by H. M. Ward
The door shuts and the sound is deafening in my now quiet house. I pick up the baby and pad to the door. Turning the lock, and then collapsing with my back against it, I stare into space. What am I going to do? The feelings I'm having are foreign. I haven't had anything like them in years, and I'm terrified. I can't feel these kinds of things for him.
My heart is racing, and my palms are sweating. At the same time, the guy can make me smile and flirt! Me, flirting? I thought that part of me broke. Flirting’s okay, right? It doesn’t mean anything – and it’s a helluva lot of fun. I can flirt and he can flirt back. It doesn’t mean that there’s anything there. It’s just fun, that’s all. And, it makes me happy. He’s the only thing that’s actually made me happy in years—Dan the lawn man..
I close my eyes. He’s over ten years younger than me. What is that going to look like? Even if we just hang out, what will people think? The age gap is huge. He’s in college and I’m a widow. It won’t look right. Actually, it’ll look very wrong.
CJ begins babbling and I smile down at him. I’m certain that he’s telling me about all the fun he had today with Daniel. Taking him upstairs, I settle him in the bed with me after cleaning up his messy face.
I know letting the baby sleep with me is a bad precedent to set, but I need the comfort of having him close to me tonight. It doesn't take long for CJ to fall to sleep, but it takes longer for me, and not just because of the nap I had earlier. I can't shut my mind off, the possibilities and consequences of spending time with Daniel are running through my head.
What if? What if? What if? A million scenarios fly through my mind and none of them end well. I need a friend right now. He’s just a friend. Everyone else can suck it if they don’t like how young he is. Yeah, I’m all bluster in my bed with my baby asleep next to me, but if my mom found out—she’d have a stroke and I’d be a blabbering idiot.
I'm up until the early hours of the morning before finally succumbing to my exhaustion.
Chapter 8
"Genny Prior, you are never going to find a father for CJ if you don't start dressing like someone who knows the value of a shower." My mom’s scolding tone irks the hell out of me, but I can't bring myself to fight back. I suppose that’s what she’s looking for, some signs of life under this dreary façade and oversized shirt.
Of course she looks pristine in her standard Grandma outfit, complete with polyester pants and blouse. Her hair is set, properly curled and colored with light gold highlights around her face. Bright red and gold earrings hang dangling by her cheek.
I stare idly at the room around me. In my mother’s house, everything is clean and polished. There is a place for everything and everything is in its place. In my house there is a place for everything, yet nothing is in it. It’s like a toddler tornado blew through the house—toys litter the rug, baskets of supplies are tipped over. This morning I removed one of his socks from a picture frame hanging on the wall and a foam football from the toilet. I have bigger things to worry about than man shopping. Why can’t she see that?
Rubbing my hands over my face, I sigh, "Give it a rest, mom, please? I swear to you I do take showers.” Then quietly add, “almost every day,” as I bend over to pick up a toy. I toss it in the basket and say for the bazillionth time. “I love you dearly, but I'm not man shopping. As it is, the pickings are slim. What if I pick one out and he’s the wrong size? They don’t take returns. I can’t get stuck with a man that doesn’t fit right. A frumpy relationship would really mess with CJ, Ma.” She cringes. I’m not sure if it’s my analogy or the use of ‘Ma,’ like she’s the stereotypical meddlesome mother from a TV sitcom. “And, in case you didn’t notice, I'm a fully capable thirty-three-year-old woman. In fact, I'm a thirty-three-year-old woman today!"
She sits on her pristine couch, next to me. "Yes, yes, we know, Gen. If you'll recall, I gave birth to you, so of course I know how old you are. I'm just trying to make you see," she pauses, scrunches her nose and gesturing to my baggy t-shirt, yoga pants and the messy knot of hair on the top of my head, "that it’s time to get going again."
One side of my mouth quirks up, "I don't want to get going with anyone."
She hands me a present. Inwardly, I groan because I already know what it is. “Happy birthday, honey. I thought this would start you off nicely.”
She starts to lecture me further, but my father cuts her off. "Leave her alone, Gail.”
“It’s just a present. There’s nothing wrong with doting on my daughter. Open it, dear.”
I tear away the pretty pink paper and open the box. Black fabric lines the inside, corner to corner. I can’t tell what it is, except that it has a deep V-neck. Mom pulls the garment out of the box and holds it up. She’s beaming, and my jaw drops. It’s a little black dress. A very sexy little nothing of a dress. “You bought me hooker clothes? Mom! What am I supposed to do with this?”
Mom looks hurt. She pulls me up and holds it in front of me, fussing with the fabric and smiling wistfully. “Wear it, of course.”
“Yeah, it’s perfect for playdates and prostitution. Should I move to Nevada? Sign up at a whorehouse?”
“If that’s what it takes to get you interested in men again,” she snaps. She stops suddenly, and looks into my face. Her eyes widen and her brow furrows in fear. “Oh, unless you’ve changed teams. But you would have told me if you turned into a lesbian, wouldn’t you? Genny?” I push the dress away and exit the room.
As I leave, I hear Daddy scolding her. “The girl lost her husband—in a traumatic way—only two years ago. I reckon she's old enough to know when she's ready to find herself a new one. Leave her be."
I stay in the hall with my back pressed to the wall, trying to regain a few ounces of patience so I don’t punch my mother. God, what was she thinking? Even if I wanted to wear a dress like that again, I can’t, not with this body. All that present did was remind me of everything I’ve lost. Taking a breath, I steady myself and go back into the room.
My father is sitting in his recliner, his eyes glued to the television screen, watching the Cowboys play. CJ is on his lap. "Thanks, Daddy," I tell him, dropping a kiss on top of his balding head.
The man has been balding since I was in high school and he still has just enough hair to do an awful comb over. It's completely obvious, but he's oblivious and I'd never say anything to hurt him. Once, I tried to convince him to just shave his head, but he glared at me and harrumphed, saying nothing else.
My mom takes the baby from my dad, carrying him out of the room and complaining about how mean his Pops and mommy are to her. I sit on the couch and watch football with my dad, still not understanding how the whole thing works. Shameful, I know, since I live in Texas, but there it is. Cade got so frustrated, trying to explain it to me. Loosing interest quickly, I’d dutifully feign paying attention until I was close enough to distract him with my body—which was way more fun than a lecture on football. Smiling at the memory, I stare at the TV and enjoy the silence. My father doesn't criticize, and he doesn't talk half as much as my mother does.
After ten minutes my mom and CJ still haven't returned and there's a commercial on. My dad clears his throat and asks, "That lawn boy of yours, is he taking good care of everything?"
Lawn boy? I love how even after all the years Daniel's been taking care of the lawn, and doing repairs around the house, Dad still refers to him as the "lawn boy". It's even funnier now that I know Daniel's anything but a boy. He is definitely all man, defending me the way he did at the bar and taking care of CJ when I fell apart. A boy wouldn’t do things like that. No, Daniel’s turned into a very kind man. I think about the look on his face when he made CJ laugh, but then my mind instantly darts to the way his hands felt on my body when we were dancing. I want to banish the thought, but it howls like a banshee.
I hope my voice sounds normal. "He is, Dad. Actually, he fixed that loose board you found the last time you guys were over. Dan's a huge help." I smile when I think about him, the kind of smile I
used to have when I was a teenager thinking about a cute boy I saw at the mall.
Dad nods, happy with my answer. "Good. You let me know if he stops working out, ya hear?"
Oh, trust me Dad, I won't be complaining to you about his lack of working out, I promise. Jesus, he's barely legal, I shouldn't be thinking about him—not like this. Where’d it come from? He was a kid—he is a kid. He’s in college and I’m in Mommy & Me. We’ve got nothing in common, except a few moments of something that make no sense. There’s no way he has a crush on me. It’s impossible. He’s just a really sweet guy.
I'm saved from any further lascivious thoughts when my mother comes back into the den, hugging my son close, blowing bubbles on his belly and making him giggle. Seeing him happy makes me smile and I reach up to take him from her, settling him on my lap. He's immediately entranced by the television, watching the guys in tight spandex pants running up and down the field. He doesn't stay with me long, fighting to get down after just a few minutes and toddling over to my dad.
He puts his hands up, saying, "Up! Pops! Up!" He's only fifteen months old, and some words come out clear, like mama. Pops is another. Grandmother isn’t exactly flowing from his little mouth yet. I’ve been telling CJ to call her Nanners. That’s what he calls bananas and everyone knows my mom—bless her heart—is a little crazy. He’s calling her Nan, which just confuses mom. She thinks he means Nanny, which isn’t what she wanted to be dubbed. It’s Grandmother or bust.
*****
We spend the rest of the afternoon with my parents, watching football and then eating my mom's homemade meatloaf. The woman irritates me to no end, but no matter how upset I might get with her, I'm definitely going over to her house for food. I can make the basic stuff, but she can handle pretty much anything. In my defense, though, when Cade and I were married, he was gone a lot of the time on deployments, or for training, and when he was home, he was perfectly content with steaks cooked on the grill and mashed potatoes. Now that it's just me and CJ, it's easier to make a frozen dinner or scramble some eggs.
After dinner, I help my mom clean up, leaving my father to watch CJ. It doesn't take long for her to start in on me. "So, have you met anyone new lately?" Her tone is hopeful, and I hate that I'm going to disappoint her... again. Since that day I was visited by the chaplain, it feels like nothing I do is right as far as she's concerned. She's always quick to criticize, never noticing how much it hurts. Her support quickly turned to advice, which grew into ridicule as the months passed.
"No, mom, not really." It's not a lie, exactly. I know she's asking if I've met anyone I would be interested in dating, and I might have, maybe. I don’t know. It’s too confusing. I don’t want to think about him, but I do. Daniel keeps popping up in my mind—that smile, those eyes, and that easy way about him. He's just not someone really new. Or someone within reach. He’s so far out of my league that I might as well try to catch a star with my hands.
She shakes her head, her unhappiness almost palpable. "I know you and Daddy don’t think it’s been long enough, but it's been more than two years." I lock my jaw, ready to bite her head off. Two years is too soon to put this kind of pressure on me.
"I know that, Mom!" I cut her off, knowing exactly where this conversation is going and really not wanting to hear it. "Do we really need to talk about this again?"
My mother drops the spatula she was scrubbing back into the sink, splattering both of us with soap bubbles, before turning to me with fire brimming in her eyes. "Yes, Genevieve, we do. And we will continue to talk about this until you can explain why you are so determined to be alone. I don't understand you, girl. I really don't."
"I'm not determined to be alone!" I throw my hands up in the air, completely frustrated with the entire conversation. Just walk away, I tell myself. But I can’t. She doesn’t understand and I want her to know. Turning back to my mother, she’s disregarded the dishes to study me. Pressing my fingers to my chest, I tell her with my whole heart, "I loved my husband, Mom. He was my life, and he's all I've ever known. What would you do if something happened to Dad? Would you be able to just move on? Find someone new? You wouldn’t, so don’t ask me to do something when you couldn’t do it yourself."
Her eyes soften slightly, but she's still angry with me. "That's not the same thing. Your father and I have been married for over forty years."
"And Cade and I were married for more than ten! I know you've been together longer, but that doesn't mean that you love Daddy more than I loved Cade. That's not fair!" I'm yelling, but, God, she makes me so mad! How can she say it’s not the same? It is, down to the very core. When there’s a hole in your heart, you don’t want to plug it up right away. I want to miss Cade and I’m afraid of what’s next. There’s a time to think about what was and what could have been. Moving on skips that part, and means I’ll never come to terms with it. As it is, I have nightmares where I wake up screaming, but those aren’t the worst of them. The most horrid are the dreams where Cade is alive and talking to me. When I wake, I can’t recall what he said, but in the dream I know he’s gone, even though he’s still right there. It kills me, but I ache for those dreams, for added seconds with him, even if they aren’t real.
My father walks in, holding my son in his arms and looking between us. "What is going on? We can hear you shouting in the living room and you’re scaring CJ." His eyes are scolding both of us, and I deflate. "Genny, you shouldn't speak to your mother that way."
"I know," I mutter. "But, Dad, she’s determined to marry me off again and I'm just not ready." Yes, I am a thirty-three-year-old woman who is tattling on her mother to her father. This is a new low point in my life.
Dad shoos me out of the kitchen so that he can talk to my mom alone. I gladly escape back into the living room and cuddle CJ close to me. "Your grandma just doesn't understand that your daddy isn't replaceable. He's a hard act to follow, isn't he?" I know CJ can't answer me, but just saying it to him makes me feel better about things.
My parents come back into the room a few minutes later, and even though she doesn't apologize to me, she looks like she's been chastised plenty. Sitting beside me on the couch, she takes CJ from my arms, talking gibberish to him and tickling him. She's a completely different person when she's holding her grandson. I just don't get how she can be so mean and calloused toward me, yet so loving to him. She spends most of her time telling me what a failure I am at life, but treats my son like he's hung the moon.
When CJ starts rubbing his eyes and acting cranky, I know it's time to head home. I carry him over to each of my parents so they can hug him and tell him goodbye. I plant a kiss on each of their cheeks, telling them I love them. Since my husband's death, I've made it a point to let everyone know how much I care about them. I want to make sure the people who are most important to me know how special they are. Cade knew how much I loved him, how much he meant to me. I want to make sure everyone else does, too.
Pulling into my driveway, I notice the porch light is glowing even though I forgot to turn it on, and it looks like there's something taped to the front door. Cautiously getting CJ out of his carseat, careful not to wake him, I walk up the path to the front steps. When I get to the porch, I recognize Daniel's handwriting on the note.
Genevieve,
You weren't here when I finished fixing the faucet, so I made sure to turn the porch light on. I also left one of the lights on in the living room since I'm sure you'll be carrying CJ. I didn't want you to freak, thinking someone had broken in. Have a good night, and I'll see you on Tuesday.
- Daniel
My heart squeezes at his thoughtfulness, not only for turning the lights on for me, but for leaving the note so I wouldn't be scared to go inside. How long has he been making these thoughtful gestures, without me ever taking notice? Not many people would have thought about me and CJ stumbling through a dark room; fewer still would have left a note telling me about it. I take the note from the door and stuff it in my pocket.
Locking the door
behind me, I maneuver my way through the toys we left on the floor and I take CJ up to his room. He doesn't even stir when I change his diaper and take his shoes and socks off. I can't get over how much he looks like his daddy, and he looks so peaceful as he sleeps. Leaning over, I press a kiss to his soft skin, making sure to turn the baby monitor on before I leave the room.
I empty my pockets onto the nightstand, strip off my clothes and climb into my lonely bed. Sleep doesn't come easy. I toss and turn for half the night, thinking about Daniel and my late husband, feeling guilty for being happy around Daniel, but being grateful for him at the same time. Enjoying time with Daniel feels like a slap in the face to Cade, even though I know he's gone and never coming back.
Absently, I move to spin my wedding rings on my finger and panic when I realize my finger is bare. There’s a white line from the bands sitting on my skin for so long. I didn’t wear them today, and it wasn’t on purpose. Daniel showed up to fix the faucet and he watched CJ while I showered. After I was dressed, I hurried out of the room, the rings forgotten. I glance at the nightstand and spot them, sitting next to the contents of my pocket, next to Daniel’s note.
It kills me when I realize what happened. I curl into a ball and sob into my pillows. “I didn’t forget you, Cade, I swear. I won’t ever forget you.” I clutch the pillow tight and hold onto it like a lifeline. I’m drifting, and feel so lost. How did I forget our rings? I swore I’d always wear them because in my heart I’ll always be married.
The rational part of my brain has been locked in a closet for the past few years, but I hear her through the mental door, there were days you forgot to wear them when he was alive.
Finally, sleep claims me. Cade appears in his uniform and walks slowly toward me with a smile on his face. My heart beats hard at the sight of him. In my dream, we are young—the age we were when we got married. He’s overjoyed to see me, picks me up and spins me around. I laugh and he sets me down.