A Sweet Life-kindle

by Andre, Bella

  She suspected there were moments when Valerie wanted to do the same to her. Because Miranda—the mom she knew—had gone away, too. There were many times this past year when Miranda had looked in the mirror and seen a woman she didn’t know. If she didn’t recognize herself, how could her kids know her?

  “Why do they call it Homecoming?” Andrew asked. “It’s tradition. A long time ago, schools wanted all their alumni to come home for a game against their biggest rival.”

  A car horn sounded. “That’s my ride,” Valerie said. “I have to go. I’ll be back by eleven.” She jumped up, carried her plate to the sink, grabbed her backpack. “I have my cell, I did my homework in study hall and I’ve got a ride home.” She rattled off answers before Miranda could even ask the questions. “Don’t wait up.”

  She was gone in a swirl of black denim and fishnet stockings, leaving a void of silence. Miranda used to be the kind of mom who was proactive, who ran her kids’ lives and stayed on top of things. She was determined to regain the strength and stamina to reclaim that role. She only hoped she wasn’t too late.

  Jacob called again to say he was stuck in traffic on the 520 bridge, a floating bridge that spanned Lake Washington. Miranda set aside his dinner to warm later in the microwave. Andrew loaded the dishwasher without being asked. One of the few aspects of her illness that she welcomed was that her little boy had taken to doing his chores without nagging. There were moments when she almost wished he would need a little nagging, just as a reminder that he needed her. “Thanks, good buddy,” she said as he turned on the dishwasher.

  “’Welcome. I’ll be in the study.”

  That was code for, “I’ll be on my computer in a virtual world where I’m in control.”

  The medical family therapist they had been seeing talked with her at length about the many ways the family dynamic changed over the course of a serious illness. It was a natural process that progressed through known stages. There were things Miranda had to let go of in order to focus on getting well. Much of her hands-on mothering had to go. She had not surrendered it overnight. It had been a gradual process of renegotiation. She would not regain it overnight; she realized that. And when she finally did, she knew the whole landscape of her family would be different.

  As she was straightening the kitchen, she came across a packet of information the therapist had given her. There were many components to post-treatment: support groups, Web site chat rooms and bulletin boards, opportunities to connect with women who, like Miranda, were facing the sometimes daunting chore of returning to normal life.

  The hardest by far was getting to know her family again. Miranda could not imagine where to begin. With Jacob, who sought absolution by doubling his workload? With Valerie, who had morphed into an angry, distant teen? Or with Andrew, who barely had the vocabulary for expressing his deepest fears?

  She turned on the radio in time to hear the final chorus of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun,” and the tune lifted her spirits, just a little. She kept telling herself she had cause to celebrate, and not to expect too much too soon.

  Oh, but she did. She wanted it all. She wanted her life back. She wanted her daughter to go to Homecoming, her son to race around the block on his bike and practice armpit farting in the bathtub. She wanted her husband to look at her with more than desperate love in his eyes; she wanted him to look at her with passion. Or, heck, she thought. Right now, she’d just settle for him getting home in time for dinner.

  Chapter Three

  Jacob walked in the door at sunset, looking weary, worried and heart-stirringly handsome all at once. Miranda’s husband had a wonderful face with the features of a cheerful boy who would never grow up. That was what she used to see when she looked at him. Now she saw not just a man who had indeed left every vestige of youth behind, but a man aged by worry. At present, he had a “sorry I’m late” smile on his face and an enormous and garish bouquet of asters and mums in his arms. Bringing Miranda flowers used to be like bringing coal to Newcastle, but since she’d abandoned her garden, fresh flowers were a rarity around the house.

  “Looks like somebody beat me to it,” he said, eyeing the flowers she’d bought at the market.

  “That would be me,” she confessed. “I treated myself.” “I brought some champagne, too.” Still holding the flowers, he bent and kissed her briefly. Too briefly. Just enough for her to start to savor the taste of him and the shape of his lips, just enough for her to notice, like a distant flicker of heat lightning, an echo of the passion they used to share. Like so many other things, her cancer had wreaked havoc on the intimate aspects of her marriage. She’d had a long post surgery recovery period. In the midst of that course of the radiation treatment, she couldn’t stand for clothing to touch her, let alone her husband’s hands, his lips, his body. Often, even the sensation of the bedsheets rustling when he shifted at night had caused her to cry out in pain. And for several days following each round of chemo, she had been good for nothing, certainly not for reclaiming her husband.

  He’d been great through it all. Better than great. Too great.

  She missed the days before the disease had struck, when he would come waltzing in from work, clasp her in his arms, plant a resounding kiss on her mouth. Or if the kids weren’t around, he’d come up behind her, nuzzle her neck and whisper a wicked suggestion in her ear. It was frustrating to Miranda that she could remember those moments so vividly, but couldn’t figure out how to get back to that place, how to be that sexy, carefree person again.

  She warmed his dinner in the microwave and set it down before him. They toasted each other with glasses of chilled champagne, and she savored the bubbly effervescence on her tongue. He ate with an almost comical sense of appreciation, closing his eyes and swooning until she laughed.

  “So did you tell the kids?” he asked.

  “I did. They seemed a bit underwhelmed. I think they might be suspicious that I’m pulling their leg. They don’t really trust me to be well and stay well.”

  “Oh, come on. They trust you.” “They’ll learn to, all over again.”

  He looked at her, really looked at her, for a long moment. Despite all the changes they’d gone through the past year, Jacob knew her with a depth and intimacy that ran far deeper than any illness could reach. “What’s bothering you?” She poured herself another glass of champagne. “Andrew’s obsessed by that cybergame or whatever it is, and Valerie claims she’s not going to the Homecoming dance.” “Sounds pretty typical to me.”

  “Nothing about this family is typical anymore, including us.” “Miranda—”

  “I’ve been too exhausted to really take this up with you, but I’m getting back to normal now. And I mean it. You know I’m right.”

  “Every family deals with problems. We got through last year. We can get through anything.” He pushed back from the table. “And that was the best meal I’ve had…maybe ever. I mean it.”

  She smiled. “Don’t get too used to meals like this. I was feeling inspired and energetic, and City Fish got in a fresh catch of salmon.”

  “Well, thanks. It was a treat.” He cleared the table, did the dishes. Like Andrew, he seemed to equate obedience with good karma. As if behaving well might help her beat the disease.

  With a welling of affection and gratitude, she got up and reached to put her arms around him. He turned abruptly, inadvertently transforming the hug into a brief, awkward collision. “Sorry,” he said. “I’d better get busy.” He indicated his briefcase, which housed his laptop and the tyrant BlackBerry and his relay module, which gave the whole world access to him 24/7. He was able to put through orders with the touch of a button, insuring that his clients’ needs were met on the instant. “I need to turn in some orders and get ready for that big regional meeting tomorrow. Um, that is, if you don’t need me anymore.”

  If you don’t need me. Miranda couldn’t imagine not needing him, but of course, that wasn’t what he meant. As far as he was concerned, he’d had dinner and cleaned up aft
erward, so he’d done his duty.

  “It’s fine,” she said. Not because it was fine, but because she was in the habit of saying so.

  He kissed her lightly and stepped back. “Thanks again for dinner, babe. And congrats on finishing. You are the most amazing woman on the planet.”

  But apparently not amazing enough to divert his attention from e-mailing an upcoming PowerPoint presentation. The thought made her feel small, resenting the job he did in order to take care of her.

  She busied herself with mundane chores, delivering a stack of folded laundry to Andrew’s room. There, she sat on the bed, looking around. Her son was at a crossroads between a childhood of Tonka trucks and G.I. Joes and a music-filled, phone-dominated adolescence. Apparently, computer games filled the breach.

  She straightened some things in his room, and came across a stack of long-overdue library books—The Encyclopedia of Dogs. Family Dog. How to Raise a Good Dog. The Book of Puppies. Every single book had to do with dogs. For a boy who swore he’d never get another dog, he sure seemed interested. Then she went into the study, where as usual, he was absorbed in the computer, busily clicking and tapping as the graphics on the monitor changed and option boxes popped up.

  “Hey, buddy.”

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “How about you put the game on hold for the night.” “It’s not that simple. I need to find a stopping point.” “Not that again,” she said in a warning voice. She knew she could make it simple by flipping a switch. That seemed petty, though, and didn’t really address the issue. Besides, whether she liked it or not, the computer and games had been Andrew’s constant companions when she was too sick to do the usual mom things. “Tell you what,” she said, pulling a stool over to the desk. “We can find a stopping point together.”

  He shot her a look of suspicion.

  “I mean it,” she said. “I’m interested.”

  It was a virtual-simulation game. Though he did his best to show her the story and how it all worked, Miranda could tell there wasn’t a simple explanation. Vaguely she understood there was a storyline about a family in a dangerous jungle, seeking clues to a lost treasure. Both the parents in the game had superhero qualities and each wore a special badge that had been won in some earlier ordeal. The badge, Andrew explained, gave them immortality.

  “Hey,” Miranda joked, “where do I sign up for a badge like that?”

  “She had to kill a monster and steal a treasure from his nest.”

  She nodded, studying the mother on the screen, who looked like a weird cross between Angelina Jolie and Aunt Bea. The husband was the Terminator, of course, the role model of all cyberdads. The two boys in the family had special powers of their own. There was a dog, a young, eternally healthy dog.

  “They should stop in the cave for the night,” she said. “Nope.” He clicked the mouse, instructing them to move on. “Rabid bats.”

  “What about crossing the strait in that boat?”

  “Too risky. Every time I get them on a boat or plane, the weather turns bad.” He decided to stop the game with the characters taking shelter in a convenient tree house high above the jungle.

  “I love that,” she said, watching the characters settle comfortably on the branches, where they immediately fell asleep. “I love it when you’re on a trek through an uninhabited jungle and you need a place to stay and suddenly there’s a perfectly good tree house right overhead.”

  “Very funny.”

  She dropped the teasing. The reason behind his obsession with the simulation game was crystal clear to her, and probably to Andrew, too. In his computer world, he was in control. No one but monsters would ever die.

  THAT EVENING, MIRANDA spent a little time in the small backyard, inspecting the old flower beds that were normally so brilliant this time of year. Though the days of summer were growing shorter, the sunny day lingered, throwing long shadows across the patchy grass and weedy beds.

  She found a pair of pruning shears that had been left out in the rain. They barely worked, but she took a few desultory snips at the leggy rosebushes. Even the hardiest plants would have to struggle to recover from a year’s neglect. Some of the more fragile plants were already gone for good, having succumbed early on to the lack of attention. Maybe it was a good thing that summer was over. Before long, the garden would go dormant, and re-emerge in a healthier state in the spring. Last year at this time, she had ignored the garden on purpose, terrified that, come spring, she wouldn’t be around to see it bloom again. Now she was able to think of the future and actually feel a glimmer of hope.

  Despite her conviction that she would get to work on her garden again, she put aside the rusty shears and went back inside. A constant feeling of fatigue hovered around her, something she had grown used to and was looking forward to leaving behind. By nine-thirty, she was practically asleep, never having made it past the world-news pages of the daily paper.

  “I’m going upstairs,” she told Jacob. “I’ll wait up for Valerie.”

  She hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. She knew that if she asked Jacob to come upstairs with her, he would oblige. They had something to celebrate, after all. But she just felt tired, and he was absorbed in his work, frowning at the screen of his computer.

  Besides, their intimacy had changed. Neither of them had wanted it to, and they’d worked hard to keep their passion alive. She had not been eager to show her reconstructed breast to Jacob, but knew that putting it off would only make a bigger deal of it. When she finally did show him, soon after her surgery, he had gamely checked it out.

  Jacob had said all the right things—you’re beautiful to me, you’re still the sexiest woman I know, I love everything about you, most of all your courage.

  She’d loved him for his sincerity, his loyalty. But at the same time, she had found herself wishing she looked the way she had when they’d married, both of them twenty-two and fresh out of college.

  Miranda hovered between inviting him upstairs with her or leaving him engrossed in his work.

  She decided to compromise. “Wake me up when you come to bed.”

  Chapter Four

  The next day, she had a meeting with her boss at Urban Ice, where she had worked in the office since Andrew started school. In Seattle, providing bulk ice and cold storage for commercial operations was a little-known but essential business. With the local and Alaska fishing industries, the need for ice was never ending.

  She knocked on the door of Marty’s office and stepped inside. He was meeting with one of her favorite customers, Danny Arviat, a Native American from Sitka, and their running joke was that she sold ice to Eskimos.

  “Hey, it’s the ice queen,” Danny said, standing up and shaking her hand.

  “That’s me.” She smiled, and Marty gave her a hug. “If this isn’t a good time…”

  “I was just leaving,” Danny said. “It’s good to see you, Miranda.”

  “Same here.”

  Marty gestured to the chair across his desk. “Congratulations on your good news,” he said. “We’ve missed you.” Her boss had shown no sign of impatience when she became too sick to work and requested an open-ended sabbatical. From the start of her ordeal, he had never pressured her. One of the very few gifts of getting sick was that it allowed her to discover how much kindness there was in her life. People stepped up to help, to understand or even just to comfort her.

  “I’ve missed you guys, too.” Sort of, Miranda thought. She did enjoy her coworkers, and the company had been supportive through her illness. She was better off than many people. At least she had a job.

  Still, it wasn’t the sort of job she couldn’t wait to get to each day. She worked there because it was safe and predictable, not because she loved it.

  “You know I’ve always said it’s not the same here without you…” Marty began.

  “Uh-oh.” She studied his posture, the strained set to his shoulders. “Why does that sound ominous to me?”

  He took off his glasses, rubb
ed his temples. “Miranda, you probably remember that business has been down. Our balance sheets aren’t looking too good.”

  “Are you saying you don’t want me back?” Her stomach constricted.

  “Of course we do. But…we’ve budgeted through to the end of the quarter, and…” He shook his head, his kindly face lined with concern. “What I’m saying is, we can’t take you back until next quarter. So if something better comes along, I’ll understand.”

  “Oh.” She was surprised to feel a small wave of relief rolling through her. “I see.”

  “Listen, if you need—”

  “I’m okay, Marty. I appreciate your honesty.”

  She left the downtown office feeling supremely…ambivalent. She didn’t relish telling Jacob she wasn’t going back to work right away. On the other hand, the prospect of extending her sabbatical didn’t exactly depress her.

  The good news was, she was meeting her two best friends for coffee. Sophie Bellamy, Lucy Rosetta and Miranda had been roommates as undergrads at the University of Washington and they had stayed close ever since. As she walked along First Avenue, Miranda glimpsed herself in the plate glass windows she passed. Who was that woman? She still didn’t know.

  They planned to meet at the Café Lucia, an Italian-style espresso bar that belonged to Lucy. The café was tucked in a cobblestone-paved pedestrian alley near the market. On the way, she stopped at the flower stall and picked up a small bouquet to take to Lucy.

  The deep aroma of imported Lavazza coffee greeted her, along with the gurgle and hiss of the espresso machine. Two of the café’s six tables, with majolica-tiled tops, were occupied. Miranda went to the counter and stood before a display of sfogliatelle and biscotti.

  “You look busy,” she said.

  “Always.” Lucy Rosetta beamed as she stepped out from the work area to give Miranda a hug. “I’ll fix us a coffee.”