Condemn Me Not

by Dianne Venetta

  Why did Mariah hate her so much? What had she done to deserve this level of animosity?

  All she ever wanted for her daughter, for herself, was the power of independence. Since when was that a bad thing? Memories of her own mother’s perfectly coiffed hair and made-up face twisted in her mind’s eye. Her mother never worked a day in her life, unless you counted one year at the law firm, work. But that didn’t count. Her mom quit before she ever got started. Instead, she volunteered at her local library, donated her time and money to the local food banks, carted kids from activity to activity while her housekeeper cared for the cleaning and laundry. And then of course there was the show—perfume and smiling face to meet her husband upon his arrival home.

  Simone punched the pillow into shape beneath her head. Her mother was probably afraid her husband would divorce her, leaving her with nothing. Nothing—because she never achieved anything on her own. She had a law degree, but rather than practice and earn a living, she traded it for a “Mrs.” degree.

  Which Simone never understood. How could an intelligent woman go through life entirely dependent on her spouse? Luckily for her mom, she and her dad remained married to this day, but had he decided otherwise... What would she have done?

  What could she have done?

  Simone shuddered to think of how different things would have been. It was a prospect she had outright rejected for herself. She would never be dependent on a man for her income. It’s why she worked so hard for her grades, graduating with honors from Brown University. It’s why she’d been discussing college with Mariah since the day she set foot in kindergarten. Education mattered. Independence was critical. Yes, people made it in this life without an education, but they were the exception, not the rule. Mariah was a smart girl, Simone would grant her that. Nor did she lack for guts. But when it came to accurately judging people and situations around her, the girl tended to be a bit naïve.

  Logan was a good-looking boy, but he had more ego than sense, which made for a bad combination. Confidence emboldened. Ego blinded. Who would make the decisions when it came to the business? Who would decide how to service customers, how and when to expand operations? Did they even have the first clue on how to proceed?

  Simone pressed her eyes closed. There was so much that went into starting a business. If they thought they could simply come up with an idea and slip it into practice like a coin in the soda machine, they were sorely mistaken. Simone breathed in deeply and slowly released, forcing the building anxiety to vacate her chest. It was the making of a disaster.

  CLAIRE AND JIM

  “So much for the women’s movement,” Jim grumbled into the oval mirror above his sink. “Pitting woman against woman, choice against choice.” He smacked his razor to the marble vanity. “Should have been called the career women’s movement, the way they treat you stay-at-home mothers.”

  “Jim!”

  He met her head-on. “Well, you know it’s true. They don’t support you. You, who work harder than anyone I know—twenty-four/seven—and still they have the gall to say, ‘You don’t work, you stay home.’ As though you’re sitting around the house all day twiddling your thumbs.” Jim spewed a sigh of disgust. “If they only had a clue. They think because they have a job and bring home a paycheck they’re more equal with their husbands than you are—as if you and I aren’t equal partners.”

  Claire knew he was right. It was a sticky point between her and Simone and always had been. The minute she revealed her decision to quit her design job to stay home with Rebecca, Simone had instantly questioned, You’re not going to work?

  As though caring for an infant wasn’t work, and twins weren’t twice as hard. As though she had no value outside of her career. Claire opened a bottle of perfume and spritzed her neck and shoulders. As though keeping a house clean and her family fed didn’t require effort, didn’t denote worth. She replaced the cap and returned it to the cosmetic caddy in the corner of her counter. Simone paid a nanny to care for her daughter—her one child. She paid a housekeeper to clean the house, do the laundry. Dinner was taken care of by Mitchell, and if that wasn’t help enough, Simone had a full-time assistant at the office, one who Claire knew for a fact ran personal errands on her employer’s behalf.

  “Simone couldn’t handle the demands of your life,” Jim said, dabbing his jaw with a cream-colored hand towel. “I doubt if she even knows where the vacuum is kept.” Depositing the towel onto the counter, he walked out of the bathroom.

  Immersed in the sweet fragrance of lilies and jasmine hanging in the air around her, Claire folded the towel and draped it over the short bar to the left of his mirror. She suspected there might be some truth to that last statement, but Jim was wrong about the debate in general. While there were times her life felt like it revolved around dishes and diapers, she knew it was the women’s movement that gave her the opportunity to choose. Noting a small smudge on her medicine cabinet, Claire wiped at it with the pad of her thumb. Mission accomplished, she mused, and switched off the light, trailing Jim into their bedroom.

  Claire originally chose a career in design, and then she chose to forego it for title of mother and wife. For her it was about prioritizing the components of life—the one area of the women’s movement with which she disagreed. Selling women on the notion that they could have career and family was a myth. To claim they could be both top-notch mom and ace career woman was just plain wrong. There was only so much of you to go around, and whether it was your husband, your kids, your employer or your career track, someone or something was getting short-changed. Trying to be a “Jane of all trades” was a losing proposition, like Jane tumbling down the hill after Jack.

  Hearing Jim rustle around in the walk-in closet, Claire collected her reading glasses from the nightstand and stowed them away in the drawer. Jane probably fell because the pail of water she was carrying was too full—like Simone’s pail of obligations. Without the money to hire a nanny, a housekeeper, and the fortune of a husband with a flexible schedule like Mitchell’s, Simone wouldn’t be able to manage her high-powered career.

  No. It was simply impossible. A goal worth striving for, maybe, but physically unattainable.

  “And what about the fathers?” Jim asked, not missing a beat as he swept back into the room. “These women act as though we don’t matter, like we’re dispensable.”

  “Oh honey, you’re not dispensable.”

  “I know that, and you know that, but some of these women...” He glanced away, sparing her the full brunt of his contempt. “They act as though we’re nothing but sperm donors.”

  “No, they don’t.” She walked over to him and smoothed the material of his shirt across his chest, feeling the round of his muscles beneath, those of a man ten years his junior. “They’re just focused on themselves and their part in the equation.” Claire moved her gaze across his, imploring him to listen. “It doesn’t mean they’re negating your contribution.”

  “It takes two parents to raise a family.” Jim held up the number of fingers between them. “Two. Yet some of these women purposefully cut the man out.” He bore the point home as he added, “Women walk around with a sense of entitlement, as though the world owes them. I blame the women’s movement for that.”

  She sighed. “That’s not entirely fair, you know.”

  “Isn’t it? Then why are these women raising children on their own? Why are they traipsing about as though they don’t need men to have kids? I’ve got news for them—those little darlings of theirs didn’t come about by Immaculate Conception.”

  “Some women don’t have a choice,” Claire defended. “Single mothers do their level best to raise their children to become fine, upstanding adults and it’s through no fault of their own that they’re left handling it alone.”

  “Because of divorce—I’ll give you. But some of them start off without a father involved, straight from the get go.” Jim’s eyes darkened. “Intentionally. And they’re cheating their kids when they do so.”

&nb
sp; “You can’t blame a woman for wanting a child.”

  “I’m blaming a society that accepts it so easily. I’m blaming a movement that encourages single-parent adoption. I’m blaming those females too self-centered to care about what others think, because they want what they want and that’s the end of it. They feel they should have it. Well they’re wrong. Kids need two parents, plain and simple.”

  Claire agreed with Jim on that point, but blaming women for single parenthood wasn’t fair. Women had rights to their reproductive choices and parenting choices and it was the women’s movement that enabled them to exercise those rights. But it was a double-edged liberty. Children did need two parents. They learned how to become men and women by emulating their same sex parents but they also learned how to treat and be treated by the opposite sex from their opposite sex parent.

  Claire watched her husband walk out of the room, en route to the kitchen, no doubt. His routine was as steady as they come. But it was precisely his steadfast presence that meant so much to the family. Rebecca wouldn’t be who she was today without a man in her life, a man who loved her deeply, without restraint. It affected how she’d choose a man for herself one day.

  The same went for the twins. They were maturing into strong, responsible men because of their father. They understood duty and commitment. They treated women with warm respect and high regard because of their parents’ relationship. The boys were loved, and they valued that love. It formed the basis for how they would love others in the future.

  Glancing at the framed portraits scattered across the top of her dresser, Claire cherished the photos as a visual journal, testaments of love and joy. One look at the relationship between Simone and Mariah should underscore the point. There were consequences to spending so much time away. Whether it was the man or the woman, spending days and nights chasing corporate success parlayed into turmoil and trouble on the home front. Kids reacted to a parent’s absence. While the parent thought they were saying, “I’m working hard for you, ensuring you have everything you need in life,” the child heard, “My job is more important to me than you are, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep it.”

  Claire blew the breath from her lungs. Which was a shame. The only thing kids really needed was quality time with their parent. They needed it to bond, to love...to live. While Simone was busy setting the example as independent working woman, her daughter was crying out for emotional support and encouragement. Three hours at the end of the day wasn’t nearly enough time to develop a deep and abiding relationship. The child needed more. The parent needed more.

  Falling back to their previous conversation, it was no wonder Simone didn’t understand Claire’s distress over Rebecca’s leaving. For Simone, it was the next logical step—but only in part. The goal of raising a child was to create an independent adult, Claire would agree. It was her job to instill in them an internal compass that would guide them through the maze of life, but it was also to create a loving bond that would flourish for generations to come. Without a close connection to Mariah, distance meant nothing. In Simone’s eyes the child was moving on to her next stage in life, all according to plan. There’d be time enough for visits and relating on the new level as adults.

  Claire rubbed the tiny red dot at the crux of her elbow. But life doesn’t always unfold according to plan. Sometimes it dumps direction-altering obstacles in your path.

  Jim returned to the room, coffee in hand and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I’ll pick you up around nine, okay?”

  She nodded. Simone was supposed to take her to the lab today, but under the circumstances, Claire didn’t feel like suffering through any more of her lectures on what she should have done. She only wanted to focus on what she needed to do next.

  # # #

  That afternoon, alone in her living room, a pillow tucked beneath her arm, Claire held the framed portrait of Sarah in her lap. Smiling up at her from beneath the glass, the familiar face invoked a pain of longing, one that burned as sharp as ever, transporting her back to the day she watched her sister leave for the last time. It had been the hardest thing she’d dealt with at that point in her life. Fifteen years ago, without warning, without regret, Sarah had kissed her sister goodbye and announced she was moving to Scotland. After following Claire’s path to Brown University, Sarah opted to spend her last year of college abroad—in London, home to William Earlthrop the Third and his esteemed family, four steps removed from royalty. The two were married within the year and Sarah never looked back.

  Now, two sisters lived oceans apart, worlds away; a phone line insufficient to keep their hearts tied as one. Claire didn’t blame Sarah. Not really. The two had once shared similar dreams for their future. But only Sarah had materialized hers, traveling the world as a professional photographer, capturing the essence of life, the romance of natural wonders, from amazing sunsets to mysterious encased valleys. Landscapes were Sarah’s specialty. Flowers and color in particular, but what she could do with a coastal shot would blow people away. More than talented, she had the incredible ability to capture the human spirit with the press of a button. If she wanted you to cry, you would. If she wanted to elevate your heart, you’d end up in heaven. If she wanted to sink you in the depths of contemplation, you’d crave for days of solitude. Why, if she wanted you to jump off a jagged cliff, you’d think about it. Claire traced the line of cheekbone in the image she held. It’s what drew Sarah to England in the first place. From the high country of Scotland to the emerald island of Ireland, Sarah was in her element, living her passion. Claire’s face crumpled in tears.

  But a man will do that to you. They’ll change the entire course of your life, if you let them. Jim had turned her dreams into a family. Will had turned Sarah’s into a cosmopolitan adventure. Claire moved her fingertip around the full face, the lazy tendrils of golden brown hair. Sarah’s work was well-known. Overseas, she was a superstar, with only a select few galleries authorized to handle her collection here in the States. While Claire was happy for her sister, she was depressed for herself. Before Jim, Sarah was her other half. Claire’s tears blurred her vision.

  It was a connection she missed. Simone was a good friend, their relationship as thorny as it was beautiful, but Sarah was family. They came from the same stock, shared the same blood. Family streamed through the hearts and souls of generations. It was the same with Rebecca. And now she was leaving, too.

  Claire didn’t want to cry, the tears depleting as they flowed. She wanted to be happy, positive. She wanted to be willful and strong. But she couldn’t help it. Thinking of Rebecca so far away hurt her heart.

  Was Simone right? Was Claire staring down a future of emptiness and regret? Would she be banished to a land of “why didn’t I?”

  Not that she regretted marrying Jim—she didn’t. But to be honest, there were days it felt like she spent so much time listening to him and the kids that she might as well have dissolved into the wallpaper becoming one more daisy in the sunny repetitive pattern of daily life. It wasn’t as if Jim didn’t listen to her, he did. One hundred percent focus, one hundred percent of his ear. Claire knew she had one hundred percent of his heart. But her primary role in the family was one of support. She supported him and the business. She supported the kids and their endeavors. She supported the family unit as a whole.

  What if she had been out working? What if she had been designing or painting, or displaying Sarah’s photographs within her very own gallery? Was it too much to believe her family would have stood behind her, supported her the way Mitchell and Mariah supported Simone? And Mariah did support her mother. For all the grief she dumped on Simone, Claire understood that the girl loved her, admired her—in fact, craved her approval. Theirs was a rocky relationship, but only because the two boasted horns and tempers most bulls would envy. They were doers, fighters; yet their hearts remained doggedly in the right place. Both ached to achieve, ached to be recognized. Their biggest fear was going unnoticed.

  Claire sniffl
ed heartily as she took a deep breath, the action stress-relieving in and of itself. She brought Sarah’s picture to rest against her breast, the hard lines of the wooden frame comforting next to her heart. Life was about choices. She and Simone only diverged on how one went about securing achievement, recognition.

  Bowing her head, Claire closed her eyes. She had no doubt that Simone and Mariah would get through this rough spot. They would tumble and argue, push and pull, toss and turn, but ultimately they would grab hold of one another and chase that rainbow together. It was part of life’s beauty. It didn’t look the same for any two people. It didn’t assume the same path, the same tone. Where Simone chose career, Claire chose family.

  In retrospect, Claire believed hers was the right choice. She’d always wanted to have children and with that choice came another—stay home and care for her family or add a career outside the home to the mix. In her book, both were work—the former more stressful than the latter. Those first few years on the job as a designer taught her that a career involved stress, yes, chocked full of deadlines and competition. But at the end of the day, the career woman came home to house full of peace and quiet. She came home to clear her mind, change channels and reconnect with those she loved.

  Claire lifted her head. As a stay-at-home mom, she didn’t have that luxury. And living in the two-story house of her dreams, surrounded by tasteful furnishings didn’t change those facts. Claire never left her job. She never traded space, never left her workplace. The landscape of her life never changed. The early days had been most difficult. Back then, she would have given anything for a break, a reprieve from the constant reach of her young children. Arms clinging, lungs wailing, kids provided an existence of never-ending demands that needed to be met.