City Mouse

by Lender, Stacey;

  I almost mentioned the hot tub party one afternoon when I was picking up Phoebe from a playdate at Alyson’s but I knew there was little upside to pressing for the truth about my missing invite. She seemed a little distracted that day anyway, snapping at Priya for not folding the towels just so. I decided it was best to chalk it all up to an oversight versus a blatant snub and finally let it go.

  Besides, I didn’t want anyone to think my new fervor for volunteerism might not be rooted in anything but the purest of altruistic intentions. So I continued my experiment of how few hours I could actually sleep and still function—finding out after a brief yet brutal bout of bronchitis that the answer was five—and convinced myself it was all worth it to feel included again.

  * * *

  Valentine’s Day fell on a Saturday and when we asked Phoebe where she wanted to eat, she said Firehouse. I couldn’t believe she had even remembered it.

  Back when we lived in the city, whenever we asked her where we should go out to dinner she always picked Firehouse, a bar-restaurant located a few blocks from our apartment—probably because she got to play with real dough while waiting for her personal pan pizza and the waitress always hung up her crayon-colored masterpieces on the wall behind the bar. Pre-Phoebe, it had also been one of Aaron and my favorite spots, the place where our coed football team used to squeeze around an outdoor table crowded with hot wings and cheese fries and pitchers of Bud Light to dull our weekend-warrior pain, reliving the incredible plays of the day and feeling lucky to be buzzed and bruised on a Sunday afternoon with nowhere else to be but right there.

  Even though it meant a drive back into the city on a nonwork day, we hadn’t been back to our old neighborhood since we moved. And while Firehouse wasn’t exactly the white-tableclothed, slightly more upscale Valentine’s dinner I was hoping for, I was excited Phoebe had picked it—and especially thankful she hadn’t chosen her current favorite restaurant, Chuck E. Cheese.

  We found a spot at a broken meter two blocks up, and when we walked in I wondered if we had made a mistake in coming. While the rest of the restaurants we had passed were already crowded with dressed-up couples dining together, Firehouse was empty except for a few men at the bar peering up at the Knicks game. As I was about to suggest redirecting to Patsy’s Pizzeria down the block instead, Aaron must have seen the look on my face and said, “It’s way early, Jess. And look, we can pick any table we want.”

  Phoebe picked a booth in the back. We ordered two Miller Lites and two Shirley Temples, “With four cherries!” said Phoebe, and we put in for the girls’ pizza. Big-screen TVs played sports from every sightline and real fire helmets and jackets hung on the walls—nothing had changed a bit, which was comforting but also slightly unsettling to me. “It feels funny being back here,” I said. “Almost like we never left.”

  Aaron nodded, looking down in the menu. “Should I get the chicken burrito or the burger?”

  I sighed; I wasn’t in the mood for bar fare. But I found one of my old favorites on the menu, the buffalo chicken salad and a side of cheesy waffle fries. While the girls started coloring their firedog sheets, I took a sip of beer and started to relax.

  “I feel like I haven’t seen you,” I said to Aaron.

  “You’re seeing me now,” he responded with a wry smile. “Hi.”

  I noticed he hadn’t shaved. Not that it mattered for a dinner like this, but he had a few days of scruff going and his eyes looked a little more tired than usual. Maybe it was the dim lighting. “Are you thinking about growing out your beard again?”

  “My beard? I don’t know,” he said, and bent over to retrieve Madison’s fallen yellow crayon.

  “You should.” I liked it when Aaron grew a beard: a short one, groomed close to his skin. A beard added a shade of sexy to his boy-next-door cuteness. As long as he didn’t shave it into another goatee. The summer after Phoebe was born he had decided to try one out, and I hated how the hairy outline turned his smile sinister, like a villain in a Saturday-morning cartoon.

  His eyes drifted to the basketball game behind my head. “He shoots, he scores!”

  “He scores!” Phoebe echoed, and then held up her scribbled-in coloring sheet. “Daddy, what do you think?”

  “I love it, cutie, I love it.”

  Madison was still concentrating on her drawing and I was amazed how carefully she was able to keep the colors in the lines. “Keep it up, Maddie,” I encouraged her, and reached over to steal a cherry from her drink.

  Aaron and I talked through a few house items including the three a.m. research I had finally completed for some more reasonably priced possibilities for our still-not-purchased outdoor grill. “We have to put in an order soon if we want to have everything in place by June.”

  “We have to decide now for June?”

  “I know, but if we still want to use Jeff’s stone guy we have to get on his schedule. You wouldn’t believe how busy these stone guys get once the spring hits. At least that’s what Alyson told me. Have you talked to Jeff lately?”

  “He keeps e-mailing me about basketball but it’s been impossible.” I knew with Aaron’s insane work schedule he had only made their weekly game a handful of times. And I didn’t even want to think about our gym membership. Our amortized cost per visit was probably up to triple digits by now.

  “Alyson said something the other day at the auction meeting about all the husbands going to a Knicks game at the Garden in a few weeks. You didn’t mention anything—are you going?”

  “We’ll see. I think I have to be in Chicago that week. I finally landed a meeting with that guy who said he might be interested in joining the board. Could be big.”

  He had been chasing that contact down for a while but I really wasn’t in the mood to talk about work. “Back to Chicago,” I said coolly.

  “If it’s a lunch, I might be able to make it a day trip. We’ll see.”

  “I forgot to e-mail you, we have plans for a couples’ dinner next Friday. Jeff’ll be there, so you can ask him about the stone guy then—and also Ivy and Drew. I think our reservation’s at 7:30, at Brady’s.”

  He made a face.

  “What? I thought you liked Brady’s the last time we were there.”

  “I just don’t understand why we have to hang with these people every single weekend. Isn’t there anyone else for us to go out with?”

  “What are you talking about, anyone else. These are our friends.” These are our only friends.

  Aaron grumbled and finished off the last few bites of his burrito.

  After dinner, I revealed Phoebe and Madison’s Pooh Valentines and chocolate heart cupcakes and they squealed with delight. Cards weren’t Aaron’s thing; they never had been, and on most birthdays and holidays I was fine with it. I knew card-buying was not on the same allele as athletic ability and I had chosen sports prowess over sentiment. Aaron had some romantic in him, deep down; in my night table I still had a few little love notes he had scribbled on flower deliveries in the early months of our relationship. I looked across the table: it was our ninth Valentine’s Day together and he was staring off into the World Series of Poker reruns on the screen. I slipped a red envelope to the edge of his fingertips. “I got one for you too,” I said.

  “Thanks.” He looked down at the card and then up at me. “You’re not mad I didn’t get one for you, are you?”

  “Don’t be silly. Open it.” I forced a smile but couldn’t help feeling a small pang of sadness to be the only one at the table sans Valentine.

  He smiled at the joke inside, dating back to our honeymoon. “You’re the best,” he said. Not I love you?

  “I think we need a night away.” The idea had just popped into my head but all of sudden I wanted that night. Badly. “The two of us alone, without the kids. Maybe in an inn somewhere upstate.”

  “We have a whole house. Why do we need to go to an inn?”

  “We used to go away for weekends. To Newport. Cape May. You used to surprise me on Fridays after
work, remember? Pick me up in the car and not tell me where we were going?” Back when we were romantic.

  “But I want to be home on the weekends to see the kids. And you, of course,” he added. “And when they’re asleep we’re alone . . .”

  “Yeah, until Phoebe comes marching in at two in the morning and ends up sprawled across our bed, kicking me all night.”

  “I don’t kick you, Mommy,” Phoebe said. “I’m sleeping.”

  Aaron smiled. “She’s so damn cute though. Aren’t you, Phoebe? Madison, you can’t fit that whole cupcake in your mouth at one time.”

  “Milky, Mommy,” Madison said, and I dug into my bag for her sippy cup.

  “I can’t even remember the last time we spent a night away together,” I went on. “Before Phoebe was born. Almost four years ago. You’ve been traveling so much and I . . .” I felt myself starting to get upset but held it in.

  Aaron peered at me across the table with a tenderhearted expression that usually turned me into putty. But I wasn’t feeling it, not even a little.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “You don’t sound like you tonight.”

  He was right. I hated the way I sounded, the nagging wife, and on Valentine’s Day no less. I wanted to tell him that I was mad that he didn’t get me a card. And that I was tired of him jetting off to Chicago and California all the time and making me feel like one of those lonely and needy women I swore I’d never be.

  “I’m just burnt out,” I said instead. “I shouldn’t have taken on all this auction stuff with everything so crazy at work.” And I miss you. I miss us, I thought, but I didn’t want to say it out loud. Not with the kids; not at Firehouse. “And I hate how it gets dark so early. I wish it was time to turn the clocks ahead already.”

  “Now I know what to get you for Valentine’s Day. Vitamin D.”

  “Very funny. I’m serious, Aaron, let’s put a weekend on the calendar, in March sometime. I could ask my parents to come up and watch the kids, or even your parents. Or Noreen could sleep over, we could ask her.”

  “Noreen is NOT staying over,” he said. “Look, if you want to go away together—of course we can do it.”

  “Promise?” I felt my mood starting to soften.

  “Do you want me to pinky swear? Yes, yes, I promise. Now let’s get these sugar-riled kids in the car. We still have a damn hour’s drive to get home.”

  Chapter ten

  We were lollygagging at the front door of the school one Friday when I was actually able to make it to pickup, and I asked if anyone wanted to go to the Clark Recreation Center playground. The mid-March air was still a little chilly, but all winter we’d been confined to basement playrooms and I figured everyone would jump at the chance to play outside. It was definitely warm enough for a run around a playground. “I read in the Journal News they just finished renovating it,” I said.

  “You actually read the Journal News?” Tami said. “You and my eighty-year-old great-aunt Lucille.”

  But Tami had to take Connor to the pediatrician and Ivy had a meeting with her kitchen designer and Alyson wriggled her nose and said, “No thanks.”

  On our way to the car, on a whim I texted Michelle to see if she and her daughter might be free. But she quickly texted back, Sorry, try me again next time, she was stuck waiting for the plumber to fix one of the locker room showers.

  I had already mentioned the playground possibility to Phoebe and didn’t want to disappoint her. So even though it was just the two of us, I decided to go anyway.

  On the drive over Phoebe was quiet. “Maybe next time Emmy will come,” I said.

  “Emmy’s not my friend,” Phoebe replied matter-of-factly.

  “What? You play with Emmy practically every day. Of course she’s your friend.”

  “She said Lexi’s her new best friend.” Lexi was a new girl who had recently moved to Suffern and joined their class.

  “That can’t be,” I said, wondering if Emmy was actually capable at age three of saying something so mean. “You know what? I’ll call Emmy’s mommy when we get home. I’m sure it’ll all be fine. Plus, you have lots of friends. What about, um . . .” I strained to remember the names of some of her other classmates—shit! I was not in the playdate loop. “Like, Brianna?” I glanced in the rearview mirror at Phoebe staring out the window looking sad. “Anyway, we’re going to have a great time today. Madison’s with Noreen this afternoon so it’s just you and me. It’s a mommy playdate!”

  That made her smile.

  I expected the playground to be overrun with kids, but as we entered the gate I saw only a few children scattered on the huge wooden adventure area with bridges and tunnels and poles to climb. Along the perimeter sat rows of empty big-kid swings and a giant slide which I thought looked too tall for Phoebe, but she ran right up, undaunted, and screamed out happily as she slid down. I took in a breath of the fresh air and gazed at the beautiful view of the mountains behind us and felt happy we came.

  A few women sat chatting on the benches. I walked toward them and could hear they were speaking Spanish and I immediately thought, Nannies—and then chided myself for making that snap assumption. At the playgrounds in the city I used to hear a million different dialects, Spanish and Portuguese and Russian and German, spoken by mothers and nannies and grandparents. Since when had I let my ears start to cloud my brain?

  I watched Phoebe climb up to the rings.“Be careful!” I shouted. But she swung easily from rung to rung and then ran over to the line that had formed for the slide and patiently waited her turn. I couldn’t believe she was three and a half already. Going on four. And that Madison in a few months would be two and in preschool herself come September.

  A few minutes later, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I saw I had missed two calls and my office was trying again. I quickly picked up to Megan’s exasperated voice: “Aren’t you joining us on the call?” My silence spoke my question and she said, “You know, the call to review the final plan for opening night? Marco just asked if you were on.”

  I had totally forgotten. “Yes, of course—I’ll hang up and dial in right now. But I’m not in a quiet place—why don’t you take the lead?”

  I redialed into the conference line and said a quick hello before putting myself on mute. I stood there holding the phone to my ear, craning to hear the six other people on the line with the playground noise around me. I saw Phoebe run back up the ladder of the slide.

  “Mommy, look!” she yelled, waving from the top. She was up so high, Too high, I thought, and as I waved back I held my breath for what seemed like a very long second before she sat and slid down safely.

  “Mommy has to work for a few minutes, sweetie,” I called over to her. “Please be careful.”

  I did a quick scan to get a lay of the land. The playground was fenced in—beyond the swings, there were picnic tables and, from what I could see, only one exit. Phoebe would be safe to run around for a few minutes while I quickly listened in on the call.

  But the conversation dragged. Indecision about the color of the table skirting—should it be black or navy? The garnish on the drink special—a lemon twist or lime? Did we confirm an alcohol sponsor yet? No. What’s the holdup? Then Marco insisted on going down the guest list line by line, discussing who had and who had not yet RSVP’d. His focus on the most minute details was excruciating—our agency had thrown these parties a million times—there had to be a way to get off the call without the telltale beep of my departure.

  “Mommy, I need you,” Phoebe said. “I want to go on there.” She pointed to the monkey bars, which were a good four feet off the ground.

  “One more minute,” I promised, reflexively putting my hand over the mouthpiece even though I was on mute. “Let me finish this and I promise we’ll go on the monkey bars. I can’t believe you’re such a big girl and you can go down that slide all by yourself. Let me see you do that again.”

  A proud look spread across Phoebe’s face as she realized what a big girl she was.
/>   “What do you think, Jessica?” I heard Marco ask.

  I quickly got off mute, hoping a child would not scream at that moment. “Sorry, I’ve got a bad connection here. Can you repeat that?”

  He asked his question again about whether four people up front with the press list was enough, and he sounded annoyed. Even though I thought four was too many I quickly said, “Yes, that’s perfect,” and put the phone back on mute, reminding myself to listen more closely and how unprofessional it would be to be outed on a call from the playground. But he kept talking and talking—it felt like the call was going on forever, like it was the longest conference call in the history of all conference calls. I looked at my watch—it had been almost thirty minutes already—how much longer could we possibly discuss the freaking party?

  Phoebe ran over to me again. “I need you, Mommy,” she said.

  “Just one more minute, I’m really, really sorry, sweetie, I’m almost done. One more time on the slide, let me see you do it one more time.”

  Instead, she ran over to the adventure area and started climbing in and out of the wooden tunnels. For a second I lost sight of her but then spotted her little pigtails bobbing in and out again.

  Less than a minute later she came over again and I could tell from her grimace that she was getting impatient. “MOMMY! I SAID I NEED YOU!” she yelled.

  And as I was about to open my mouth to give her yet another hollow promise of almost being done, she spread her legs apart and I saw a dark wet shadow emerge down her pants and then a puddle pool at her feet.

  Out of my peripheral vision I noticed two women looking over, at first with pity and then disapproval. Serves you right, I heard them thinking. And they were right. There I stood, the bad mom in the playground, phone glued to my ear instead of paying attention to my child. And now she had peed.

  “I’ve got to go,” I said into the muted receiver, and hung up. Tears were streaming down Phoebe’s face as she tried to suppress embarrassed sobs.