No One Ever Asked

by Katie Ganshert

  Jubilee named her Baby. Not particularly creative, but that was the name she wanted.

  Now they just had to buy Paige a present, and since they weren’t opening the presents at the party, Jen most certainly would not be spending more exorbitant money to get her an American Girl doll gift.

  A Barbie would have to do.

  Beside her, Jubilee danced on her toes, bubbling over with excitement. Ever since Jen told her she was going to Paige’s party, she could hardly contain herself. That was making Jen nervous too. It wasn’t even party day, and already Jubilee was dysregulated. She thought about Meredith Thompson’s advice and wondered if she shouldn’t pull the eject handle now.

  “Remember,” Jen said. “All the presents at the party are going to be for Paige. Whenever you go to a birthday party, the presents are for the birthday girl.”

  Jubilee nodded.

  “We’re going to pick out a gift for Paige, and Mommy will let you get a matching one. That way, when you give Paige her present, you don’t have to be sad because you already have the exact same one.”

  “Like bunk-a beds!”

  “Sure. Like that.”

  She knew it flew in the face of traditional parenting. She knew her parents would wholeheartedly disapprove. Her mother would wax on about the dangers of spoiling even though she spoiled Jubilee worse than any one of them, while Dad would complain about the everybody-gets-a-ribbon mentality and how it was solely responsible for the decline of their country.

  Well, they didn’t have to know about this.

  This wasn’t any of their concern.

  And her parents were hardly the picture of parental success.

  Just look at Brandon.

  Her heart constricted at the thought of her brother. It had been five months, and she hadn’t heard a peep. Not one single peep. He hadn’t even sent a congratulatory text. Hey, I heard you’re a mom. Congrats! He never replied when she texted him her new address either. But then, maybe Brandon didn’t have a phone anymore. Maybe Brandon wasn’t even alive.

  Jen batted the disturbing thought away and led Jubilee to the Barbie section.

  * * *

  Paige raced down the stairs dressed in a black-and-white poodle skirt that matched the one Camille’s mother sent in the mail for Maryellen. She catapulted herself into her father’s arms as if it had been years instead of six days.

  As he caught her with one hand, a large gift bag slung over his elbow, Camille noticed that he looked tan and fit—like the separation was suiting him.

  “How’s my big eight-year-old?”

  Camille wanted to tell him to put Paige down. She was too old to be held like that. But Paige wrapped her arms and legs so tightly around her father’s neck and waist, Camille wasn’t sure he’d be able to extricate himself. “Are you staying for the party, Daddy?”

  “No, Bug. I can’t stay. I just wanted to stop by and give you your present.”

  Paige stuck out her bottom lip.

  Neil gave it a tap, then set her down. “What a pretty skirt.”

  Paige twirled in a circle. “It’s called a poodle skirt. Do you see the poodle here? Mommy’s friend Rose made it for me.”

  “That was awfully nice of her.”

  “And Mommy did my hair.” Paige patted her curls, which Camille had pulled up into a side ponytail identical to Maryellen’s. “She put rollers in and everything.”

  “Well, your mother has always been quite the mommy.”

  The muscles in Camille’s jaw tightened. She hated that he was standing there in the foyer so casually, as though it wasn’t the same one he’d walked out of two months ago. She hated that he had the audacity to ring the doorbell. But most of all, she hated that such a flippant comment about her motherhood could make her heart squeeze as tightly as it did.

  “Do I get to open my present now?” Paige asked.

  Neil held up the gift bag. It was lime green and pink with matching tissue paper, and for an unsettled moment, Camille wondered who wrapped it. There was certainly no way Neil had put it together. Jas probably did—over a breakfast of turkey bacon and egg whites. Neil probably didn’t like his eggs sunny-side up anymore. They probably put the gift in the backseat of Neil’s Audi and went to CrossFit together, and when they finished, she handed it over with a kiss on his cheek. “Oh, darling, don’t forget Paige’s birthday present. It’s such a lovely day, maybe we can go hunting when you get home.”

  Camille’s jaw clenched tighter.

  “Your grandmother helped pick it out,” Neil said.

  She huffed.

  He shot her a look.

  Sorry, but there was no way Neil’s mother had anything at all to do with Paige’s present. She couldn’t even choose which beans to buy at the grocery store. It was the one silver lining of Neil’s uncharacteristic betrayal. Camille was under no obligation to help her mother-in-law decide between store brand and Bush’s.

  Paige ripped out the tissue paper with little regard for the pretty arrangement and let out a high-pitched scream. “You got me Logan!” She yanked the Logan doll out from the bag. “Mom, Daddy got me Logan!”

  “I see.”

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Paige threw herself at her father in another overzealous hug. “Faith is bringing Tenney today. She told me at school. I hope she brings her guitar too. Do you think somebody will get me Logan’s drum set?”

  Neil and Camille spoke at the same time.

  Just as he was saying, “I guess you’ll find out at the party,” Camille said, “Nobody is going to get you that drum set.”

  Camille frowned at him. “We’re not opening presents at the party.”

  “What?” Paige exclaimed.

  “Honey, that’s not something we do. You know that.”

  “We did it for my birthday party in kindergarten.”

  “That’s because there were only five guests.”

  “But Sarah’s mom let her open presents at her birthday party, and it was the funnest part of the whole thing! Everybody loved it.”

  “Paige—”

  Tears welled in her daughter’s baby blues. There had been so many tears lately. So many manic, uncharacteristic tears. “You said the birthday girl gets to pick what she wants to do for the whole day. You told me that last night. You promised! And I really, really, really want to open presents at the party. Please, Mom. Please?”

  “Okay, Paige. Settle down. If it’s really that important to you, we can open presents at the party.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Jen felt gross. None of her clothes fit her well anymore. Her entire body was jittery, and Jubilee’s braids were already fuzzy, and they weren’t even inside yet. Her daughter was skipping up the manicured lawn toward a house three times the size of their own, wearing a poodle skirt that was a little too big and slightly frayed, because beggars could not be choosers. Paige’s present was tucked under one arm, and her new doll was tucked under the other as Jen whispered frantic prayers behind her. Half pleading, half demanding.

  Please, Lord. Let this go well.

  The front door opened.

  Camille stood in the doorway looking like she belonged on the cover of Better Homes & Gardens.

  This is what a mother is supposed to look like, Jen thought.

  “I’m so glad you could come,” she said, waving them inside. “And with your very own doll! Oh, how wonderful.”

  Jubilee beamed and held up the wrapped Barbie.

  “You brought a present. How incredibly thoughtful of you. Paige will be so excited.”

  “It’s a—”

  “Oh, don’t tell me! I want to be as surprised as Paige.” Camille made a big fuss of covering her ears. “The presents go right over there, on that table. All the girls are out in the back, playing. Mothers too.”

  Jen pictured a bunch of well-d
ressed, thin mothers in tailored clothes, running around with tiaras and fairy wands.

  Jubilee walked through the foyer, into an opened piano room, where the table Camille had pointed to was brimming with presents—all large and wrapped in fancy paper with fancy pink ribbons.

  Camille stopped Jen with a touch on her arm. “I wanted to tell you before things got underway. There’s been a slight change of plans.”

  “Oh?”

  “Paige was insistent on opening presents today.” Camille rolled her eyes in a lighthearted way, as if to say, You know kids. But no. Jen didn’t. It turned out, she didn’t really know kids at all.

  “She’s going to open her presents at the party?”

  Camille shrugged, the gesture just as lighthearted as the eye roll. “Apparently.”

  Jen’s stomach churned. This was hardly a slight change of plans. She and Nick hadn’t prepared Jubilee for this. How could Camille be so inconsiderate?

  Pull that eject handle even a couple minutes in.

  They weren’t even a full minute in, and her heart was screaming Eject! But Jubilee was waving excitedly for Jen to follow her to the open patio doors, which let in a warm breeze and the happy laughter of little girls.

  We have to give our kids a chance to surprise us.

  Was this one of those times?

  “I really am sorry,” Camille said. But she didn’t sound sorry. In fact, a hard edge had crept into her tone. It was as though the woman could sense Jen’s turmoil, only instead of feeling sympathetic, she got defensive.

  “That’s okay. It should be fine.”

  Please, Lord. Let it be fine.

  Her body pumped with stress and cortisol as she encouraged Jubilee to set the present on the table. “Remember,” she said, “we have your matching Barbie right here in Mommy’s purse. Okay?”

  Jubilee nodded.

  The stress and cortisol pumped harder as Jen followed her out onto a large upper deck. Beneath was a nice patio and an expansive backyard. There was a table filled with fancy finger food, and a castle bounce house and at least fifteen little girls running around with dolls of their own, dressed in bobby socks and saddle shoes and poodle skirts that weren’t frayed.

  She caught sight of Paige, dressed in an outfit every bit as perfect as her mother’s, as well as a glittery birthday crown. She didn’t have a fairy wand, but she did have a light saber, and currently she was pointing it at two little Asian girls in matching vintage party dresses.

  They both fell over in the grass, as though the birthday princess had struck them dead, and the three burst into a round of hysterical giggles.

  “Yoo-hoo, Jen!” someone called from below.

  Jen put her hand up to her forehead like a visor and squinted at one of the mothers she met at Unpack Your Backpack night, right after the tense encounter Nick had with that awful man.

  “Can I go play?” Jubilee asked.

  Jen nodded and followed her, astonished at the way she ran down the steps, unafraid to join the girls who all seemed to know each other so well. Jen sometimes felt this way about Jubilee—usually when she was doing something less praiseworthy, like willfully wetting her pants or throwing her spoon across the table. It always came in a rush—this startled, shocked feeling. Who are you? She was a stranger with strange behavior. Jen wondered if other moms felt the same way, but then she thought about Leah, who said things like, “Oh, I was the exact same way at that age,” whenever Lila threw a fit over something silly, like not getting to wear big brother Noah’s Spider-Man costume through the sprinkler.

  “How are you?” the woman asked when Jen reached her.

  Jen scrambled for a name, but came up completely blank. “I’m doing well. You?”

  “Soaking up the last of this warm weather.”

  “It’s nice,” Jen said lamely.

  Another woman joined them, just as familiar. Just as nameless. Only this time, Jen knew who she belonged to. She was the mother of the two matching Asian girls zapped by the lightsaber. Camille had introduced them. Again, at Unpack Your Backpack night.

  “Deb,” she said, shaking Jen’s hand.

  Jen could have kissed her.

  “I’m sure it’s hard to keep track of all the names.”

  “A little.”

  “How’s the new job going at the high school?”

  “Oh.” She didn’t know Deb knew she was working at the high school. Camille must have told her, which made her wonder what else Camille had said. “It’s busy.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “You work at the high school?” the other woman asked.

  “I’ve been filling in for the nurse while she’s on maternity leave.”

  “What are things like there?”

  “What do you mean?”

  The mystery woman leaned closer, like whatever she was about to share was confidential. “With the transfer students? The two schools have always been rivals. I’m sure it must be quite…tense.”

  “I don’t really notice, to be honest.”

  This didn’t seem to be the juicy answer the woman was looking for.

  Thankfully, a few others joined the conversation, taking Jen out from the spotlight.

  “Camille is brave,” someone said.

  “Tell me about it. I always cap Riley’s parties at eight. That’s all the little-girl emotion I can handle at one time.”

  “I think she must have invited everyone in Paige’s class.”

  “And then some.”

  Jen looked around at all the girls. Besides Jubilee and Deb’s two and a little girl named Aaishi who looked Indian, the party guests were white. There were no transfer students. Jen’s attention wandered to the snack table, and her heart gave a jolt. Jubilee was eating food. She was sitting on a woman’s lap, eating food. Jen quickly excused herself from the conversation and hurried over.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said to the woman as she approached.

  “Oh, I don’t mind. She’s such a little sweetheart.”

  But Jen minded.

  Jen minded very much.

  Because she knew what this could lead to. Jen had firsthand experience.

  The whole thing had a name: indiscriminate affection, a term she and Nick had learned all about. What it was, why it happened, the correct way to discourage it. The problem was, those books and articles never accounted for the fact that your heart might start pounding and your voice might start shaking and your thoughts might get too tangled to remember exactly the right thing to say. Those books also didn’t say how oddly others would look at you, like you were an overpossessive mommy who just needed to relax.

  “I think she was getting upset because the bounce house was full.” The nice, oblivious woman nodded toward the castle, which was being supervised by a teenager with bare feet and legs that went on for days. She wore a tiara and a bored expression and a pile of blond hair on top of her head in a messy bun.

  “So I invited her over here with me. She is such a cuddle bug. Emma doesn’t let me anymore, so I’ll take all the cuddles I can get.” The woman gave Jubilee an affectionate squeeze as Jen’s mind scrambled in every direction, searching for a way to get Jubilee off this woman’s lap without causing a scene. Without a repeat of what happened at their church back in Clayton—when Jubilee clung to another stranger’s neck and refused to let go.

  “I want you to be my mommy!” she had screamed.

  And everybody in the church lobby stopped and stared while Jen had to pry Jubilee away.

  How quickly the woman had gone from charmed to horrified. How easily Jen could tell what she’d been thinking: What is going on in your home? Earlier that morning, Jubilee defaced her daybed with a permanent marker. And Jen—big, bad meanie that she was—took every coloring utensil from Jubilee’s room.

  “You can play with them at t
he kitchen table,” Jen said, “where I can supervise you.”

  Jubilee picked up the tin piggy bank on her dresser and hurled it at Jen’s head. It missed, thankfully. And with a calmness Jen hadn’t felt, she picked it up off the floor and took that too.

  Of course Jubilee had wanted that woman to be her new mommy. That new mommy didn’t make her do hard things, like pick up her room or take a bath when she didn’t feel like it. That new mommy didn’t take her piggy bank or her markers. So what if she was a perfect stranger? Two months ago, Jen had been a perfect stranger too.

  Thankfully, none of that happened now.

  Jubilee announced that she had to go potty.

  Jen nearly melted into a puddle of relief. First, because Jubilee didn’t pee on the woman’s leg, and second, she had her excuse. She hurriedly ushered Jubilee away.

  “Remember what we talked about, honey,” Jen said, once they were inside the bathroom. “If you are scared or upset or you need a hug or you want to sit in someone’s lap, you come find me, okay? That’s what mommies are for.”

  When they returned to the backyard, the teenager with the tiara approached. “There were too many kids in the bounce house a little bit ago, but there’s room now. Would you like a turn?”

  Inside, Paige was jumping with Deb’s two girls, all three of them holding on to American Girl dolls of their own. Jen stood off to the side, watching through the black mesh windows. As soon as Jubilee crawled in, Paige collapsed in an exaggerated heap. “I’m so hot I might die. I need lemonade. Mixed with Sprite! Who wants to try my special lemonade-Sprite concoction?”

  Faith and Hope raised their hands.

  Paige giggled because Faith raised her doll’s hand too.

  And before Jubilee hardly had the chance to stand, the three girls left. As Paige slid out and landed on her bottom in the grass, Jen experienced a sudden and intense wave of mutinous dislike.