I glanced over at the Walten Warrior bus. It was Ellie. She looked in my direction and stopped walking. She said something to one of the girls and came back toward the field.
So there I was, making chitchat with an overly exuberant coach when Ellie came over to us.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” I answered.
“Well, we’ve got to get truckin’.” The coach smiled and waved.
“Thanks!” I called to her.
Around us kids and parents were folding up their chairs, gathering their thermoses and not noticing the drama in the middle of the field.
“You never let me explain,” Ellie said, just as she’d said a month before.
“What did you need to explain?” I asked, trying to hide the pain still in my eyes.
“Marc is my soon-to-be ex-husband,” she said. “Do you have any idea how hard and expensive it is to get a divorce?”
I stared blankly at her.
“I wanted you to know,” she continued. “I planned to tell you. But I wanted to get to know you better. I wanted to make sure it would be okay. You weren’t some experiment to me.”
“What was I then?”
“Someone I was falling in love with,” Ellie said. It was so simple, so dramatic. And yet I couldn’t enjoy the moment because I was too busy feeling confused and awkward.
“I don’t know what to…”
She turned and headed back to the bus.
“Wait!” I called. “You’re just going to leave it like that?”
She turned around. “There’s one other thing, but I don’t think you can handle it.”
“Give me a chance!”
“Why?” She waited a moment, but I couldn’t speak, like those dreams you have where your legs are stuck and you can’t move. She turned around and kept walking.
I couldn’t believe she was walking away without another word. Then I heard Joe calling me, and I turned toward the truck. One quick final glance back at Ellie nearly stopped my heart. She again had her arm around the girl she’d spoken to earlier, and there was a young boy dragging behind them, holding her other hand. Ellie wasn’t riding on the bus. She got into her car with the two kids. Unless she was a foster parent or a really involved soccer coach, there was something even bigger than a husband that she neglected to mention. Two kids. And all I knew about them was that at least one of them played soccer.
That night I started what would be a flurry of emails: “You didn’t lie to me,” I wrote. “You just forgot to mention an entire family?”
“I heard your opinion of kids,” she shot back. “In Mystic. That you’d have no life. I was falling for you, and I wondered if you could change your mind if you got to know me. That’s why I invited you for the weekend in Vermont.”
“You messed with my head, telling me you loved me.”
“Tell me this…if you’d known I had kids, would you have written me back?”
I stared a long time at the blinking cursor. I guess that gave her the answer.
She wrote, “I didn’t think so.”
“You didn’t give me a chance,” I wrote. But it was a lie. I wouldn’t have gotten involved with anyone who had kids. I knew it. She knew it. My cat knew it. “So see what you did?”
Somehow I had to make this her fault.
She was now offline.
I was irrational, a crazed bee flitting about the apartment, wishing I could sting something.
I called Joanne and told her Ellie’s big secrets. Joanne laughed a long time.
“All right,” I snapped. “What’s so damn funny?”
“You and a woman with kids! You’d forget you had a cat if you didn’t occasionally trip over her.”
“What’s your point?”
There was an agonizing pause. “This could be kind of interesting karma. You, who swore you’d never have kids, meeting this…mom.”
“She lied to me,” I reminded her.
“She was right. She was smart. You wouldn’t have given her the time of day.”
It was true.
“So now what do I do?” I whined.
“There’s an expression,” she said. “Something like, ‘Life is what happens to you when you plan something else.’ So it doesn’t match your plans. So what?”
“But I’m not even a good aunt!” I protested. “I forget my own nephews’ birthdays. I suck with kids.”
“No, you don’t. You helped Cabbot put together that Lego thing.”
“The castle? It came with an instruction book.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“I’m easily overwhelmed,” I reminded her. “I need my anxiety meds to go into a Super Walmart.”
“You’re better at it than you think.” Joanne was suddenly calm, reflective. “I remember when Cabbie was three or four, and we were in that store. I took forever trying on outfits, and he was getting restless. You started popping wheelies with his stroller, getting him to giggle at himself in the mirror.”
“Yeah.” I remembered. “That got old really quick.”
“My point is, you had good instincts.”
But she was the only one who thought that I could be a parent. And maybe she was just saying it because she was my sister. There’s a rule in the sister handbook that you should always say the other one is good at something, no matter how far you have to reach to find it.
For the next few days, I moped. I went to work, then went back to the apartment to mope. I think Penny was getting frustrated. And I was tired of her sunny attitude. Just once I would have given anything to see Penny punch a wall or something.
“What do you think of me with…kids?” I asked.
She literally spit out her beer in the kitchen sink. “You’re gonna do artificial insem…uh,” she stammered.
“No. That ship has sailed. Ellie’s a mom.”
Penny studied me for a long time, searching for some answer in my eyes.
“Do you love her?” she finally asked.
“I think so. We were just getting to know each other. But this is so messed up.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” She assumed the Yoda pose again. “Not if you just let life happen.”
Chapter Sixteen
“The Discomfort Zone”
I was working again, and it didn’t matter if I was reporting on the local bake-off, the retirement center ballroom night or the Palmertown Piglets jump rope competition. I was saving up for the day I could take my life out of boxes and have a place of my own.
There was just one problem. I couldn’t get Ellie’s face out of my mind. I’d see her among the dancing couples at Flo’s. I’d see her in the coffee shop where I went to work on my blog. But worst of all, I’d see her every time I closed my eyes at night.
It wasn’t long before the Macy’s Parade was on TV, and the aromas of Thanksgiving filled Penny’s apartment. In the kitchen Penny and I were debating about the perfect stuffing, arguing over whose family recipe was the greatest.
“You know, you got tons of followers,” she repeated.
I shrugged, sampling her stuffing. “I like the raisins.”
“I’m serious,” she continued. “It’s really taking off. Maybe a publisher will want to put your blog into a book.”
I wouldn’t say I’d never considered that. But I kept any enthusiasm under wraps. I preferred to wear my sadness like a favorite shirt. It was comfortable, familiar, even if I was acting like a real Debbie Downer to my friends.
“Aren’t you excited about that?” Penny asked. “What if it happens?”
“That would be great.”
“Oh, don’t sound so thrilled.” She shook her head as she mixed real cranberries into the sauce.
“You do have a can version too?” I asked. “I mean, cranberry sauce out of a can is the true meaning of Thanksgiving.”
She nodded and smiled, opening the cabinet. Ah, yes. Thanksgiving was saved.
I started to set the dining room table and wondered what El
lie was doing. What if Joanne was right? What if I allowed life to just happen instead of trying to stick to a plan?
No, even though I missed her, I still didn’t want kids. I knew it in my gut. I wasn’t one of those people who drove by the park and, when seeing parents pushing their toddlers in swings, felt a sudden surge of baby jealousy. I didn’t want that life. Of course it looked like Ellie’s kids were a bit older than toddlers. I couldn’t tell ages very well, though. Age nine looked the same as ten or eleven to me.
The biggest truth of all was that when someone mentioned my turning forty and wondered how I felt about my biological clock, it never occurred to me. If I’d wanted something so badly, wouldn’t I have at least stopped to notice my age in terms of child-bearingness? But I didn’t. It never even crossed my mind. A lot of weird thoughts had crossed my mind over the years. Interestingly, that was never one of them.
Penny came in and saw me staring at a bowl of mashed potatoes. I quickly wiped my eyes and donned my party face.
“Almost forgot those cute little napkin rings,” I said. “What are they? Pilgrims or pumpkins?” I rushed toward the kitchen.
She stopped me.
“Call her,” she said. There was that wisdom again. “I’ve been writin’ to women on the Internet for what, two years now? Do you really want me to remind you about the airport?”
“No.”
“What I’ve learned,” she said, “is that life is short. If you find her, don’t let her go.”
“But she has…”
“Two of God’s greatest creations.”
Was she serious? They probably fought like wild dogs, whined when they didn’t get their way, made Ellie’s life a living hell. I thought of God’s greatest creations; among them had to be the Grand Canyon, not these two monsters I didn’t even know.
“I don’t want to hear about the kids,” Penny argued. “Be open-minded. You were once a kid.” She patted my shoulder the way she always did when she really meant something.
That afternoon everyone finally arrived. First came Ariel, who refrained from talking about our chakras for a change. She looked like she was wearing a burlap sack dress and brought us a bowl of organic hummus. She took my hands in hers.
“I’m feeling you’re conflicted,” she spoke in a hushed tone.
“Yeah,” I laughed. “Trying to decide which beer I want to start with.”
“I meant what I said when I read the flower. She’s a good person,” Ariel repeated.
I looked down, unable to talk about it. This was what depression felt like, and it lasted longer than I’d expected. But I couldn’t fold it up neatly and put it away like the laundry. So I strained to smile through my mask of gloom.
Next came Ruth Lassiter, the school crossing guard, who liked to wear an orange safety vest and say things like “secure the perimeter.” I think she was a frustrated cop who never went to the police academy. She was incredibly tall and always tucked her shirts into athletic swishy pants. She wore a whistle and spoke gruffly even when she was in a good mood. We’d all taken bets on whether or not she was gay, but she insisted she had a boyfriend in Italy, Antonio, who was never able to visit because of visa problems. No one would argue with her. I think we were all afraid to.
“Congratulations on living together,” Ruth said, shoving a six-pack at us.
“Oh, Penny and I aren’t—” I stumbled over my words.
“Oh, okay. Well, it’s been a while since we caught up. I didn’t know what you meant by ‘living together.’” She did air quotes.
“No, we’re good friends,” Penny confirmed. “Very good.”
“Maybe you should be more,” Ruth mused, chomping on tortilla chips. “You’re both cute.”
“We’re just friends,” I said again.
“Hard to tell with you gay chicks,” she joked.
Then two of my dearest friends finally showed up in their SUV. Morgan and Fran, who had been together so long they were thought of as more of a unit like Morgafran or Franamorg, still looked the same and were still bickering as they’d always done. They lived up in Vermont in a barn that had been converted to a house. They were the kind of lesbians who lived off the land and were so loyal, so caring, the day we met, when I was newly out, I knew we’d be friends for life. They never spoke a bad word about my ex, no matter what they actually thought. But they were shoulders to cry on when I needed them most.
How they argued with each other was something legendary. From outside I could hear them.
“Don’t start with me again!” Fran shouted.
“Nobody’s starting with anybody! I just said we could bring something from the goddamn farm, not the same old fizzy piss!”
“Morgan, they like beer! I’m not listening to you anymore! This is why I didn’t take your name!”
“Who asked you to take it?”
“I could have, but I didn’t!” Fran hollered.
Then the doorbell rang.
“How you holdin’ up?” Morgan asked. She was a plump, sometimes temperamental butch with a jolly face and fuzzy brown hair. She hugged me hard like my grandma used to, squeezing the life out of me and pushing my face into her puffy, down vest. Of course it was navy. She always wore navy.
“I’m good,” I said, taking the case of beer from her.
Next came Fran, smiling. She had platinum hair spiked and sprayed so much it would hurt you if you touched it. She had the heart of an activist and came across like a gentle dove.
“Hey,” I said. “I like your coat.”
It was a long, black wool coat, the kind my sister wore when she came up to visit. I’d rarely seen Fran in anything other than a hoodie.
I, on the other hand, had gone with my simple black turtleneck, the color of the Grim Reaper.
She hugged me and stepped back to appraise me.
“Wow,” she responded. “It’s been almost a year.”
“I know.”
“You’ve got to come up sometime soon,” Fran said.
“Actually, I was there not too long ago. The Rooster Inn.” I lowered my eyes.
“That stodgy place?” Morgan bellowed. “What, were your grandparents visiting?”
“They’re dead,” I replied.
“Oh, sorry.” Morgan’s eyes darted at Fran, who was giving her the death stare.
“It was a mistake, the whole trip,” I explained. “I didn’t know what kind of place it was.”
“Real stuffy,” Morgan said. “Old people love it.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t give a call while I was there. I had a lot going on.” They followed me into the kitchen. “There’s been so much with the new job and all.”
“That’s good, right? You like the work?” Morgan’s hands were planted on her hips.
“It’s all right.” I didn’t sound very convincing. I started pulling various beers out of the cooler.
“Sometimes I still can’t believe you and Val are over,” Fran said.
“Don’t,” Morgan warned.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I know what you mean. I’ll have dreams that we’re still together, and I wake up and we’re not. But honestly, when I wake up I’m relieved.”
“I still remember meeting you guys at that lesbian poetry slam.”
“Yeah,” I laughed. “None of us even liked poetry.”
Fran’s gaze was distant, her smile twisted, as she reflected on that night. “She was all over you like white rice.”
It had been so long since I’d seen them that I’d almost forgotten how much Fran loved to use popular expressions. Just one problem—she never said them correctly. Everyone knew what she meant, but Morgan couldn’t let it go. Morgan had an annoying need to get everything perfect. Exact. Precise. Together, they were a human atom bomb.
This also explained their incessant fighting for the past nine years.
Morgan rolled her eyes. “It’s white on rice.”
“What does that mean?” Fran retorted.
“Nobody says like
white rice, unless it’s unusually sticky or something.” Morgan begged me for help. “Can you explain this?”
I’d always thought that deep down inside, Morgan was a frustrated English teacher.
“You’re on your own,” I laughed and left the kitchen. Their bickering reminded me how much I missed them.
As the night trudged on, I found myself looking up at the brilliant full moon from the deck, blowing smoke in the chilly air and wanting to share scenery like this with Ellie. My heart hurt.
Maddie cornered me on the deck. “What’s up? You can tell me.”
“Nothing is up. Really. Let’s talk about you. What’s going on with you?”
“Oh, the old turn-the-tables thing.” She sounded a little drunk. “There is someone kind of cute. She’s an anesthesiologist. We ran into each other in the hall. I was getting ready to put in an IV.” She stared off dreamily.
“There’s nothing like a romance that starts with an IV,” I mused. “Miss never-gonna-date again.”
“I didn’t say we’re dating. I don’t even know if she’s gay. She’s probably married or something.” Maddie glanced at Penny through the open sliding door. “You need help?”
“Nah, I’m good.” She was rinsing dishes.
Maddie shivered. “What the hell are we doing out here?”
That was my cue to lead us back inside. I closed the slider.
“You should bring Ariel to the hospital,” I suggested. “She has great gaydar.”
Ariel raised her beer in agreement.
“Gaydar is bullshit,” Maddie announced. “Now what’s with the mom you won’t date ’cause she’s a mom?”
“That’s not it,” I said, realizing that the living room noise was suddenly quiet and several pairs of eyes were on me. I didn’t want to seem shallow. “Okay, it kind of is. But isn’t it good to know who you are and what your limits are, so you don’t ruin another person’s life?” Funny, it sounded like such a good argument when I’d kept it inside my head.
But everyone descended on me like a pack of wild dogs.
“If she makes you happy…” Penny yelped.
“You emailed us a while back,” Morgan joined in. “You said you were falling in love. You’ve never said that, not even about, you know.” She exchanged knowing glances with Fran.
The Comfortable Shoe Diaries Page 11