by Laura Lanni
Eddie looked up at me from his close study of the slab of shoe-leathery meatloaf on his plate. “Really, Anna? In front of the kids?” I caught the sarcasm, the sweet affection in his voice. Bethany did not. She raised her eyebrows, and her upturned chin made her neck double in length as she gave me the slit-eyed look she’d learned from my sister. See? Even Dad thinks you’re wrong. I ignored her and addressed her father, my ally and best friend.
“It’s no big deal, Eddie. I got a discount card for free and didn’t even have to put my real name on it.”
“Or her address. Mom lied, Daddy.” Bethany never lied. She told the raw truth. Slapped you with it. Well, really only slapped me with it. Lately, I was the butt of all of Bethany’s accusations.
“You can use the card, too, Bethany,” I tried to appease her. “For a year. You can get ten percent off every book.” I suffered yet another eye roll from my daughter. Joey tried to mimic her, which made me laugh. Nothing angered my daughter more than happy people. Note to self: remember you are the mom. Do not appease.
Eddie was grinning at me through a mouthful of baked potato, watching me struggle to avoid catching our daughter’s bad mood. His anecdote was always laughter. He asked, “What’s your name, Anna? Muckenfuss again?”
“No, sir.” I smiled at him and said, “I am Martha Washington, my dear Mr. President.”
He chuckled while Bethany stewed, stuck in the middle of two parents who enjoyed each other. Her parents, still in love, made no sense to her teenage mind.
11
Stupid Market
“You know I have trouble in grocery stores,” I reminded Eddie one night after work last May. With just a few weeks of school left, and the anticipation of summer break looming like a vanilla pudding-stuffed double chocolate cake, I was exhausted. “Come with me, Eddie,” I pleaded. “Bethany can watch Joey. Come with me and help. You can pick the cookies.” I knew how to get the man’s attention.
My weekly trips to the stupid market, as my sister liked to call it, encompassed three things that I hated to do: shop, spend money, and waste time. When I was there, I brought a list, and I found my stuff with record speed and got the heck out. I learned the layout of the store and zip-zanged through it like the Road Runner. There was nothing I could do about having to shop for food. My kids loved to eat. But with Eddie helping, I hoped we could reduce the wasted time.
Eddie, the Cookie Monster, couldn’t resist. He agreed to come, and we left the house with my long list in his capable hands.
While I drove, Eddie critiqued my list. I’m a good driver because I’m so patient. I talk to the other drivers, gently coaching them, helping all of them to drive better.
“Get the hell off the road, you blue hair!” I yelled out my window as I passed an older lady in a beige sedan.
Eddie knew better than to comment on my commenting. That’s why I was driving. When he drove, I couldn’t help but coach him, too. I drove him crazy from whichever seat I occupied, but he was tactful enough to bear me in silence and love me anyway.
“There are two kinds of cereal on this list. Is that a typo?” he asked.
“No. Bethany wants the Cheerios, but Joey needs the granola.”
“Needs the granola? He’s five.”
“And I’m his mother. Have you been around the kid when he can’t go?”
He shook his head and smirked as he looked out the window.
“Do you see these people? Driving like it’s illegal to go the speed limit.” I looked for a chance to pass the dented pickup truck; I was bored with his bumper stickers.
“Don’t beep, Anna. Please.” It was a lot like having Bethany with me.
“I’m not going to beep, Eddie. I’m just going to ride real close to let the idiot know he is freaking crawling.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Eddie’s foot hit his imaginary brake, just like my Dad used to do when I drove his giant blue sedan. I smiled and slowed down just a little. My husband sighed.
“Um, Anna? Do you know we just passed Walmart?”
“I know. Didn’t I tell you? I don’t shop there anymore.”
“But it’s right there. What’s the problem?”
“I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. The old hag in the deli hates her job. She gets so annoyed when I ask her to slice cheese. And if I ask for it sliced thin, holy crap, she looks like she might cry. So no Walmart for me.”
“Are we going to Bi-Lo?”
“Nope. You must’ve forgot, because I know I told you about the hairnet lady there.”
“Hairnet lady, hmm. In the deli? Is she the one who wrapped the cheese with the fly in it?”
“Bingo! You do listen. I think she did it on purpose.”
“Right. She caught a fly and flicked it in your cheese.” He laughed and summed it up, “So it’s all about the deli, then?”
“Yep. The deli is the bottleneck of this adventure, so I do it first. That way, if things go bad, I can just leave the empty cart and walk out of the store.”
He didn’t know yet, but one of the tasks I planned to assign to him today was the dreaded deli. Dr. Wixim, with his sweet bedside manner and charm, could run for mayor and win—so I expected the deli would be no big deal for him.
I parked the car at the side of the lot of the new, shiny Publix, grabbed Eddie’s arm, and we embarked on our first stupid market date.
“I’ll take the cart and send you on errands. Is that okay?” I asked.
“Sounds great. Deli first?” My Eddie. The man would do anything for me. I nodded, handed him the deli list, and off he went.
Ten minutes later, I was halfway through my list when he found me; he was holding a pile of meat and cheese in his arms. “Yikes!” I said. “That’s a ton of meat.”
“That’s what you said to me on our honeymoon,” he grinned and grazed my hip with his.
“Jerk.” I slapped his arm while he loaded the cart. “Are you going to eat all of that?”
“That’s what I said—”
“Don’t even say it if you know what’s good for you.” I pushed the cart away, and he trotted after me.
“Hey, this is a date, right? Can’t a guy flirt with his wife?”
I stopped the cart and stood on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Of course. Just don’t upset the blue hairs.” I pointed and whispered, “I think that’s the one I passed on the way here.” They were everywhere. It must be old folks’ night, when they bus them all in and give senior discounts. I planned to mark my calendar and avoid this next week.
“We’ll eat it all, Anna. I have a plan. Sandwiches every day. Chicken salad one night. Pepperoni bread another night. Omelettes another night. I think we could just about live on produce, deli, and eggs.”
God, I loved that guy. He handled the despicable deli and now he was planning meals. Why didn’t I unleash him on the stupid market years ago? “Sounds great. I already did produce.” He inspected the bags of fruit and veggies and announced that we needed zucchini, mushrooms, a purple onion, and fresh tomatoes. And he was off again, this time without my list.
When he met up with me again, with his arms full of food, he kissed the top of my head. “Anna, this cart is loaded. Let me push it.” I was in heaven. Pushing the heavy cart at the end of a grumpy stupid market excursion was a mood killer even worse than the snide remarks by the baggers when I demanded paper instead of plastic bags. This date was going even better than our first date.
That’s when Eddie saw the cookie aisle. “Ooh, Anna, let me look around.” He got that same glazed-over look that blanketed his features in a hardware store. The same one I probably wore in a bookstore. Eddie in the cookie aisle was a beautiful thing.
I don’t eat cookies, so I rarely buy them. I’d rather bake them. Eddie loves all cookies, quite possibly as much as he loves me and the kids. He didn’t even check the coupon pile. He didn’t even look for sales. He couldn’t decide between chocolate and oatmeal so, like a little kid, he grabbed both and hugged them a
ll the way to the checkout.
It became our thing during my last summer. Our date night. Eddie would escort me to the grocery store. He’d deal with the deli, push the heavy cart, and help pick food for meals. After a month of such excursions, I suggested he just take over and let me stay home. Let me mow the lawn or something. He shook his head slowly, his serious eyes locked on mine.
“No, Anna. That’s the point. If I did it alone, I’d hate it as much as you do.”
He was right. Even grocery shopping was improved by his presence. That equals love. Now, from my front row seat on the dead side, I watch as, once again, Eddie is tossed into my path. My Eddie: the collection of atoms that comprised the saddest and best parts of my life. If he only knew how much I loved him. Always loved him. The most. He was my best friend, my center, my compass, but he left me at the end of my life. He pulled away from me and took my heart with him, leaving me empty before I even died.
| | | |
Eddie is driving my car with my seat pulled all the way forward and his thighs hitting the steering wheel. He pulls into the parking lot of the Shop-N-Stop. As he walks in, he reaches into the back pocket of his baggy, old man jeans and pulls out a list. Where did he ever get a list? Eddie is not a list maker.
He pushes the cart at turtle speed, bent over like it hurts to walk, drifting through every aisle and studying the food in wonder. He keeps looking up and down at his list.
He grabs whole milk instead of skim.
Chunky peanut butter instead of creamy.
American cheese instead of provolone.
Things are going to change without me in charge.
With half a cart of preserved food, stuff we never eat, Eddie just wanders aimlessly around the store. I ache to be with him. To touch the soft hair on his forearm, kiss his stubbly cheek, and breathe in the musky smell of him in a hug. All I can do is watch him and let the pain burn down. In the cookie aisle, he leans over the cart, looking like he might pass out, when he sees the Oreos.
I feel a strong tug to listen to Eddie’s thoughts, but my own are chaos. Swirling. Too many painful options present themselves, trying to pull me in. They flash by and force me to watch my life, the life I used to have, as it flows forward in time. Without me. I resist with a newfound energy. I push back on the force, exerting a will that I didn’t know I had. I leave Eddie alone in the stupid market. Alone with his pain.
12
My Daughter
Back in my kitchen, Bethany washes a mountain of dishes. She has occupied my space, the place where I was always found. Her bare feet stand exactly where mine always did as she sloshes around in the hot, sudsy water. My stained, yellow apron is tied loosely around her pencil waist. For the first time since she came home from college, I can hear her from the dead side.
Mom, I’m trying.
And Mom? I’m sorry. I guess I always knew it wasn’t only your fault when you and Daddy fought. It was hard to be caught between you two, though. Easier to side with him.
I watch her dry and put away all of the dishes and pans. She even wipes down the counters and the sink. Just like I would, if I was there. This from a girl who left her dirty clothes on the floor wherever they landed at the end of every day. Then she blows her nose on the dish towel and tosses it on the counter before walking out the back door. That’s my girl.
| | | |
I looked for every opportunity to try to get Bethany to talk to me more. It was tough, but she was so depressed after that bastard football player showed his true colors and broke up with her. I saw my chance and dove in.
“No, Mom, you do not understand.” Bethany dumped a third scoop of sugar into her coffee. It was two weeks before her high school graduation and one week before prom, almost noon on a Sunday, and she’d just emerged from her bedroom.
“Oh, honey.” I tried to hug her. She pushed me away.
“Who ever broke up with you?”
She was right. I didn’t date enough to suffer a break up. Eddie was my first, last, and only real relationship. In my daughter’s eyes, I was lucky. I got it right on the first try. She considered me an overachiever.
“There’ll be other boys, Bethany.”
“You see?” she yelled. “You don’t know anything! Nobody wants to think about the next guy when one just hurt you. That doesn’t help at all.”
“What I meant was—you’ll survive this.”
“I don’t even want to, Mom,” she wailed. “I just want to die.” She slammed her coffee mug on the table and stormed out the kitchen door into our garage. I followed right behind her, afraid she’d get in the car and drive herself into a wreck. She wasn’t a great driver even when she wasn’t sobbing.
“I’m sorry, honey.” She leaned against the side of the car in a crumple, her forehead on her crossed arms, her face hidden. “What happened, anyway?”
She spun around and grabbed her hair in two fists, holding the newly cut ends in bunches. “This happened. Billy broke up with me because I cut my hair.”
Oh. He was an ass as well as a buffoon, then. I was not surprised, but at least I had the tact not to say this out loud. Men and hair—what woman could comprehend that twisted puzzle?
“So, I’m furious, Mom. You were right, okay? He’s an ass and an idiot, and he didn’t even care about me. But talking about it with you makes it hurt even more. Can’t you just go away without saying ‘I told you so’?”
I held my ground. No way was I leaving her like this.
“Then I’ll go away,” she said and left the house for a long walk.
Late that night, I was drawn like a bug to the line of light under her bedroom door. I knocked. I just wanted to hug her, I swear. I wasn’t there to lecture or pry. I just wanted my baby girl, who was almost grown up, to know that I loved her.
“Go away, Mom.”
“How’d you know it was me?” I asked the closed door.
Her muffled voice, sounding just like when she was little, answered, “Joey walks in. Daddy waits for me to come out. You’re the only knocker.” Silence. I was dismissed. I knocked again, trained in persistence long ago by her father.
With a heavy sigh, she yanked open the door. She stood before me, blocking my entry, chin up and eyes defiant above her red and swollen nose. Mascara hung in black shadows under her glassy eyes. Her blue sparkling prom dress looked lovely on her petite frame, even with the toes of her bunny slippers peeking from the hem.
I sighed, my gaze locked on her toes. When I looked up at her and opened my mouth to speak, she raised her palm to me, Eddie-style, and insisted, “Do not say, ‘Oh, honey,’ or I will lose it again, Mom.”
I opened my arms and waited. She hesitated a tenth of a second before she dropped her eyes from mine and stepped into my hug. And she lost it again anyway.
| | | |
Now Bethany sits alone, with my planner, the map and chronicle of my life, in her lap. She shakes her head and frowns. Mom, how the heck did you do so much? I think my life is crazy, but you never took a rest. Kinda scary, but it looks like life could get even harder. College is kicking my butt. How will I survive life after it? I don’t see how I’m going to get through all of this without you for backup.
Bethany flips through the daily pages of my October, the last full month of my life. Mom, I only saw you once last month. I wish I could’ve come home from school. You didn’t answer most days when I called. I didn’t know what was going on with you. She’s crying a little now, wiping her eyes on the corner of the blanket. She leans back on the swing and closes her eyes, hot tears leaking out. Mom, I’m not ready to do this alone. Daddy is a mess. Right now he’s pretty useless. I’m totally running the show around here and I’m just not qualified for the job. I’m going to have to go back to the dorm and my classes sometime, but how can I leave them?
Oh, honey. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you the last couple of months.
I couldn’t face anyone or even cope with daily conversation while I was crushed by my fear that Eddie
was going to leave for work one day and not come home. I was so consumed with my own agony, I could hardly breathe.
What would I do if he left me? If I held my breath and stayed quiet, would the funk pass again? Would he come back to me again? What would it do to our kids if we split up?
If I’d known I had only until early November to see them all, I would have found more time.
| | | |
On Thursday, November tenth, Bethany called my cell phone during the school day. I had it set to vibrate so I was startled by the buzzing sound, and then every single one of my students looked up from their tests to watch it wiggle across my desk.
“Sorry,” I whispered as I hit the red button for silence.
After class, I listened to Bethany’s message. “Mom, sorry to call at work. I know you’re busy with school, but I really miss you. College is hard. I haven’t made any friends in the honors dorm. I don’t know why I let you talk me into living here with all of these geeks. All they do is study! Heh heh, well, yeah, so do I.
“Anyway, I have two free tickets to the football game this Saturday. Will you come? I know you and Daddy can’t both come, but I hoped you could drive up for the day. I feel like a baby asking. I know Daddy would just say yes and show up, but you’re the one I want. Now I sound like I’m seven. You know I’m bad at asking for attention. I’m actually glad to be leaving a message. Okay. Well. Call me back. Love you.”
When I called back, she let it go to her voice mail. That’s my girl: the queen of avoidance, trained by her own mother. I left a message. “Hey, Bethany, I’d love to watch football with you this weekend. Maybe after the game you can come home with me and stay over Saturday night. Joey and Daddy would love to see you. We can sleep in on Sunday and then I’ll make you all a big breakfast. Thanks for asking. I miss you and love you. ’Bye, honey.”