by M. E. Carter
“Mom,” Fiona’s nose is scrunched as she picks up a strawberry off her plate, “do I have to eat this?”
I open my mouth to tell her no, because strawberries always make her stomach hurt, but before any words can come out, Deborah responds for me. “You need to eat everything on your plate. It’s healthy, which I know you’re not used to, but we don’t waste food. We’re grateful for everything we get. Especially when it’s free.”
And now I’m done. Asking me to be professional is one thing. Criticizing my parenting is another thing. But this passive aggressive bullshit, especially when it’s directed at my kid, doesn’t fly with me.
Standing up, I wipe my mouth with my cloth napkin and toss it on the table. I can feel Callie and Greg staring at me, waiting to see how I’m going to react.
“Thank you for an… interesting lunch, Deborah,” I spit out with as much false kindness as I can muster, “but we’ve gotta go.”
She blinks a few times and looks stunned at my sudden decision to leave. “But we just started lunch.”
“Don’t worry about us.” I gather up the few belongings we have—my keys, my phone, Fiona’s fidget spinner that doesn’t do anything except distract her. “We’re going to McDonald’s on the way home. Come on, girls.”
“Yay!” they yell and scramble to their feet, following right behind me as I stomp my way to the car. My jaw is clenched and I’m trying hard to keep from muttering obscenities, but I’m done with this crap.
Behind me I hear Peyton’s little voice say, “I want McDono’s.” It makes me feel a little guilty that we ditched everyone so dramatically.
Until I hear Trevor say, “Mommy, what’s McDonald’s?”
Watching Elena walk away, I realize I have two choices:
I can sit here and finish lunch, which actually isn’t half bad for rabbit food, or I can follow her and figure out what’s really going on. Because even for Elena, that exit was a little over the top.
Yes, this Deborah lady was being a bitch, but normally Elena would either brush it off or have some witty comeback. I’m not sure if I’m missing something, or if Elena’s hurt runs deeper than what happened here, but there’s really no choice… I have to follow her home.
Popping one last olive in my mouth, I wipe invisible crumbs off my hands as I stand up. “Well, ladies, it’s been an interesting experience, but we need to go, too.”
I grab Peyton and climb over the bench while Callie tries to convince me to stay. “Come on, Greg. You just got here. You don’t have to leave.”
Something about the fact that Callie isn’t at all concerned about Elena’s feelings really rubs me the wrong way. Far be it for me to not say anything. Even if I don’t like how Callie is treating this particular situation, I have respect for the fact that we can be brutally honest with each other. So that’s what I give her.
“But I do have to go. The woman I love, your best friend, just took off like a bat out of hell because something is wrong. And I’m a little disappointed that it’s not at all concerning to you.”
Callie has the wherewithal to look guilty, so I nod at her once in acknowledgement and turn to leave.
Before we make it halfway to the car, Elena peels out of the parking lot and turns onto the main road. Shit. She is really pissed. I can’t wait until we get home to talk to her. I need to calm her down now.
As quickly as possible, I strap Peyton into her chair and then strap me to my own seat. Once we’re safely on the road, I grab my phone off the passenger seat and hit the short cut to her number.
“What.” She doesn’t answer with a question. Nope. That was a basic “Why the fuck are you calling me” statement, designed to intimidate someone into leaving her alone. Good thing I don’t intimidate easily.
“Talk,” I demand.
She huffs. “What do you want me to say, Greg? And why do you care so much?”
Ouch. That stings a bit. But I try not to take it personally.
“Elena, first and foremost, I am your friend. Something is going on here and whatever it is, you need to talk about it.”
“You’re making something out of nothing, Greg,” she insists. “Let it go.”
“No way,” I say, her eerily calm tone ensuring I can’t let it go until I get to the bottom of it. “So spill.”
I realize there’s a squawking voice in the background and she may not even be listening.
“Are you paying attention?”
“No,” she says and then her voice sounds different, like she moved the phone away. “Yes, I need two 6-piece happy meals with juice, and, hold on… Does Peyton still like nuggets?”
She moved the phone back to her mouth so fast, it takes a second to register that her question is directed toward me. “What?”
She huffs, but makes sure to annunciate more. “I said, does Peyton still eat chicken nuggets?”
“Oh. Yes.”
I hear the phone move away again. “And two 4-piece happy meals with juice.”
Waiting for her to finalize the order, I can’t help but smile. Even when she’s telling me to leave her alone, she’s planning on at least feeding the girls together. As soon as I know I’ve got her full attention, I try again.
“Elena, what’s really going on here?”
“Look, Greg,” she snaps, the sound of giggling girls in the background, “I need a minute, ok? Let me get home first.” And the phone goes dead.
It takes another ten minutes to get across the neighborhood and onto our street. Yet, somehow, when I drive up in my driveway, Elena is already home and unloading the girls out of her car, handing each of them a paper bag and juice box. How fast was she driving to be able to make a McDonald’s run and still beat me home?
Peyton runs straight to Elena as soon as I get her out of her carseat, and reaches out for her own paper bag. The tender way she treats my daughter, even in the middle of an emotional breakdown, or whatever you’d call this, makes my heart swell. I find myself grateful once again that Libby is an unstable mess and ran home when things got tough.
Following her inside, Elena continues to ignore me, but at least she hasn’t kicked me out. I’m still waiting to see how this all shakes out. But despite our silence, we work together to get the girls settled. I learn quickly that each of them needs an open ketchup packet, but I have to make sure to hand it over quickly so they can do the squirting on their own. Apparently, that’s a very big deal. I learned that lesson the hard way on my first attempt at helping Max. It might be a few days to get full hearing back in my right ear.
When they finally dig in, chattering amongst themselves, I lean against the counter… watching. Elena continues to ignore me, instead pulling a package of hot dogs out of the refrigerator.
“Elena.”
She pulls a pot out of the cabinet but doesn’t respond.
“Elena,” I try again.
Still nothing. Instead she walks to the sink and fills the pot with water.
“Elena,” I say a little more forcefully.
She slams the handle, turning the water off and whips around to face me. “What?”
“Talk to me.”
She shakes her head and turns back to the sink. “There’s nothing to say.”
“Sure there is,” I disagree. “You made quite a show back there, but you don’t want to talk about what’s going on.”
“Do you think I was wrong to leave like that?”
“No. Deborah was being a real bitch.” The girls all giggle at my language, and a small smile quickly crosses her lips in response. They are cute when they think something is funny. “But people are bitchy all the time and you don’t ever have that reaction, so I feel like something else is going on.”
Closing her eyes tight and squeezing the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, I can practically see her trying to get her thoughts in order. “I don’t like her. I’m sure she’s generally a nice person, but I just don’t like her.”
“She didn’t seem like a nice p
erson today,” I respond, as she carries the pot to the stove and turns on the burner.
“The first time I met her, she was an overbearing, all organic, no GMO, gluten free, dye free, fun free, helicopter parent. Which was fine. But every time since then, she has to put me in my place,” she says with air quotes. “Like I’m not good enough for her or something. I’m so tired of not being good enough.”
“Elena,” I whisper, her overly-dramatic behavior suddenly making sense with just those few key words.
“It took me so long to stop hearing James’s voice in my head of never being enough, you know? Never being pretty enough, or a good enough housekeeper,” she lowers her voice just slightly, looking over her shoulder at the kids who aren’t paying much attention. “Or good enough in bed. You were there. You know how hard that was on me.” She shakes her head and blinks back tears. “And now this, this person Callie wants to be friends with.” Her shoulders slump and her head drops. “I’m so tired of not being enough for anyone.”
In a flash, I’m standing right in front of her, hands cupping her checks so she has to look up at me. “You are more than enough to me, Elena. So much more.”
She blinks rapidly, a few stray tears sliding down her cheeks. “Not enough for you to not leave me,” she says quietly.
“But I came back,” I whisper in response.
She looks so defeated, it breaks my heart, and I know what she’s about to say. “Not for me, you didn’t.”
I pull her to me and wrap my arms tightly around her. I feel like such an ass, not recognizing how scared she is about my involvement back in her life. She’s terrified that she’s an afterthought in every decision I’ve made recently. She has no idea every choice, when to come back, where to live, hell, growing my beard back, has been as much about her as it has been about my daughter.
Hugging her tight, I look at and see the girls staring at us silently, eyes wide. I can’t tell if they’re unsure about seeing their mother cry, or if they’re confused by seeing the way non-crazy adults act with each other. Either way, Elena’s breakdown is not something they need to witness. And what I’m about to tell her is not something they need to hear.
“Hey Fiona,” she looks over at me, “since you girls did so good eating your lunches…” which is a bald-faced lie as most of them haven’t even touched their nuggets yet, “… why don’t you get some popsicles out of the garage freezer and take them in the backyard to eat them.”
“Can we use the hose to spray each other off if we get dirty?” she asks, eyes shining with excitement at the prospect.
A small giggle erupts against my chest, and I know Elena is going to be ok if the kids can still amuse her.
“Just make sure the water isn’t hot before you spray it at each other.”
A chorus of “Yay!” and “Let’s go!” come from the table as the girls scramble out of their chairs and run away.
Rubbing my hands up and down her back, and waiting until the girls are out of earshot, I let Elena in on a secret I haven’t told anyone until now. “I need you to listen to me. Yes, I moved back when I did because Peyton was already here, but that’s not the only thing that happened.”
She pulls back, but not away, so I adjust our bodies until she can look at me. “What do you mean?”
“For a few weeks before they broke up, I got this vibe that something was off with Libby and Aputi. I’ve seen this from her before, so I knew it was a matter of time before she took off again. I was already documenting every little thing. If I saw Libby ignore Pey, I documented. If she was drunk when Pey was around, I documented. If she caused trouble when I picked her up or wasn’t home when I dropped her back off, I documented.” Pushing a stray piece of hair out of her face, I take a second to appreciate being this close to her. I’ve missed being able to put my arms around her and touch her like this. “I was waiting patiently for her to cut and run again, and when she did, I was filing for full custody and moving back here.”
Elena gasps. “What?”
“It doesn’t feel right anymore,” I reply with a shake of my head. “You saw Libby at Peyton’s birthday. She’s partying more and more and seems to be pulling away from Peyton. That’s not good for her, so I’m watching really closely anyway. I was so excited when they came back home instead. It bought me some time to get back to you before I deal with Libby.”
Elena blinks back tears again, only the look on her face is completely different. These aren’t tears of sadness and insecurity. They’re tears of joy. “Really? You were already going to come back and bring Peyton with you?”
“Baby, I was coming back to you one way or the other. That was never up for debate. Libby just made it happen sooner than I expected.”
“I’ve never liked Libby so much,” she jokes, making me smile. “She’s kind of a bitchy drunk.”
“She’s kind of a bitchy sober, too,” I say with a smile. “But listen, I don’t know anything about this Deborah chick. And you and Callie have some things to work out. But don’t let anyone convince you you’re less than anything again. You are more than enough. For me. For the girls. Don’t you ever doubt that.”
She smiles and tugs gently on the front of my shirt, my arms still wrapped tightly around her. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I love you.”
Then she says the words I’ve been dying to hear for nine long months. “I love you, too.”
When her lips touch mine for the first time since I moved away, I finally know for certain, we’re going to be fine.
As every gymnast will tell you, skill level seems to come in waves. First, you find yourself doing pretty good on one particular apparatus. You’re learning skills. You’re sticking landings. You’re feeling confident.
And then there comes a shift. You hit a plateau. Sometimes it happens because of a growth spurt. Sometimes it’s a mental block. If you can push through it, eventually it will get better. But until it does, you suffer through a lot of falls, and a lot of self-doubt.
That’s where Fiona is right now with the balance beam.
For quite a while, she seemed to have spot-on balance. She could turn, leap, even cartwheel and her skills were always solid. But something has changed over the last couple of weeks, and now she’s suffering through one of the most discouraging parts of gymnastics.
Huffing, she plops down next to me on the bench during her two-minute water break.
Handing her the squirt bottle, she takes a swig, the scowl never leaving her face.
“You’re doing fine,” I try to encourage. I get a no-nonsense glare in return.
“I keep falling.”
“Everyone falls. You just have to get yourself back up.”
“I didn’t fall two practices ago.”
She’s got me there. Two practices ago, she was still riding the top of the skill wave, which was fun to watch. But let’s face it, you can’t ride high forever. That’s not reality. Slumps happen. Falls happen. Waves peter out. The key is knowing how to see it coming so you can prepare yourself for the inevitable.
Kind of like I’ve been doing with my two best friends lately.
“Has Coach Pete talked to you about balance checks?” Turning my body so I’m facing her, she opts not to move, just shakes her head while she takes another drink. “A balance check is a way of taking a pause in the middle of your routine so you can readjust so you don’t fall.”
She looks over at me. “So I just stop?”
“Sort of. But you don’t stop all the way. It’s more like pausing yourself right after a skill. Let’s say you do a leap. When your foot lands on the beam, you stop for a tiny second.”
“Why?”
“In that second, you concentrate on feeling where your foot is. Is it in the middle of the beam or do you need to move it a little? Feel where your body is. Is it tight or are you loosey goosey? Are you standing up straight, or are you leaning to the side? Once you check those things, you know how you need to adjust your body so you can move
to the next skill.”
The crinkles her little eight-year-old brow while she thinks. Then she says, “But what if I’m doing all those things wrong?”
I smile at her, knowing this is more than just gymnastics tips. This is a life lesson she’s going to need someday. “If something’s wrong, you fix it before you keep going. If you don’t, your routine is either going to be really messy, or eventually you’ll fall.” Just like in life.
Damn, I’m good at this parenting thing sometimes.
She nods quietly, still thinking about what I’ve said. But I see that quiet determination behind those precious eyes. Slowly, she stands up and walks back onto the floor, passing everyone until she gets to the high beam.
Biting my lip, I feel a strange amount of anticipation as I watch this moment which could very well be pivotal for her. She, however, seems cool as a cucumber.
I watch her climb back on the beam and get into position. She runs through the poses and turns of her routine, and then she goes for the leap that has been giving her trouble.
As soon as she lands, I see it. Her foot is slightly too far to the left and her body is leaning. But then she pauses. It’s a split second, and most people wouldn’t even notice it unless they’re trained to see it, but it’s there. And what do you know… she adjusts accordingly, doesn’t fall, and continues on with her routine. Only now there is a huge smile on her face.
“Is your balance check with me finally over?”
I didn’t hear Greg come out of his office, but it doesn’t surprise me that he overheard our conversation and knew part of it was about him.
“You caught that, did you?”
His lips twitch into a small smile as he leans against the door jam, arms and legs crossed. Pushing off, he comes to me and kisses me on the top of the head, something he’s never, ever done at his work place before. I kind of like it. “I did. I hope you’re done feeling me out and are ready to move forward.”
I nod. “Yeah. I am. I needed a minute to get my bearings straight and make sure I wasn’t going to fall again.”