Regrets Only

by Erin Duffy

  “Again, I’m sorry, but no. Plenty of parents travel for work and if that could be used as a reason to have sole custody then there’d be a lot of women with a major problem, too. When I ask if he’s unfit, I’m referring to drugs, alcohol, abuse, or neglect. Has he ever endangered Bo?”

  “No,” I admit. “I have a better shot at being able to prove him to be an unfit human than an unfit parent. Owen loves him. He travels a lot, but when he does he always calls home and talks to him on FaceTime and he always goes directly into his room when he gets home late to kiss him good night. He even wakes up with him in the morning most weekends so he can have some one-on-one time with him and so that I can sleep in. The only leverage I have is that he cheated on me in my own house. Is that enough to get sole custody?”

  “No. It’s not. It sounds to me like you’re going to have to work out a joint custody schedule where you both are involved in Bo’s life. If Owen wants to be a part of his parenting, then a court will rule that it’s best for Bo to let him. You just described a loving father.”

  “I’m having a hard time understanding that any of this is happening, and now you’re basically telling me that there’s nothing I can do?”

  “Imagine what the courts hear every day, Claire. There’s child abuse, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, violence, neglect—they’ve seen it all. An ex-girlfriend breaking up your marriage . . . well, I know it seems like the end of the world to you, but it’s not.”

  “So what are you saying?” I ask, even though I fully understand what she’s saying. There’s no way out for me. I’m stuck.

  “The deciding factor in cases like these is what’s in the best interest of the child—not what’s in the best interest of the wife. I know it’s hard to hear, but relocation is very hard to win unless the man involved has some really serious demons. Is he offering to pay you child support?”

  “Yes. He said he’d pay me alimony, too, and that I could keep the house.” Somehow, as this conversation progresses, Owen’s managing to look more and more like a good guy. He has no problem paying child support! He’s offering me alimony! He moved out of the house no problem! He won’t contest the divorce! What a gem.

  Tara removes her glasses and folds them gently on top of the desk blotter. I hold my breath, because I know she’s about to seal my fate, and brace for the impact. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I wish I had some better news for you, but I have to be honest. No judge is going to hear this and think that your moving home and removing Bo’s father from his life is the right course of action. If you try to fight this in court, you’ll lose. I don’t want to waste your time, money, or energy pursuing that option.”

  “I see.”

  “The rights of the parent are paramount to everything else. Without his permission you don’t have much of a case, and I don’t want to give you false hope. If he decides to let you go, then we can have a very different conversation. What you need to focus on is setting up a joint custody agreement you’ll both be happy with. That’s your goal as your divorce moves forward.”

  This is my new résumé: Claire Stevens–then Mackenzie–then Stevens again, Connecticut divorcée, mother of one, wife of no one, lonely, isolated, thirty-six-year-old mess.

  “What about the girlfriend? My son is only eight months old. He can’t tell me what’s going on in Owen’s house. I don’t want her around my Bo. Please tell me that there’s something I can do to prevent her from being in his life.”

  “There is. You can absolutely work that out in the custody agreement, and considering Bo’s age, and the fact that your husband and the other woman haven’t been together for a long time, you can definitely restrict her access to him. We can take care of that, no problem.”

  “Okay, good. That’s something.”

  “We’ll work out a custody situation you’re comfortable with. If Owen violates the agreement in any way, then you may have a few more options, but let’s talk about that if it happens.”

  “Okay. Thank you for your time. I guess it’s helpful to know where I stand.” It’s the first time since this started that I feel like I really understand anything, even if it’s something that I don’t want in the slightest. Nothing else in my life makes any sense at all, but at least I have some clarity as to where I’ll be living. That’s good. That’s a good thing. I need to try and find the smallest sliver of a bright side in all of this because if there’s not one I’ll probably go to bed and stay there forever.

  “We’ll still file for divorce. If he’s agreed to give you child support and alimony it should be pretty straightforward, and easy. I want to help you, Claire. If anything changes and you can bring me something we can use to show a judge that Owen is unfit, we can go over your options again.”

  “I understand. Send me whatever papers you need to send me in order to get the divorce started. Thank you.” I exit her office and walk through the waiting room, the sleeve unraveler, the fake reader, and the game player all still in their seats. Maybe they’ll have better luck.

  Chapter 1

  Two weeks earlier

  “WE HAVE A surprise for you,” Owen said. I opened one eye, my right cheek still pressed into the pillow and slightly wet from drool. My son, Bo, had been sleeping through the night for a while now, but I still collapsed into bed by 9:00 each night completely exhausted. I used to work long hours at my job. I was up early and often stayed until almost 7:00 P.M., and I never, ever was tired the way I was tired now. I worried that my epic fatigue wasn’t entirely physical—that some of the drain I was experiencing was due to the fact that my brain was turning into a marshmallow thanks to lack of stimulation and adult conversation, but the worry quickly flitted away because I was too tired to focus on it. I barely made out the burning red numbers on the alarm clock on the bedside table next to Owen’s side of the bed. 8:00 A.M. For a mother with an eight-month-old, 8:00 A.M. might as well be noon.

  “You let me sleep in. Thank you!” I yawned, and rolled onto my back, my cotton Gap nightgown twisting around my waist, and I immediately pulled it down around my knees, lest Owen see the paunchy belly I was still battling. Owen sat up in bed next to me, already dressed in khaki shorts and a gray T-shirt, holding Bo on his lap. I reached for them both, the men in my life, and pushed myself up so that I could kiss both of them good morning. Bo immediately reached over and grabbed a fistful of my hair, which was his new favorite thing to do. “Good morning, handsome,” I said, as I eased his hands free and pulled him over onto my lap. “How are you this morning? Did you sleep well?”

  Bo’s big brown eyes sparkled while I held him. I liked to think that it was because there was no place he’d rather be than in my arms. The feeling was mutual.

  “Pretty good, actually. Thanks for asking,” Owen teased.

  “Oh, I’m so glad.” Bo cooed and I wiped a string of drool from the corner of his mouth, before running my finger over his lower gums to see if any other teeth had broken through overnight. Nothing. Still just one lone little jagged tooth jutting up through swollen pink flesh, and I had to admit that it made me happy. Teeth placed him squarely on track to becoming a toddler, and I wasn’t ready to let go of my baby yet. The longer he stayed that way, the better. “Thank you for letting me sleep in.”

  “You’re tired,” Owen reminded me. “I’ve been gone for a few days, and I hate leaving you guys alone when I’m traveling. I know it’s hard that all of the work falls on you.”

  “I know. I love being home, and I love Bo more than anything, but while you were gone I was wondering if maybe it was time for me to go back to work. Is that crazy? I’m starting to feel like maybe I’m ready for more.” Part of me felt like I was a poor excuse for a mother admitting that maybe I wanted to leave my child to reenter the workforce before he was even a year old. But if I didn’t want to go back to work, part of me would feel guilty for just giving up a career I’d worked hard to build and liked quite a bit. Guilt and I were going to become good friends, because we’d be spending an awful lot of time
together going forward no matter what decision I made. Being a woman was annoying like that.

  Owen paused for a second as if he was considering it. “No. It’s not crazy. You always said you might want to go back. What made you start thinking that it’s time?”

  “I don’t know. I feel like I want to at least see what’s out there. Maybe I’ll know what I want to do for sure when I have a better idea of what’s available to me.”

  “Okay. The little man wears you out. I can’t imagine how hard it would be to work and also be a mom, but if anyone can do it, you can.”

  “Millions of women do it. It’s one of the reasons why we are the superior sex.”

  “I see.”

  “Anyway, you’re right. I’m totally exhausted. It’s more than tired. I feel like I need to be plugged in in order to function properly. It’s nothing I could ever explain.”

  “We should take a vacation,” he said. “Let’s go to Alaska or something.”

  “I think Bo is a little young to take a vacation like that. We can’t just leave an infant and take off for Alaska!”

  “People go on vacations all the time. Becoming parents doesn’t mean we have to spend the rest of our life within spitting distance of Connecticut.”

  “I know that. But I think we should wait until he’s a little older. Let’s talk about it again next year. Though a vacation sounds dreamy. I’m running on fumes.”

  “I know that, too. And I think—actually, we think—that we needed to do something to say thank you for taking such good care of us all the time.” Owen tilted his coffee mug toward me so that I could take a sip without having to put the baby down. I rubbed my face against Bo’s and inhaled the scents swirling around my bed: Owen’s sweat because he didn’t shower before he got into bed after returning home from his most recent business trip, the dark roast coffee, Bo’s baby detergent, and the formula that had dribbled onto his pajamas. If I could bottle this and save it and revisit it for the rest of my life just so I could remind myself how perfect things were at this moment, I would.

  “Oh yeah? What would you guys like to do for me?”

  “We want you to leave. See you tomorrow.”

  “Huh?” I asked. “What are you talking about? Where would you like me to go?”

  “I was thinking the Greenwich Hotel might be a nice place. Oh, and also SoulCycle, and Bliss, and Drybar. We think you should go there. You have time to eat something and shower, but then you need to get out of here because you can check in at noon and your spin class is at one.”

  “Wait, what? You’re serious? You’re sending me to a hotel? In the city?”

  “I wanted to give you something special to say thank you. You need to spend some time taking care of you. I know it’s been hard and you sometimes feel overwhelmed with everything here and I wanted to make sure you knew how much we love you and how important you are to us. Go pamper yourself. You used to spin with Antonia all the time back in Chicago, but you never go here. I know it won’t be the same without her, but you could still get a nice workout in, and then go get a facial and your hair blown out, treat yourself to dinner somewhere downtown . . .”

  “That’s where we stayed when we got engaged! That hotel was amazing!”

  “I know. I know how much you liked it. I also remember how much you liked the cookies, and the room service menu.”

  “Room service! Oh God, I could order room service! And go to sleep in a giant bed all by myself and wake up whenever I want!” I hadn’t done that since before Bo was born. It felt like a lifetime ago. In some ways, it was.

  “Anything you want. They have my card on file. Charge anything you want to the room, but you have reservations that will take up part of the afternoon, and if you’re serious about wanting to start looking for jobs, you should go shopping and get yourself some new clothes for interviews.”

  “You want me to go shopping, too?” I couldn’t believe what he was saying. This was every woman’s dream come true. I immediately imagined myself ransacking Bloomingdale’s and didn’t feel guilty about that at all.

  “Why not? You haven’t been since Bo was born, and if you’re going to be hunting for a job you’ll need some new clothes. It’s funny that I had this booked and you just mentioned the work thing. Perfect timing, huh?”

  “Yeah, but I haven’t totally decided on that, yet!”

  “It’s just a matter of time. Go ahead and buy a few new things. Enjoy yourself. I don’t want you to think about us even once.”

  “Impossible,” I said honestly.

  “True, but you can try.”

  “This is the most wonderful, amazing, thoughtful gift in the entire world and I can’t believe that you did this for me. Do you understand that a day alone to do nothing but pamper myself and sleep is better than a two-week trip to Bali? I mean that! I’m not even exaggerating!”

  “I know you’re not. And that makes me really happy. You deserve it. Now go get in the shower and pack a few things and come downstairs. I’ll pour you some coffee.”

  “You are the greatest husband in the entire world.”

  “Nah. I’m just smart enough to know that I need to show my wife I love her.”

  “You’ll be okay with Bo all by yourself?” I asked. I wanted to know that I was needed, but the never-ending neediness was what was making me want to throw on my Nikes and run like my hair was on fire. The constant emotional war I was waging against myself was really starting to get old.

  “Of course. It’ll be a guys’ day. I’m happy to have some quality time with the little man. Right, buddy?” Owen clapped his hands together gently in front of Bo and he mimicked him by clapping his own hands, a skill he’d discovered he could do earlier in the week. I’d sent Owen videos of him clapping and laughing and it was the most adorable thing in the entire world, but I knew that watching his son actually start to interact in person was infinitely better than anything I could capture on my iPhone. They should definitely sit in front of each other and clap for the next twenty-four hours until I returned. “Don’t forget your spin shoes,” he ordered.

  “I can rent them there!” I said. I had spin shoes somewhere, but I had no idea where. They got tucked away during the end of my pregnancy in Chicago when spinning became totally unenjoyable. I wasn’t even entirely sure they made the trip to Connecticut.

  “Good! One less thing to pack. Now, go get that gorgeous ass in the shower and go be a crazy single girl in Manhattan for the day.”

  “This is unreal,” I said. “I love you so much it hurts, you know that? Part of me hates to leave you because you’re just getting home. I haven’t seen you since Tuesday and now we won’t get to spend any time together today.”

  “Do you want me to cancel it?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t think so. We’ll have dinner this week. I’m not traveling again until next Thursday. You’re stuck with me until then.”

  “That’s not called being stuck. It’s called being lucky.”

  I POURED THE rest of the coffee from the coffeepot into my favorite mug, and looked outside at the beautiful spring morning. Two squirrels ran across the backyard playing, or maybe they were fighting, I wasn’t sure. I glanced at the plot of dirt where I was planning on planting tomato plants in May, which would be my first attempt at gardening in suburbia, and I realized that those squirrels were going to be the bane of my existence this summer. In Chicago, I worried about how I was going to find a parking space on the street outside my townhouse. In Connecticut, I worried about how to keep squirrels from snacking on my tomatoes. I couldn’t believe how much my life changed while I wasn’t paying attention.

  “Stop stalling,” Owen ordered. “We’ll be fine without you for a night. Have fun,” he said. “I really want you to relax and enjoy the quiet.”

  I leaned over the back of the chair where he was sitting, wrapped my arms around his neck, and buried my face in the crook of his neck, a place that seemed like it was molded to fit me perfectly. “You are
the best husband on earth,” I gushed.

  “Don’t I know it,” he answered. He ran his hand over my ponytail as I released him and scampered off. I grabbed my purse off the hook near the door.

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay without me for a night?”

  “We will be fine! I’ll see if my mother wants to stop by.”

  “Okay,” I said, the concept of a night in the city now even more appealing. Owen’s mother, Marcy, was not my biggest fan, though I had no idea why. The only reason I could come up with was that I was pretty sure she was one of those women who never thought anyone was good enough for her little boy despite the fact that her little boy was almost forty. She wore pantsuits, and fake pearls the size of golf balls, and she always had lipstick smeared on her front teeth. Her ash blond hair was way too light for her sallow complexion, and she basically bathed in an orchid-scented perfume that you could smell a block away. If she was coming, then I was definitely going, and fast.

  The rickety door clanged behind me. I descended the stairs of the porch down to the driveway, and climbed into my waiting chariot, which came in the form of a Volvo. I noticed the crocuses starting to peek up through the mud. It was only March, but you couldn’t miss the signs that winter was effectively over: heavy jackets swapped for cotton coats, the sounds of birdsong in the trees and car radios through open windows. Winters in Chicago were brutal, but my first winter on the East Coast hadn’t been bad at all. Of course, I had an infant, and therefore only left the house for appointments with the pediatrician, so my experience was limited.

  I drove south on I-95 toward the Cross Bronx Expressway that would eventually lead me down the West Side of Manhattan. I had only driven into the city three or four times in the last year, once because Owen made me so that I wouldn’t be afraid of driving in New York, and once because we went to see a play on Broadway and I missed the train I needed to take in order to get to the theater on time. We’d only been in Darien for seven months, and between the baby, and Owen traveling, it was hard to get out and find my bearings. Thank God for GPS, or I’d probably spend the next six months within three blocks of my house. I couldn’t help but be proud of myself; the Midwesterner cruising down I-95, crossing state lines into New York and heading downtown like it was absolutely no big deal. What had I been so afraid of?