send him away screaming for mercy.”
“Bzzt. Close, but still wrong. Try, ‘Mom’—not PBS—‘Mom, let me help you get ready before your next date. I have some ideas,’” Chris says.
Whoa. This is new.
Chris was not often one to straight-up take my side when it came to the kids. He’d do that infuriating devil’s advocate business the times he wasn’t openly supporting the opposing side when it came to anything having to do with them.
Jessica rolls her eyes. “Yes, Mom, I mean that.”
To Jessica, I say, “Thanks. I would welcome your input. Maybe we could go shopping? I’m sure I could use a little spice in my wardrobe. Patrick says my taste is way too vanilla.”
Jessica rises, leaving her soup bowl exactly where it lies and her bar stool ajar. “What he calls vanilla, I call tragic. But with my help, you could probably avoid future train wrecks. Maybe not be basic as fuck, right? After all, you aren’t getting any younger.” With that, she trots up the back stairs.
Chris turns to me and says, “She’s our perfect little angel sent straight from heaven.”
We’re silent for a beat and then both crack up for about thirty seconds. I can’t remember the last time he and I stood in this kitchen and laughed together, and I didn’t realize how much I missed it until right now.
Okay, why is this happening?
What am I doing here? I finally go on my first sort-of date and I spend the whole time comparing him to the guy I just divorced? I mean, yes, I really appreciate Chris stepping in and defending me to Jessica, because that’s brand-new, but it doesn’t exactly make up for everything that went awry. Come on, I need to be reasonable. A couple of laughs are nostalgic at best, but they can’t change the past.
I need to focus. I have other priorities. I need to figure out what’s going on with my folks, but since they aren’t home right now, I have to get to the bottom of what’s happening with the girls. I have a feeling that until I do, they aren’t going anywhere. As in, my Realtor’s having a lot of trouble showing the house with everyone hanging around here, so my primary mission needs to be Operation Empty Nest.
I compose myself and clear my throat. “Any guesses as to what’s going on with Jessica?”
Chris replies, “Money trouble, but I don’t know the extent. I’ve gotten a couple of odd calls from people looking for her, so what else could it be? I’d guess she can’t afford to go back to New York right now, or else she would; hence the nonstop bitching about what’s wrong with Glencoe. She’s not here to take care of me. She came to one doctor’s appointment and then asked me to make her a grilled cheese afterward. I think she swiped a few of my pain pills before I hid them, too. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t have it in me to fight.”
I ease into Jessica’s abandoned bar stool and push aside her bowl. “Why am I not surprised to hear this? The rules have never quite applied to her, have they?”
Chris takes the seat next to me. “I’m not playing the blame game here. All I’m saying is we spared the rod on that one.”
“We should have spanked her?” I ask. “We both agreed corporal punishment was barbaric.”
“I’m saying she’s spoiled.”
I nod vigorously. “Oh, yeah, that I see now. Hundred percent. Mostly my fault, too.”
Chris gawps at me. “You’ve never said that out loud before.”
I wave him off. “Of course I have.”
“No, you haven’t.” He traces patterns in the marble with his fingertips as we speak. “Trust me here; this was an issue with us.”
I say, “But it’s so obvious. Her level of disrespect, her sense of entitlement, the idea that she’s the center of the universe, the fact that she’s never satisfied no matter what she’s been given? All signs point to spoiled.”
“I can’t believe you admit she’s spoiled.”
I throw up my hands and let them drop in defeat. “Fine, I admit it. She’s spoiled and I’m to blame. But where does that knowledge leave us? I can see with her being spoiled, she might feel like she deserves things she can’t afford, and I imagine it’s easy to get into trouble in such an expensive city. Chicago isn’t cheap by any stretch of the imagination, yet if you do a cost-of-living comparison between the two cities, New York is twice as much. Then look at the goods and services index, the housing index, the transportation index—it’s all so far above the national average. And let’s be honest, she has your math skills, so . . .”
“So she can’t do long division, but I still didn’t spoil her.” He taps the counter to punctuate his point.
“Oh, stop looking so damn smug. I’ve admitted I’ve been wrong before.” Chris tries to wipe the smile off his self-righteous maw but is wholly unsuccessful. “The question is not about who was right here—”
He points to his chest. “Because the answer would be me.”
“Not so fast, pal—let’s figure out what the definition of ‘spoiled’ is. If you just mean giving her things she didn’t deserve or earn, yes, that’s all me, but if you’re talking about making life a bit too easy in general, we probably share the blame. You were always there, clearing the path for her, toppling any obstacle in her way. The great love of accumulating stuff? That was all me. The sense of entitlement? Maybe more of a gray area.”
“I suddenly feel slightly less smug.”
“The question is, what do we do for her? Do we ask her? Do we have her tell us what’s going on? Do we offer to help? I have an emergency fund set aside for her, although maybe that’s the wrong move. However, I was skeptical when President Bush signed the TARP legislation, but ultimately the 2008 bailout was beneficial and the banks have paid back those loans with interest, so maybe that’s the right way to go. There is precedent.”
“Penny, Jessica’s an adult. We let her figure it out. We can’t parent her forever. We can’t keep throwing goods and services at her.”
I suck air in through my teeth. “And toppling the obstacles for her.”
“Touché.”
“So I should leave it alone for now?”
“I would, at least short-term.”
“What about the other one?” I ask, referring to Kelsey. “Has she told you anything? Have you spoken with Milo?”
“You know what? He’s been texting me and I haven’t gotten back to him yet. I’ll give him a buzz right now. Let me put him on speakerphone and you can listen in.”
“Is she home?” I ask.
“No. Zara came and got her and Caroline earlier.”
“Ah,” I say. “I thought things seem less destroyed around here.”
“You’re probably not going to say that when you see the dining room.” He dials, and Milo picks up on the second ring. “Hi, Milo. It’s Chris. I’ve got you on speakerphone here with me and Penny.”
“Hey, good to talk to you. Thanks for calling me. It’s funny. I kinda forgot what my ringtone was on this thing. No one ever calls me. Wow, ringtones, man, right? So, how you gettin’ along? You feeling okay?”
“I’ve been better, but thanks for asking,” Chris says. “Listen, Milo, Kelsey hasn’t told us anything, and we really don’t want to be in the middle of this. But if there’s anything w
e can do to facilitate or mediate between the two of you . . .” He trails off, unsure of how to continue. Neither one of us has a clue as to what grievous trespass Milo has committed, but it must be significant for Kelsey to abandon her whole new marriage/life.
Milo says, “You guys know about Caroline.”
“Sort of,” Chris says. He shrugs at me, and I do the same. Neither of us have heard anything about his ex coming back into the picture, so this is a surprise. No wonder Kelsey was furious. “But why don’t you give us your perspective?”
“We just need to find this peaceable coexistence thing, right?” Milo says.
“Sure,” I say. I mouth, I thought she moved away, and Chris bobs his head in agreement.
“But Kelsey won’t, like, let it go, man. She keeps bringing it up,” he says.
“She keeps bringing up what specifically?” Chris asks.
“Sleeping with Caroline.”
We both grimace. This is not an appropriate in-law discussion, yet here we are. We had an HR seminar at the firm recently about millennials in the workplace, and one of the facts we learned is that they crave a personal connection with their boss. This must somehow extend to families, and it seems that Milo would like that same kind of buddy-buddy relationship with us.
Aces.
Milo tells us, “I don’t want to sleep with Caroline.”
We also learned that millennials thrive on lots of positive feedback. “Well, that’s outstanding!” I say, and Chris tilts his head at me, confused at my reaction.
“I mean, have you gotten a whiff of her?”
“A whiff of Caroline?” Chris clarifies.
“Yeah, she smells like old sourdough rolls or a wet welcome mat.”
Millennials also appreciate the feeling of having been heard. I say, “Oh, does she use that crystal deodorant because she’s afraid of the aluminum in traditional antiperspirant? You know, the National Cancer Institute found no conclusive evidence linking antiperspirants to the development of tumors in breast tissue. Of course, she should still conduct her regular monthly self-exam, but do tell her she could put Secret back on her shopping list.”
“What?” Milo says.
I notice Chris silently shaking, with tears streaming down his cheeks. He holds up his hands like he’s begging for a treat, sticks out his tongue, and begins to pant.
Oh.
Different Caroline. Dog Caroline, not person Caroline.
Chris has to blot his eyes while Milo speaks. “Anyway, we only have a queen-sized mattress, and she’s, like, a really big, huge dog. I’m, like, ‘We can put a dog bed in our room—that would be totally chill—but she’s too massive to snooze in our bed,’ but Kelsey kept insisting.”
“And that’s why she left?” I confirm.
“Mostly, yeah, but some of it was about the money.”
“What money is that?” Chris asks.
“My trust,” he replies. “Kelsey wants to use money out of it to hire someone to cook and clean around here, but that’s cray-cray. I said, ‘You don’t even have anything else going on until the baby comes. At least you could take care of the household stuff.’”
“Um, Milo? Can you repeat that?” Chris says, suddenly quite sober.
“Which part? The part about hiring a cleaning lady or the part where I said, ‘You don’t even have anything else going on until the baby comes. At least you could take care of the household stuff.’”
I find myself inadvertently squeezing the stuffing out of Chris’s arm. He gently loosens my grip around his biceps, and he clears his throat. “So would you say your fight was more about the child the two of you are expecting together and less about a dog? Is that what you’re telling me? Am I getting a clear picture here?”
Milo considers this. “I guess that’s accurate, yeah.”
I catch my breath and say, “Milo, are you familiar with the concept of burying the lede?”
“Is that, like, a college thing?” he asks.
“It’s a journalism thing,” I reply. “The lede is where you start with the most important part of the story.” I sigh. “Now, what’s this about a trust? Is that important? I don’t want to pry as it’s none of my business, but are these funds enough to cover paying someone to work in your home?”
Milo says, “Aw, yeah. My family owns the largest dairy farm in Ohio and a bunch of Wendy’s restaurants. Maybe we’re up to twenty by now? Didn’t Kelsey ever tell you that?”
“Apparently Kelsey doesn’t tell me a lot of things,” I say.
“But it’s real important to me to make it on my own. That’s why I don’t want to touch any of the money,” he says. “Anyway, the whole dog thing was a test run for us being parents. We’re young, you know. Most people in our generation wait until their thirties to start having kids, if they’re gonna have them at all. We’re—what do you call it on a bell curve—outfielders? Outhousers?”
“Outliers,” I supply.
“Yeah, we’re those. Anyway, I figure she’ll calm down soon enough and we’ll figure it all out. I just wanted to touch base with you guys and see where she was at, since she’s not talking to me.”
“She and the dog are out with Zara, so I can’t speak to what she’s thinking right this minute,” Chris says. “Soon as I know more, I’ll get back to you. That sound okay?”
“Most definitely.”
“We’ll talk soon then, Milo. Good-bye,” Chris says.
“Bye,” I add.
“Later, GeMaw and PePaw!” He hangs up.
I point a finger at Chris. “Oh, hell, no. We are not using those as our names. We are going to be Grandmother and Grandfather or something of the like. This family has an unlimited propensity for generating stupid grandparent names, and that stops right here. No more Gam-Gam. No more Num-Num. No more Mimsy or Gumpy or Bonpa. None of it. Not happening.”
“Jesus tap-dancing Christ, we’re going to be grandparents,” Chris says, holding his face between his palms, with his arms propped up on the counter.
“Yeah, happens sometimes, despite precautions,” I say. “Happened early for us. Now we know why her dress didn’t fit.”
Chris is taking this a lot harder than I am. “I’m going to be someone’s grandfather. How does that work? Do I buy a cardigan and a bunch of hard candies? Am I going to start carrying around bags of bread so I can feed ducks? I’m not ready to be a grandfather. I never even bought my motorcycle.”
“You wanted a motorcycle? Since when?”
He seems awfully upset. “No, but I wanted the option to buy a motorcycle.”
“I’m sure someone will still sell you a motorcycle. There’s no grandparent portion of the credit check.”
“What, they’re going to try to put me on one of those massive three-wheeled kinds? Or one of the four-wheeled jobs with so much trim it may as well be a riding lawn mower?”
I cover his hand with mine and run my thumb over his knuckles. “You’re missing the bigger point here.”
He takes a couple of breaths and tries to collect himself. “That our childlike daughter is going to be a parent herself in the next nine months?”
“No, that if Stassi hadn’t dumped you already, you’d definitely be over now.” Then I bust out laughing while he turns fifty shades of red.
I get up and grab a bottle of wine from the fridge and two glasses from the cabinet next to it.
He glowers at me. “We are NOT cool.”
I place one glass in front of him and one in front of me, pouring a healthy measure of chardonnay in each. He’s stiff when I come in behind him for a hug and kiss him on the cheek.
“You’re absolutely wrong, Christopher Sinclair. We are finally cool.”
• • • •
I read the guide’s description for Love, Again on the Hallmark Channel. “A couple on the brink of divorce decides to ke
ep their marital woes a secret as they help their daughter plan her wedding. As the two work together on the happy occasion, they discover their own marriage might just be worth saving.”
“Hey, that sounds just like us,” Chris says.
“Go home; you’re drunk,” I tell him. “(A) We were already divorced at Kelsey’s wedding, (b) there was no secret about it, and (c) my glass is empty. Do you need a refill?”
“Just bring the bottle. So we’re not watching this movie, right?”
“Oh, no, we’re absolutely watching the movie; we’re just not identifying with it.”
“Okay.”
I pour more wine for both of us and settle back into the family room couch. After hearing the news about Kelsey, Chris seemed to be on the verge of a midlife freak-out, so I decided he could use a friend. And a drink. He hasn’t had any pain pills in a few days, so he figures he’s okay as long as he doesn’t go crazy and pound shots, even though he’s tempted.
The movie begins, but he grabs the remote and presses pause. “You spoiled Jessica. Mostly.”
“We established that earlier. What’s your point?”
“I think Kelsey might be my fault. Mostly.”
I sit up straight. “How do you figure?”
Chris grips his wineglass. “I didn’t allow her to fail. I let her quit when things got hard, or I fixed them for her, but I never permitted her just to go belly-up. She never felt the consequences of her actions. I meant to protect her. I didn’t want her to know what it felt like to screw up so spectacularly that she almost lost everything, like I did with Elm Street.”
“But you had the best of intentions there. And it’s not like I jumped in and said, ‘No, no, let her ship sink.’ I probably wasn’t even there enough to see that she wasn’t being allowed to go down like the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Let’s be honest—if I had noticed, then I wouldn’t have let her fail, either. This isn’t all you; it’s on both of us.”
“Her problem is she now goes through life like Mr. Bean, setting calamities in motion behind her and never once looking back to see the havoc she’s created. I’ve done her a terrible disservice and I don’t know how to fix her.”
By the Numbers Page 22