Me too, I thought. But I just smiled and ushered him out to the dining room.
The doorbell rang and I opened the door with as much cheer as I could muster.
“Rick! You’re back. How was the trip?” He had never looked so handsome to me. Still in his gray suit, white collared shirt, with his dark blue tie loosened, it occurred to me that he could easily start dating right away, if he wanted to.
He seemed to be trying to find words to match my upbeat greeting but before he could respond, Sam was between us, pulling Rick into the house.
“What are you doing at the front door, Dad? Why didn’t you park in the garage and come in through the kitchen, like always?”
Rick’s facial expression turned serious. His eyes begged me to get it over with. He stepped inside and ruffled Sam’s hair.
Sam pulled away and looked out the open front door. “Why, Dad? Why is your car parked in front?”
There was no point in waiting any longer now. Sam was too smart. We would never make it through dinner.
“Come into the living room, Sam. Sit down with us,” Rick said with an inflection too casual, as if we were going to play a game of Clue.
We all got comfortable on the couch. I tried to keep Jack in my lap but he kept escaping. The talk was more for Sam anyway. I wasn’t sure how much Jack would understand. So I sat on the floor with him and dumped everything out of a big bin of assorted toys, considering the possibility that I might soon have time to create a system for keeping the toys in order.
Sam leaned forward and back, over and over. I wasn’t sure if it was just his regular nonstop energy or if it was a release of nerves.
“What’s going on? You two are acting weird. Why aren’t we having dinner?”
I opened my mouth and Rick shot me a look that said, “Let me start.” I was relieved.
“Sam, you know your mother and I love you very much, right?”
Sam nodded with a condescending “I know” countenance and sat on his hands, now popping up and down in his spot on the couch. It was so strange but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him to stop.
Rick went on. “Well, your mom and I need to take some time to figure things out about our relationship, but it has nothing to do with you and Jack.”
Jack picked up a plastic tow truck and threw it across the room. I didn’t want to look to see if it created a scratch in the hardwood floor. A memory of this moment etched in oak was the last thing I needed.
“Jack!” I tried to sound firm but not angry. He was the one who seemed irritated though.
“I hungry. When we eating dinner? Why we’re here?”
We really need to work on his language skills, I thought. I looked at Rick. He pulled a red lollipop out of his pocket, unwrapped it and handed it to Jack, who grabbed it and popped it right into his mouth. Then he retrieved his tow truck and worked to attach a Matchbox car to the hook on the back of it.
Rick reached into his pocket again and another lollipop appeared. He held it out toward Sam, but Sam shook his head with conviction. Good intuition, I thought, you’d probably hate them for life if you had one now.
Rick and I were sitting next to each other, but further apart than we probably would have a week before.
Sam stood up right in front of us with his hands on his hips. His sapphire blue eyes pierced through me as I looked into them.
“Are you two getting divorced?” The words knocked the wind out of me. I pressed my palm into my diaphragm in an attempt to bring it back.
I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know. It was Rick’s call so I turned to him and so did Sam, now knowing that his father had more of the answers.
“No, Sam. No. We have no plans to get divorced. We’re going to be separated though, that’s what it’s called. It means we’ll be living in different places for a while, until we work out what to do next. ”
Sam’s face contorted into a look of disgust and disappointment.
“No! No! No! You can’t do this!”
He jumped up and down where he stood, which caused him to bump into the coffee table and fall back onto it.
I lifted him up and into my arms. He was limp, refusing to respond to my embrace. Then he pulled away and kneeled down on the floor next to Jack.
“Jack, Mommy and Daddy aren’t going to live together anymore! Don’t you understand? This is the worst thing that could ever happen. Why are you just sitting there playing with your toys, you stupid idiot?”
“Sam!” I yelled, unable to hold back. “You can’t speak to him that way, and…” Jack interrupted me with his wailing. A verbal assault from his big brother was the worst thing that could happen in his world.
Rick picked Jack up and bounced him up and down on his hip, soothing him. “It’s okay, Jack, honey, everything’s okay.” Jack continued to whimper and tried to pull away from Rick, reaching his arm down toward the lollipop that had fallen out of his mouth and onto the floor.
“Let’s go wash it off,” Rick said. They went to the kitchen and Sam glared at me in silence until they returned.
Jack was sufficiently soothed, lollipop tucked into his cheek, and Rick walked up to Sam, who was still on the floor, mindlessly lining up the smaller toys into a neat little row. “We understand how upsetting this is for you. We want to help.” Rick’s voice was buttery smooth.
Sam threw his head back and started to cry.
“Why? Why do you have to do this? It’s a mistake. You should both stay here.”
I didn’t want to give him false hope, but the anguish was too much for me.
“That might be what happens in the end, Sammy. That’s what we want too, if we can work it out.”
He picked up a red fire truck and I thought he was going to hurl it at me.
“If that’s what you want then just do it! Just stay here. Both of you.”
Rick set Jack down on the floor again and handed him the scarf he had been playing with earlier. Jack tried to shove it into the space around the little clown in his jack in the box toy.
I motioned for Sam to come sit between Rick and me on the couch and with some reluctance he did, hanging his head down low, his eyes filled with tears.
“Sam,” I said, working to sound conciliatory, “it’s not going to be like it was with Timmy’s parents.”
He looked up at me with red eyes. “You promise?”
I crossed my heart.
Timmy had spent the night at our house on many occasions toward the end of his parents’ marriage. He was welcome anytime and I was glad we could offer him an escape from the constant screaming matches. But when they did split, it was anything but amicable. They spoke vicious words about each other in front of Timmy and refused to be in each other’s presence for even a moment, requiring a third party to drop off and pick up Timmy from their separate homes.
Rick took my hand and held it tight. It was warm. Mine was ice cold.
He lifted our conjoined hands to Sam. “You see Sammy, we’re in this together. Your mom and I still care about each other very much.” Just four days before, even after the fiasco in Vegas, he told me he still loved me. Now he was telling Sam that we care about each other. Had the last of his love disappeared in those days?
Sam’s bottom lip quivered. “Where are we going to live? Do we have to move?”
Rick exhaled and his breath smelled like red wine. He must have stopped on the way. The aroma made me wish I had a glass, but I had cut myself off from all alcohol since that dreadful night.
Sam’s arms were crossed and Rick rubbed his elbow with a light touch as he said, “You don’t have to move. You and Jack will stay here with Mom during the week and I’ll be at Grandma Lucy’s. Then you and Jack can stay there with me on the weekends. And some of the days your mom works I’ll pick you up from school, but other times one of your grandmas will do it. You’ll get to see them bo
th more.”
“But Grandma Lucy’s is so far away!”
“Sam,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder, “It’s only half an hour away. You love going to Grandma Lucy’s.”
“Yeah, it’ll be fun,” Rick said. “But actually, we may have to skip this first weekend because Grandma Lucy’s been sick.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I’m sure it’s nothing, just a bad cough, and she’s been more tired than usual,” he said, but I could tell he was downplaying his concern. And Sam wanted the focus to remain on how the situation would affect him.
“What about sleeping at Grandma Kathryn and Grandpa Steve’s? We usually stay over there one of the weekend nights.”
“You can still do that sometimes. We’ll take it one week at a time, okay, Sam?” I pleaded, unable to iron out all the details so soon.
Jack walked over to us and handed me a plastic jar of dinosaurs. I thought he wanted me to open it, which I did, but when I handed it back to him, he just set it on the table.
“Is Daddy going to a bacation without us?” he asked me.
Sam leapt off the couch and smacked Jack’s shoulder. “No dummy! He’s not going on a vacation. He’s leaving us! He’s not going to live with us anymore!”
“Okay, that’s enough!” I growled. “Why would you take this out on Jack? He didn’t do anything.”
Sam went to nudge Jack’s shoulder again but I grabbed his hand in time.
“I say it is his fault. If he wasn’t such a pain, this probably wouldn’t be happening. Everything was good before he came along, when it was just the three of us. You’re a bad baby, Jack! You’re making Mom and Dad break up!”
Jack turned to his brother and threw the jar of dinosaurs at him, but Sam ducked just in time.
“You little piece of…” Sam lunged for Jack. Rick stepped in and separated them.
Before I could stop it, a fat tear slipped out, trailed its way down my face and dripped off my chin.
Jack ran into my arms, bawling now and saying, “Make Sam stop. Sam too mean to me!”
I hugged Jack and gave in, weeping openly. Sam squeezed into our hug and wailed louder than anyone.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry, Jack,” he said with genuine remorse.
The three of us embraced and cried and didn’t look at Rick for a long time. When I finally pulled myself away, I saw that Rick’s face was wet too, though he sat alone, still as death.
I ran for tissues and handed one to Sam and one to Rick before wiping Jack’s face, then my own.
I took Sam’s chin in one hand and Jack’s chin in the other and looked back and forth into their eyes.
“Your dad and I will do everything we can to make this easier on you. Right, Rick?”
He nodded and continued to sop up the moisture from his face.
“It’s not going to be easy for any of us, but things change in life sometimes. We all have each other and we’ll get through it.” I was trying to convince myself as much as them.
I kept my focus on Sam only for the next part. “I know you’ll have a lot of questions as time goes on. We’ll do our best to answer them. We won’t lie to you.”
I drew Sam and Jack into me for another hug, pulling Sam up to a standing position and cradling Jack in my arms. This time, I made eye contact with Rick and raised my eyebrows to invite him into the fold. He stood up and wrapped his arms around us all.
“Are you still staying for dinner, Dad?” Sam asked, as we disentangled ourselves.
Rick seemed unprepared to reply so I said, “Of course he is. Come on, let’s sit down.”
Sam did most of the talking. I was astounded by the fact that he seemed just fine all of a sudden. I didn’t know if it was denial or an act, but it made me feel a little better. With the awareness that he’d have reduced access to his father, he spoke mostly to Rick, telling him about his soccer team, school, a favorite new video game.
I spent most of the dinner in silent conversation with God, asking for forgiveness and strength. Making promises I hoped I could keep. Trying to strike bargains I hoped he would consider.
CHAPTER 15:
AN UNLIKELY DATE
“SO WHAT THEY FOUND was that employee productivity increased simply because the workers were aware that research was being conducted on how lighting impacted their output.”
Some students nodded. Others seemed confused. Dave had the same look on his face as always, the one that lets me know he’s trying hard to see me as just his professor, concentration fixed on the content of my lecture. I hoped I was the only one who noticed it.
I needed to explain again. Thinking back to the wording of my question about this concept on the upcoming test, I tried to use almost the exact same language.
“You see, in this version of the study, the lighting never changed. But the employees saw lighting experts and researchers in their workspace. That attention alone caused the spike in productivity, not any actual improvement in the lighting.”
I looked out and surveyed facial expressions. More widespread comprehension, but some of them still weren’t getting the broader implications.
“Remember when we talked about the survey revealing that the greatest motivator in job performance is appreciation?”
Heads bobbed up and down.
“This finding is similar. We all want attention and recognition. We want to feel important. We need to know that our contributions are valued. And we like it when we’re asked about whether helpful changes should be made to take care of our needs. At work, we need this from our bosses and the leaders of the organization. At home, it’s family, right?”
More head bobs.
“Or maybe even your roommates. Let’s say you clean up after everyone in the common area in your dorm room and do all the dishes and no one even says ‘thanks.’”
Angry faces confirmed that many had suffered this injustice. Sylvia’s hand popped up. Oh no, I thought. Get ready to bring everyone back from a tangent. I had to call on her though. I had to maintain my image as one of those professors who engages students and creates an informal, interactive environment. She looked so excited to share her story.
“Oh my God, that happened just the other day. I did all their dishes and no one said a thing. Then the toilet was overflowing and I had to be the one to run to get the RA in the middle of the night and they didn’t even thank me. In fact, they don’t even talk to me or invite me to the parties they go to. I think I need to switch roommates. Should I ask the housing director about that?”
A few students muttered snide comments under their breath, one shook her head a little and I wanted to model a better way to respond. In my book, cruelty and inflated egos were greater crimes than a slight lack of self-awareness.
“That’s a good question, Sylvia. Let’s talk about it one-on-one after class. And your example is exactly what I’m talking about. Your roommates didn’t show you any appreciation for the extra effort you made to help them out. You were not acknowledged or recognized, which is what most people crave more than anything, whether they realize it or not. In one study, regular praise from an employee’s direct supervisor ranked higher in improving job satisfaction than a three percent raise, as long as the employee felt his or her current salary was fair.”
I tried not to look at Dave too much. He tried not to look at me too much. Taking excessive notes was one of his strategies. I had overheard other students asking him if they could copy them and if he’d be in their study group. He was, after all, getting the highest grade in the class and not because of any bias on my part. If anything, I was tougher on his papers, presentations and exams than anyone else’s, but they were consistently flawless.
When class was over, Sylvia rushed up to the front desk to tell me more about her roommate drama while I packed up my things. When she finally stopped to take a breat
h, I jumped in, reminding myself that people are much more receptive to constructive feedback when provided with empathy first.
“That sounds so frustrating, Sylvia. It must be really hard for you when you do so much for your roommates and they never seem to show any gratitude. I know how you feel because I had a similar situation when I was in college.”
She opened her mouth to spew more venom about these evil roommates but I didn’t give her the chance. I looked at my watch as I spoke.
“Here’s what I learned when I was in your shoes: it’s not worth it to constantly do favors for people who don’t appreciate it. Stop cleaning up after them. Stop taking on all the responsibility. And don’t expect your roommates to change and suddenly start thanking you. We teach people how to treat us by showing them what we’re willing to put up with. And honestly, people often do too much in their attempts to gain approval from others, when really it’s self-acceptance and self-confidence they need to work on.”
“But…” I had to cut her off by holding up an index finger and peeking around to see the line of students behind her. She turned to look as well and huffed before she said, “Well, I see you have a lot of other questions to answer so…” Not bothering to finish her sentence, she walked away and I hoped what I said sunk in a little.
I tried to answer each question concisely. Most were about expectations for the upcoming essay or which chapters and articles the next test would cover. The answers were in the syllabus, but they either didn’t read it or felt the information was more reliable coming straight from me. And the students were in more of a hurry than I was, with all sorts of fun evening activities to look forward to, so our exchanges were brief. The goal was always to get all questions answered before the professor for the next class showed up, but this particular Tuesday night, that was not going to be possible. So I ushered the rest of the line out into the hallway to relinquish the space.
It was 7:15 by the time the last student’s inquiry was satisfied and I sighed, thinking about how I used to look forward to a nice glass of red wine when I got home from teaching. But I was on day ten of my self-imposed alcohol ban. I was also on day ten of being a separated woman. Not knowing how long either would last, I was taking it one day at a time.
Is This What I Want? Page 13