by Ariella Papa
“What rules?” Ruth asked, still confused.
But it was a good question. I don’t even know where I got the idea.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what I am saying. Maybe I do need to believe in this full-moon-making-people-do-crazy-things.” It could certainly explain a lot, and I needed explanations. If I kept on this topic, I was going to wind up telling Ruth what I had done, and I wasn’t sure I could do that yet. We weren’t friends, were we? We were only moms who happened to live next door to each other. I needed to find a safe common ground. I brought it back to the kids.
“So, is he sleeping any better yet?” I asked, nodding over towards her building.
“The night we went out I got a record six hours.”
“Good work, Abe. What nice timing.”
“I know, but of course I woke up in a panic.” I nodded. “But going out was fun. I would love to do it again sometime.”
“Yeah, we should. We will.”
“Maybe we won’t plan it; maybe it will just happen.”
I looked at her, confused, and realized that she was trying to help me break free.
“Maybe. That would be nice,” I said.
She nodded.
“But most likely we are going to have to plan it. And if we plan to make it spontaneous, I guess it’s still a plan.”
“Yes,” I said. “I guess it’s nice to imagine that we wouldn’t have to.”
“Well, I should go in and get some sleep. Who knows what the guy is going to do tonight?”
“Good luck,” I said. She stood up and looked back down at me.
“Are you sure you’re ok?”
I nodded. If I spoke, I was going to tell her and I really didn’t think I could explain myself. “Ok, then, goodnight.”
“Good night.”
I sat on my stoop for a while. I was trying not to think about rules or consequences or Keith’s hands on my body. I was just trying to be.
Chapter 14
Kirsten Does Some Investigating and (Re)discovering
David’s niece, Amanda, was babysitting so that I could get some photo work done. I had taken on three clients and, of course, spent too much time selecting the pictures that I liked instead of color correcting the ones I knew I needed to upload for the parents.
But instead of doing the work that I had already been commissioned for, I found myself searching “cross-dressing children” on one of the mom websites that Claudia had mentioned. There were a lot of opinions online. There was a school of parental thought that you had to let your kid be who he wanted to be—let boys wear girls clothes and they would either grow out of it or if they were “gender variant” (a term I learned on my research), they would continue to express it and it was important to not stifle those urges. And there was a whole other set of people who really enjoyed judging this group. They would start by calmly insisting that it was up parents to lay down the law, and if the child’s feelings got hurt or his wants were ignored, tough! And then, when the parents of the gender variants exhibited what I believed was a level of compassion toward their children, these judgmental parents would go on the attack and slam their parenting skills and make assumptions about everything from their political beliefs to their intelligence to their sexuality.
I never really went online to find out about parenting before. I had been winging it this whole time. If I had a question I consulted the giant Dr. Sear’s book my midwife had given me as a gift. But now I found this whole community of moms who needed other anonymous moms to vent to, support, or belittle. This is what Claudia had been talking about. This was how you managed to feel judged. I didn’t want to be affected by the words of some of the posts in these threads but I was. Some of them were so damning to the poor kids. There were the insinuations that the kid would never be normal, beaten and embarrassed from preschool through college.
It was worse than any playground.
I always insisted that it was ok by me, even preferable, if my kids were outsiders, but these harsh words made me remember how much it hurt to be the weird one. I couldn’t have sweet Sage feel those things. All the looks Sage got striding around in his girl clothes and his rhinestone shoes were starting to bother me. He was starting preschool in the fall, and he had already claimed he was wearing a dress and tights to school on the first day.
And lately, whenever I got a chance to talk to David—the few times he was around—he was critical of what was happening with Sage. If he came home and found Julissa’s too-small rhinestone sandals by the door, he harangued me about what Sage had worn or wanted to wear that day. It was becoming our only conversation. This whole thing was uncovering differences in who we were as parents that I never expected.
So I started hiding the rhinestone sandals. I had never, ever lied to him about anything in our relationship. We always talked about how the worse thing a parent could do is instill a “don’t tell daddy” mentality in their kids. While I wasn’t going that far, I was certainly omitting.
But then of course, I noticed that, when he didn’t have evidence about Sage’s fashion, we didn’t really have much else to talk about. He kept working late and leaving early. And I was so tired half the time when he crawled into bed that I maybe mumbled a hello.
I couldn’t remember the last time we had sex. And I also couldn’t shake the look that Claudia and Ruth gave me when I told them about what was going on with David. I knew what they suspected. I played dumb, but I knew. I couldn’t believe this would happen with David. We were so close. We were partners and best friends.
I started to type something else in the search box, but I decided to check on the kids in the living room. Amanda was refereeing a game of Candy Land between Sage and Jules while bouncing a babbling Naomi on her knees. As soon as Naomi saw me she started to cry.
“What’s this? You were doing great,” Amanda told Naomi.
“She sees me, she thinks boob,” I said. I liked Amanda. She was only seventeen but already had a back and arm covered in tattoos that she had designed in spite of her mother, David’s older sister’s, protests. She walked the outsider line in David’s family the way we did. And one time she saw one of my art projects and declared it “cool”.
“God, having a baby really sucks, huh?” She looked at the kids. “Sorry, stinks.”
“Sometimes,” I said, bending to take Naomi from her. “Don’t do it until you’re ready.”
“That isn’t going to be a problem,” she said smiling up at me. I noticed that Sage had her shoulder bag in his lap.
“You let him have that,” I said.
“Yeah, he really wanted it,” she said. “I’m letting them take turns holding it. Is that ok? There’s no contraband in there. Don’t worry.”
“I wasn’t worried,” I said. At least not about that. “If you have these guys under control, I’ll take her and keep working.”
“No problem. What time is Uncle David coming home?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. I waited to see if she had any ideas about what was going on with David, but she went back to the game. I backed out of the room before the competition got heated.
“Hi, little lady,” I said to Naomi. She stretched her back and bounced a little. She was still so small and snuggly. Maybe because of her birth order she was the most agreeable or maybe I was simply too exhausted all the time to notice her demands. I started to nurse her and looked at the blinking cursor in the search box. It was mocking me, inviting me.
I sighed and then typed “cheating” in. What I got were what seemed like hundreds of threads from women whose husbands were cheating. Some didn’t know; some discovered them; some still had no proof. In a bizarre combo of the issues that were on my mind, one woman found her husband in bed with another man while he was dressed as a woman. Some divorced and some stayed. Almost everyone was bitter. It was so sad. I kept trying to find some major difference between these women and me. They were married—that was the main one—and in this case, marriage made them seem a littl
e more secure.
But of course, because it was online and because it was anonymous, there were people who judged these women too. There were other people, women I guessed who called them stupid for not knowing and dumb for being so dependent on a man. It was easy to judge someone you couldn’t see. But a lot of these threads got heated, with women going back and forth about how it could happen to anyone. They blamed the victims for everything, from not keeping themselves up to not providing sex X number of times a week to not grooming their toenails. It was amazing!
One poster gave a checklist of all the ways to know your husband is cheating. Is he working late more? Are you not having sex? Do you no longer feel connected? I took a deep breath. All of these things were us. Has he changed the way he dresses or does he care more about his appearance? Ok, no, that wasn’t it. He was as grubby as ever working in a bread factory. Phew! We dodged that bullet. I must be safe. But then I thought about his beard.
My phone rang. It was him. It was as though he knew I was uncovering his secret. I glanced at the clock. It was a quarter of seven. He should have been home an hour ago. The kids were going to start going down to bed soon.
“Hey, babe,” he said. He sounded like he was in good spirits. Was he with her right now? Is that why he was so happy to be calling the old ball and chain? “How’s it going?”
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Is Amanda there?”
“Yeah.”
“Well that must be a help, huh?” It would have been nice if he were the help. I decided to cut to the chase.
“Yeah. Are you going to make it home for bedtime tonight?” He hadn’t the past two nights.
“I can’t, baby. My dad’s getting slammed with roll orders. You know, it’s barbeque season.”
“I guess.”
“You know I miss you, right?” It was the nicest thing he had said to me in weeks. But I kept thinking of the checklist and the beard and the no sex.
“So what time do you think you will be home?”
“I’m not sure. Probably not for another few hours.”
Never before had he worked this late.
“Great,” I said. I wanted to hang up, but I muttered a good-bye and then hung up without waiting to hear what he said. I threw the phone down on the table, startling Naomi. She squirmed and protested.
“It’s ok, sweetheart,” I said, though I felt like yelling too. I switched breasts.
My phone vibrated again. He’s calling back to apologize and confront my fears and dismiss them. I looked at the number. It was Ruth.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey,” she said. She sounded upset. I heard Abe crying in the background.
“What’s up? Are you ok?”
“Nothing. Yes. No. We were making progress, I thought. But he has been inconsolable for the past four hours. I’m serious. He’s just been screaming. He doesn’t want the boob; he doesn’t need to be changed; rocking isn’t working. And of course Steve is out at a game. I don’t want to bother him. But when does it stop?” she asked. She sounded on the verge of tears. “I thought we were getting over this. God, he slept seven hours last night. But today it’s all a mess again. The last time this happened I drove him around for an hour and it worked. So now, I’m driving. I don’t know where.”
“Well, it’s a nice night,” I said trying to be positive even though I wasn’t really feeling sunny. “Maybe you should roll the windows down and get some fresh air.”
“No, then everyone will hear Abe screaming and they’ll know what a shit job I am doing.” She was distraught. “Just when I thought it was getting easier.”
“It is getting easier,” I said. “Sometimes it feels like one step forward, two steps back. But you honestly won’t even remember this. I promise.”
I really was glad she called. If she hadn’t, I was going to get caught up in my own head. And even though I really wanted to pick someone’s brain about this thing with David and not play the part of the wise mom, merely talking to some other adult once again made me feel worlds better?
“Do you want to come over?” I asked. “No better yet, I actually have a babysitter. I’ll see if she can stay and if she can, I’ll put the baby to bed and come for a drive with you. We’ll roll the windows down and howl at the moon right along with Abe.”
I wanted to howl.
It wasn’t until after Ruth had called to say she was downstairs and I was putting my shoes that the idea of spying on David occurred to me. And as I was heading out the door, I grabbed one of my digital cameras.
A half hour later when Abe was finally asleep, we pulled up across the street from the bakery. Ruth was calmer too. My one good ear was ringing from Abe’s wails, but it made me grateful that this tough period was over with my own kids.
I was so relieved when I spotted David’s car in the lot. He really was working late. I told Ruth that I wanted to pop out and go say hello, even though part of me dreaded explaining to him what I was doing. But Ruth had said it was a romantic idea and maybe David would feel the same way. Maybe it would be a necessary surprise. Perhaps I had let my imagination get the better of me. That was the problem with living too much in my head. Maybe tonight we could at last be together and a little intimacy would make everything better.
“It doesn’t look like a bakery,” Ruth said, as I was about to get out of the car. “It looks like a warehouse.”
“It’s both,” I said. “It’s a commercial bakery, so they churn out a lot of stuff. It’s pretty cool inside. When Abe is a little older you can take him. The kids are fascinated by it.”
I glanced across the street and saw David coming out of the bakery. I was about to call out to him when I noticed he was on the phone. Maybe he had called home. He was walking really fast and got into the truck before I had a chance to shout to him. He drove away.
“That’s David,” I said to Ruth.
“Oh, really cute,” she said, genuinely impressed.
“What did you expect?” I giggled. “I might as well catch him at home. I should check in too and see if Amanda could wrangle those kids to bed.”
“You got it, Miss Daisy,” Ruth said. She looked at me, expectantly. I knew she was quoting something, but I wasn’t sure what. She had declared herself a pop culture junkie, and I often had no idea what she was talking about. I smiled, like I got it.
She followed David and I called home. As the phone rang, I noticed that David was taking a different way. He didn’t make the turn I expected him to, but Ruth was following him. So I didn’t say anything.
“Hey Amanda,” I said when she picked up. “How’s it going?”
“Ok, not a peep from Naomi. Sage is down. Jules is still rocking with no signs of submission.”
“Nice work. You might as well let Julissa do as she pleases or she’ll wind up waking everyone.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“I think we’re heading back. Did you talk to David? Is that what he said?”
“No, Uncle David hasn’t called.”
“Maybe he tried your cell,” I said. David never used his cell as far as I knew, so if he wasn’t calling me at the house, I had no idea who he could be calling. The only other person he might call was his dad, but I had seen him on the phone with his dad plenty of times in all the years we had been together. I knew the slightly tense body language that went with any conversation with his dad. That wasn’t his dad.
“Is this the way back to your place?” Ruth asked me. I glanced at her and shook my head.
“Ok, Amanda,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “We should be—I should be home soon.”
“Take your time,” she said.
“Maybe this is a shortcut,” Ruth said when I hung up the phone.
“I don’t think so,” I said, too loud, not really bothering to compensate for my ear.
We drove into Dumbo over cobblestone streets. David pulled into a parking lot that was attached to one of the big loft buildings that a developer
was turning into condos. Ruth drove past the lot.
“I’m sorry, should I have turned in there? I wasn’t sure. I never tailed anybody before.”
I knew she was trying to keep it light. I shook my head.
“Can you make a U-turn and park across the street? I want to see what he does.”
“Sure,” Ruth said and quickly swerved into a turn. She almost crashed into a guy pulling out and an oncoming car beeped at her. She stopped short. The driver shook his fist. Ruth shrugged her shoulders and sped away.
“Wow,” I said. “You sure you never tailed anyone?”
Ruth laughed too loud. She was trying to pretend all of this was normal.
We parked across from the loft. In Ruth’s rearview mirror, I saw David coming out of the parking lot and heading toward the loft. I looked to the entrance and noticed a slim blond woman in a business suit waiting outside. The sight of her gave me a bad feeling, and instinctively I lifted up my camera and took a picture.
“Who is that?” Ruth asked, following my aim. She had been looking at David in her side mirror.
“I don’t know,” I said. I no longer had any emotion in my body or my voice.
“Kirsten, I think we should go.”
“No,” I said in a way that I hoped would indicate I didn’t want her to ask me again.
David approached the woman and once again, without thinking, I held my camera up. So I saw them embrace through the lens instead of with my naked eye. My camera was serving a new purpose. No longer a tool of art or industry, now it was my filter, my protector.
After the hug, David and this woman turned and went into the building. David held the door open and put his hand on her back as she entered. I snapped pictures of all it. I could see them through the glass doors of the lobby. The doorman waved at both of them and they waved back. It was not the first time David had been to this building. They turned left and I could no longer see them. I lowered my camera.
Ruth turned away from the building and looked back at me, but I couldn’t look at her yet. I couldn’t look away from this building. I couldn’t stop myself from imagining what was going on inside.