Mommy Tracked

by Whitney Gaskell

  “Mom’s home! Mom’s home!”

  The girls came stampeding down the stairs, shrieking with happiness, and threw themselves against her legs. It was not the welcome she deserved after missing their soccer game, Juliet knew, and it made her feel even worse than she would have if they’d pouted.

  What am I doing? she wondered, as she rested a light hand on each girl’s head. I’m missing everything. Sometimes, their childhood seemed to be passing with terrifying speed. In the blink of an eye, they’d gone from roly-poly babies to these long-limbed big girls. What would they become in another blink? Surly, secretive teenagers? College students never at home?

  “I scored a goal!” Emma piped up, beaming up at her mother with a toothy grin.

  “You did? That’s fantastic, sweetheart,” Juliet said. Emma was still in her soccer clothes—a white T-shirt with The Bumblebees emblazoned on the front, red nylon shorts, and high white tube socks ringed at the top with red stripes. Izzy had already changed, swapping her soccer clothes for a purple Dora the Explorer T-shirt and a pink tutu.

  “I didn’t,” Izzy said carelessly. Izzy wasn’t a soccer aficionado like her sister and played only because she hated to be left out of anything.

  “You came close,” Emma reminded her.

  “That’s true,” Izzy said.

  “I think this calls for a celebration. Who wants to go to the beach? I think it’s warm enough that we can brave it. And out for cheeseburgers afterward?”

  “I do! I do!” the twins began to scream, hopping up and down with excitement.

  “Go change into your swimsuits,” Juliet said, and the girls streaked upstairs, chattering with excitement.

  Juliet followed them, at a somewhat slower pace. Patrick was in their bedroom, lying on the four-poster bed and reading a novel. He looked up when she came in.

  “Hi,” she said, bracing herself for what was almost certainly going to be an argument.

  “Hi,” Patrick said curtly.

  “Did you get my message? I tried calling, but your cell phone wasn’t turned on,” she said, as she peeled off her shirt and jeans. She opened a dresser drawer and rummaged around for her orange tankini.

  “I did,” Patrick said.

  “My boss showed up at the office. He pinned me down,” Juliet said. A brief but vivid image flashed through her thoughts: Alex holding her wrists on either side of her head against the conference table while he made love to her.

  Christ, what is wrong with me? she wondered, forcing the unwanted fantasy out of her thoughts.

  “You missed Emma’s first soccer goal.” He kept his voice conversational, but Juliet wasn’t fooled. He was clearly pissed and intent on letting her know it in his typical passive–aggressive way. It annoyed her. Why couldn’t he just come out and tell her he was angry? Why did he have to always play these games?

  “She told me,” Juliet said shortly. She peeled off her panties, tossed them in the hamper, and stepped into her bathing suit. “I’m going to take the girls to the beach and then to the Orange Cove Grill for dinner. Do you want to come?”

  “Juliet.”

  “What?”

  “This can’t continue,” Patrick said.

  Juliet froze. Oh, shit. Had he already figured out that she’d been fantasizing about another man? How?

  “The girls are only going to be young once. And you’re missing out on their childhood,” Patrick continued.

  Juliet closed her eyes, feeling the cool rush of relief. She pulled on the top of her bathing suit and turned to face her husband, who was looking sternly at her.

  “Don’t be so dramatic. I’m not missing their childhood. But I have a very demanding job. And until I make partner, it’s going to be like this.” Juliet shrugged. She suddenly felt tired. “Do we really have to go over this again?”

  “I know that you work hard. But shouldn’t the twins be just as important as your job?”

  “Jesus, Patrick. Who do you think I’m working for?”

  “Do you really want me to answer that?”

  Juliet and Patrick stared at each other, facing off like a pair of boxers. Juliet crossed her arms, and Patrick raised his eyebrows.

  “She’ll never have a first goal again. Just like she’ll never take a first step again or say her first word. And you’ve missed all of it.”

  “It’s not like I’m out partying,” Juliet said. “I’m working. For the girls. For our family. Jesus. It’s not like they’ll remember that I wasn’t there.”

  It was just the wrong thing to say. Patrick looked thunderous, his brow furrowing angrily. “Do you even hear yourself? They’re your children.”

  “I know who they are,” Juliet said coolly. “But I don’t have the luxury of staying home all day to record every minute of their childhood. Someone has to pay for their school tuition, and the mortgage, and the car payments. Someone in this family has to be the provider.”

  “Right,” Patrick said coldly. He got up off the bed and stormed across the bedroom.

  Shit, Juliet thought. Why had she used that word? Provider. It was the same word Patrick had used back when she was still pregnant and they were arguing about whether or not he’d stay home. She’d known it was a hot button for him.

  “So do you want to come to the beach with us?” Juliet called after him, by way of apology.

  Patrick didn’t answer.

  eight

  Chloe

  Chloe wheeled William, sleeping in his navy-blue Peg Perego carriage, down the winding path into Manatee Park. It was a lovely space, located on the bank of the Intracoastal Waterway, where manatees could sometimes be seen lolling about in the shallow warm water. The weather was sunny and mild, and the sky was a wide-open blue.

  A perfect day, Chloe thought, her spirits rising.

  And there were certainly quite a few people who’d had the same idea. Older couples walked dogs along the boardwalk, and joggers and bikers huffed by. A group of teenagers with shaggy hair and too-long shorts were playing basketball. Past the basketball court, down by the water, Chloe saw a group of mothers congregating at the playground, and she resolutely pushed the carriage down toward them.

  It was Chloe’s first outing since William was born. Actually, it was the first day she’d even bothered to get dressed. Most days she just slumped around the house wearing a nursing bra and a pair of James’s pajama bottoms, too exhausted to bother with anything else. But she was so sick of sitting at home and watching daytime television—there was only so much Judge Judy a girl could take before her brain actually crumbled into dust—and sick of seeing her puffy-faced reflection. She hadn’t even brushed her hair, much less put on makeup, in weeks, and her short blonde curls were clumping up into snarls. She was starting to scare herself and did her best to avoid mirrors.

  And so even though it had been yet another long night—William had woken up every two hours, squawking to be fed—and even though Chloe was so tired it felt like she was moving in a fog, she’d made the bold decision to shower, condition her hair, get dressed in real clothes, slick on some lip gloss, and head down to the park. She’d walked there occasionally during her pregnancy and stood just outside the playground, her hands folded on her belly, as she watched the children swinging, pumping their legs to go higher and higher, or climbing the wrong way up the slide and then shrieking with laughter as they inevitably slid back down. And she’d shyly watched the moms, who stood together, chatting companionably, as they watched their children play.

  And now, Chloe thought triumphantly, I finally have an in. Now I have William.

  The toddler park was enclosed by a chain-link fence, which probably should have been depressing, but the view of the river was so pretty it managed not to be. Chloe hesitated at the gate. The playground was covered with fine white sand, like a beach, so she couldn’t wheel the carriage inside the fence. Instead, she leaned down and picked up William, still heavy with sleep, and a blanket, and awkwardly pushed his carriage next to the two other strollers
lined up at the gate.

  Three moms were grouped together near the huge jungle gym, which was shaped like a pirate’s ship, half-watching their kids tumbling around but mostly focused on one another.

  “Hi,” Chloe said, approaching the group.

  They didn’t acknowledge her, didn’t even look up.

  Chloe went hot and cold at the same time. Were they really ignoring her? No, that was ridiculous; they were adults, mothers.

  “Um, hi,” she tried again, raising her voice. “I’m Chloe, and this is my son, William.”

  The three women glanced over at her, their eyes flickering as they looked her up and down. One of the moms gave her a half smile and nodded—So I’m not invisible! Chloe thought—but the other two just looked at her blankly for a few seconds and then turned back to their conversation.

  “So, I was, like, if you’re going to basically invite yourself to my kid’s birthday party, you should at least bring a decent present,” a thin woman with heavily highlighted hair and sharp features was saying. She was overdressed for the park, in a pink sweater and floral Lilly Pulitzer skirt. She’d dressed her kids to color-coordinate with her outfit: Her daughter had on the identical skirt and shirt, and her little boy was wearing a pink polo shirt and green canvas shorts. Chloe didn’t like to be judgmental, but this seemed a bit…well, much for an afternoon park outing.

  “So what did she end up giving Tatum?” another mom asked. This one was a fair, top-heavy redhead, whose skin was turning pink in the afternoon sun.

  “A Barbie doll. And not even a nice Barbie but one of the cheap ten-dollar ones,” the mom with highlights announced, and the other moms groaned in disbelief.

  “That is so tacky,” a petite Asian woman wearing green capris and a black halter top announced. She had a tattoo of a butterfly on her lower back, and she was doing an admirable job of ignoring her daughter, a tiny girl wearing rhinestone-embellished hip-hugger jeans and a cut-off tank top, who was pulling at her hand, saying, “Swings, Mommy, swings! Come push me!”

  “Tell me about it,” Highlights said, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

  Chloe turned away and pretended to busy herself with William, while she tried to figure out the best way to retreat before she burst into tears in front of the awful women. Suddenly it felt like she was back in high school, being ignored by the clique of mean, popular girls. The sort you knew wouldn’t make very good friends and yet still wanted them to accept you anyway.

  “Did you get Ava into Temple Beth El’s preschool?” Highlights asked the redhead.

  “Yes, finally. They took forever to let us know. I was really starting to sweat it. How about you?”

  “Tatum’s going to Winston.” This was said with not a little bit of smug self-satisfaction.

  The women set off on a loud and animated debate on local preschools and the benefits of Montessori versus traditional schools. Chloe settled down on the warm sand, William cradled in her arms, and wondered why she thought she might fit in here.

  Stupid, she thought fiercely. Who brings a newborn to the park? It’s not like William’s going to be able to swing or climb up on the pirate ship. What was I thinking?

  But still. She couldn’t leave, not now. The clique would think that they’d run her off. And she did have some pride. Shifting William to one arm, Chloe spread out his blanket and then gently set her sleeping son on it. He didn’t wake up, and she gazed down at him, admiring the curve of his tiny shell-like ears and the Clark Kent dimple in his chin.

  “Sure, sleep now. I know you’re going to make me pay for it at three in the morning,” Chloe told him.

  “My shovel! Mine!” A little girl with a mop of orange curls began to scream, as the pink-and-green-dressed boy, so pale he almost looked albino, fled with the shovel at issue.

  “Connor!” Highlights called after him. “Give Ava her shovel back!”

  Connor ignored his mother and ran pell-mell toward where Chloe was sitting, his bare feet churning up sand as he approached.

  “Be careful,” Chloe warned him quietly—too quietly, really, since she didn’t want his mother to hear her correcting him—but even if she’d screamed, it still would have been too late. The boy flew by her, and as he passed, he kicked a pile of sand right onto William’s face. William woke with a start, throwing his arms back in a panicked reflex, and then started to scream. It was a high, thin cry, not at all like his hungry and tired cries, and for a sickening moment Chloe thought that he might really be hurt.

  Could sand in a newborn’s eye or ear be a serious problem? she wondered, as her stomach gave a lurch. Could he end up blind or deaf?

  “Shhh,” Chloe said, lifting his flailing body up to her shoulder. She rubbed his back soothingly. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay.”

  William started to calm down, comforted by his mother’s embrace. His cries continued, but they were softer and less agitated.

  Chloe looked over at Highlights, expecting her to apologize or, at the very least, to correct her son, who was now standing up on the swing, the shovel still clutched in his hand, and yelling, “Mine! Mine! Mine! Shut up! Mine!” The little redheaded girl dissolved into hysterical tears and rushed to her mother’s arms.

  Highlights looked at Chloe coolly and then said to her gaggle of friends, “Don’t you think that baby is awfully young to be here?”

  She didn’t bother to lower her voice.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” the petite Asian woman agreed.

  “You can’t really expect the bigger kids to watch out for babies,” the redhead added.

  “Exactly,” Highlights said.

  Chloe stared down at the sand, her hand still rubbing circles on William’s back, as he continued to mewl pitifully, pausing now and then to inhale raggedly. And as soon as the other mothers turned away, their attention distracted by another clash between two toddlers grappling over a plastic pail, Chloe got up and left.

  When Chloe got home, she called William’s pediatrician. The receptionist put her right through to the nurse, who soothed Chloe and assured her that William—who had fallen back asleep and was now dozing happily in his Moses basket—was in all likelihood fine, although Chloe was supposed to watch him for the next twenty-four hours and call back if his eyes or ears appeared to be bothering him.

  After Chloe clicked off the phone, she burst into tears. She sat huddled on one end of the couch, her feet tucked under her, and sobbed until her eyes stung. She felt stupid, even pathetic, to be breaking down like this. So what if a few nasty women didn’t want to include her in their awful clique? But she couldn’t seem to stop. She just felt so overwhelmed, so strung out, so tired. That was the worst part of it, the exhaustion. She’d never been so tired in her life, so tired her bones felt too heavy for her body.

  She loved having William, adored every delicious inch of him, but the work—it never stopped. The nursing, and the diaper changes, and the crying fits. And then when he napped, she ran around the house, trying to take care of the laundry and the dishes and the vacuuming. The baby books instructed new mothers to sleep when the baby sleeps, but how could she? That was the only time she had to get anything done.

  And James was never around to help. He was always at work, or out golfing, or at the gym. Had he been gone this much before Wills was born? Chloe tried to remember. It hadn’t seemed like it…but maybe she just hadn’t noticed. Now that she was being held hostage by a very small, very demanding person all day, every day, her husband’s prolonged absences were starting to really bother her. Just this afternoon, when she’d gotten home from the disastrous park outing, there was a message from James on voice mail.

  “Hey, hon. It’s me. I’m going to be late tonight. The boss is taking a few of us out for drinks after work. Love you. Bye.”

  Chloe had been too frantic calling the pediatrician and worrying about Wills to pay much attention to the message. But now resentment began to burn in her chest. She knew what the message meant. James wouldn’t be
home in time to help her get William to bed. Again.

  The doorbell rang, and Chloe started violently at the sound. Wiping her eyes with a Kleenex, she stood and picked up William, who was just starting to wake, and padded over to the door, expecting it to be the UPS man.

  But it wasn’t a UPS delivery. It was a group of women congregating on her front step. And, unlike the last trio of mothers she’d faced, these women were all smiling at her. Or, at least, two of the three were smiling. The third looked like she’d been dragged there against her will. Chloe blinked at them for a minute, while her sleep-deprived mind processed what was going on.

  “Hi, Anna,” Chloe said tentatively. “Oh, hi, Grace. Hey, Juliet.”

  “Surprise!” Anna said, holding up a large gift box wrapped in baby-blue tissue paper. Grace beamed too, hoisting a huge white gift bag with an enormous bow stuck to the front. Juliet was holding two bottles of champagne.

  “We’re here to throw you a baby shower!” Grace announced. She looked down at William, cradled in his mother’s arms. “Oh, he’s just gorgeous,” she cooed.

  “He really is,” Anna chimed in. She looked at Chloe again and suddenly seemed concerned. “Hey, are you okay?”

  Chloe lifted a self-conscious hand to her tear-stained face. “Oh. Yes. I was just…well. Hormones,” she said weakly.

  Anna nodded knowingly. “I cried every day for weeks after I had Charlie,” she said.

  “I cried for months after Hannah was born. Hell, I still cry every day, and she’s three,” Grace added. “He really is gorgeous, Chloe. He looks just like you.”

  “You think so?”

  “He has your chin,” Grace said. “Don’t you think so, Juliet?”

  “No, not really. Although, you know, he does look a little like Winston Churchill,” Juliet said thoughtfully. Grace elbowed her. “Ouch!” Juliet exclaimed. “Will you please stop elbowing me!”

  “Come on in,” Chloe said, stepping back. She hesitated. “I have to warn you, though. My house is a mess.”