I promised that I wouldn’t mention how Nate caught a cold, which he brought home not once but twice, and we were terrified it was The Hatred but grateful it wasn’t. It still made everyone sick, especially the twins.
I also told Linda Maywrot that I wouldn’t talk about how Jon took a little downward turn after the twins were born, and he joined a gang of other boys at school, encircled one of the boys named Arthur, who was supposed to be Jon’s friend, and Jon and the gang of boys took turns pinching Arthur’s face while calling him “Moo Cakes.” (Don’t ask me where that came from; I’ve learned not to try to understand how kids think. Anna, Mauru’s mother, said it was probably Jon’s jealousy over the presence of the twins.)
At one point, I was getting migraines as a result of all the stress from dealing with the twins, and Mauru asked if it was depression. I grunted. I didn’t mean to laugh since Mauru was genuinely concerned, but I wondered if he was joking.
Depressed?
I was sympathetic to those who suffered from postpartum depression. Both Mom and Anna said that they’d suffered from it, but neither had sought treatment, and they both wished they had. I wanted to be depressed. I’m probably going to get hate mail for saying this, but I often fantasized saying to Mauru that I was depressed when he asked me to do something.
“Jan, can you get the twins while I prepare Jon and Nate’s breakfast?”
“Depressed, Mauru.”
“Jan, it’s my weekend to spend time with my buddies, and I need a day off. Still OK if I go?”
“Depressed.”
“Jan—”
“Depressed.”
Then you see the miracle of all four kids smiling at once for no reason, and you feel like everything’s OK, like everything’s going to remain OK. You see your oldest child who ganged up on another boy to whom you made him apologize and to whose parents you and your husband apologized, taking out his ukulele and singing the worst version you’ve ever heard of “Itsy Bitsy Spider” to his younger brother, who smiles at his older brother. Then they fight over the ukulele, and you have to go and buy another ukulele right away because you now have two children crying over the same ukulele.
You buy another ukulele, they both lose interest in music, and then they fight over something else: crayons. Nate wants the purple crayon that Jon has, but Jon tells Nate to use his own. Nate starts screaming, he breaks Jon’s yellow crayon, Jon slaps him on the head, Nate screams even louder, which wakes the twins, who also cry. Then Nate bites Jon, who cries.
Mauru talks to both Jon and Nate and gives Jon a time-out. He tells Jon that he can’t play his video games for two weeks, and Jon tells his father that “it’s unfair. You don’t like me, and Mom doesn’t like me, and Nate doesn’t like me, and I don’t like you. You’re unfair, and it’s unfair, and Nate wanted to eat me.”
Mauru tries to tell Jon that he’s older, so we expect him to take care of his siblings.
“I don’t want to,” Jon says. “Who will take care of me? They’re bad, and I don’t like them, because you like them more than you like me.”
Mauru and I called this period “Jon’s Rebellion.” Jon’s Rebellion cost us a coffee maker, which Jon pulled by its cord until it crashed to the kitchen floor. It also cost us an eighty-six-inch TV screen at which Jon threw one of his dad’s footballs and shattered the screen.
My response?
“Mau-ru, your son!”
If I had dealt with it, I would have lost it, and there would have been some yelling and a few good spankings. I thought of the “discipline” I’d received as a kid, of treating Jon the same way.
I could see Jon on a talk show couch two or three decades later telling a room full of strangers what a terrible mom I had been and how traumatized he was because his mom had “abused” him throughout his childhood and had scarred him for life. As a result, he couldn’t stand in front of a coffee maker or a large TV screen without breaking into hives and having nightmares because of all the discipline he’d received as a child. There’d be people in the audience shaking their heads and wagging their fingers at me, saying, “Shame on you and on that gap in your teeth. You give all moms a bad name.”
Jon’s rebellion went on for at least the first five months after the twins’ birth. Because Jon was rebelling, it upset Nate, who also tried his own little war on us. Nate took my wedding ring, which I had placed in some warm water with dishwashing soap as I fed the twins, and he threw it in the toilet bowl.
Mauru was livid.
I instinctively reached out to slap Nate then I thought of the talk show couch, and I walked to the toilet bowl, put on a pair of cleaning gloves, reached for the ring, washed, scrubbed, and dried it, put it back on, and then walked around the complex to relax a little.
I bumped into Jennifer de Jong, who told me that she’d just started a job at the San Diego History Center at Balboa Park, and we should have some tea together with “some delicious biscuits” sometime soon. I smiled, thanked her, and waved, and the strangest thought came to me.
What if I just ran away?
How about I call a cab, go to the Old Town Station and take the first train out of San Diego, never to be seen again?
It would be my revenge against my feral children, who drove me nuts and devoured my six-month vacation. They’d grow up without a mom, and they’d see just how lucky they had been to have one.
I was tired of diaper changes, of meeting Jon’s and Nate’s teachers, of reading bedtime stories and of watching the same kids’ movies hundreds of times over, and I just wanted to sleep and be left alone and have some quiet. I fantasized about going back to work. How much better work would be because I wouldn’t have to spend the whole day watching over screaming twins.
I took a deep breath.
Then another.
And another.
I walked back to the condo, where Mauru was feeding the twins; they needed to eat every three hours. Mauru looked up at me, smiled, and finished feeding the twins, who were developing their own personalities now.
Nathalie, born sixteen minutes before Nathaniel, was more subdued than her brother. She seemed comfortable observing things and just coasting along.
The twins had been for shots twice already, and I pushed aside the thought of further medical appointments and so on over the following year.
As Mauru changed Nathaniel’s diaper, Nathaniel smiled at him, and Mauru said, “Housekeeping, buddy. Housekeeping.”
“I chose well,” I told myself. “I chose really well when I married Mauru Virdis.”
12
Why Have You Been Kind to Me?
It was the year of the election.
2038.
I pulled out of our carport and waved. New neighbors were moving in just across from us. They were older, and they waved enthusiastically as I backed out just after Mauru’d taken the kids to school and day care. Our new neighbors walked up to my car, still waving and smiling. I lowered the window, and the lady put her hand through the open window to greet me.
“Dolores Martinez,” she said. “I’m with him, the guy who makes the wonderful meals because he’s a chef, and we have to have you over with your family once we’ve settled in.”
“I’m Miguel Martinez,” her husband said, “the guy who makes the wonderful meals because he’s a chef. We promised ourselves that we’d jump in feet first when we moved here, and we’d get to know people. We’re usually hermits. We met the de Jongs a few minutes ago. They have stories.”
“Yes.” I nodded. “They do. Welcome. Great meeting you. I look forward to catching up soon.”
On my way to WS&X, I ignored the billboards with the Hoviaks on them. I ignored those wearing Hoviak uniforms in cars around me. I ignored the Hoviaks on the radio cracking jokes about being “Enviroblues,” and I ignored the talk show hosts interviewing members of Congress about the “crazy water situation out west.” I even ignored interviews with Jeremiah Trehoviak and campaign ads featuring him.
I was floating
on a cloud of serenity because my twins were at day care now, and I’d done my duty to parenthood by bonding with them for six months.
I arrived at WS&X.
I panicked.
Were my kids OK? Was Mauru OK on his first day back at work? Did they miss me? I wanted to call and find out.
I searched for my cell phone and couldn’t find it. I opened the car door and looked everywhere. I emptied my bag onto the back seat, and my cell phone wasn’t there. I even looked in the trunk, where I’d forgotten I’d placed a few Ambrosia Skiffles romances, and I also checked under the seats in the car.
I had to find out how my kids and husband were doing.
I emptied my designer handbag, already empty, again and again, trying to make it produce my cell phone, which I was sure I’d placed inside it. I opened the glove compartment. I checked under the hood of the car (you never know), and I just sat in the front seat and had a total meltdown.
I was crying, and I felt so lonely and afraid for no reason that I felt ashamed.
What if the day care forgot that Nathalie and Nathaniel only drank goat milk formula, which we had supplied? My daughter, my dear daughter, Nathalie, absolutely refused to drink cold milk, which she spat out. The milk had to be warm.
What if Nate couldn’t find his favorite toy, a rabbit called “Wabbit”?
Was Jon treating others better now?
And Mauru, how was his drive to work?
I wanted to talk to my husband.
I cried until the tears went away, and resolved that I’d forgotten my phone at home.
Then I looked right in front of me, and there it was on the dashboard.
How it got there, I did not know. I picked the phone up and listened to a voice mail from Mauru telling me he missed me and that he wished me a good day. He said that now the twins were in day care, maybe we could relax a little more, and the way he said “relax,” I knew what he was referring to.
I texted him. “We’ll ‘relax’ tonight.” Emoji. Emoji. Emoji.
I entered WS&X, and Hannah ran up to me and hugged me.
“So much to tell you,” she said. “How are the twins? Did you get the bouquet of roses I sent you and the gifts for the kids? Did you miss us? You probably didn’t, though I’m hoping you missed me. Did you go crazy without this place? I wouldn’t, but it happens. And, oh, I’m seeing Mike tonight.”
Hannah adjusted her gold-rimmed glasses and smiled.
“See? I told you,” she said, “I’m going to marry that boy. Catch your breath and come by my office. I think Larry wants to see you. He’s fired three temps, who were here to substitute for you, so the last two weeks we’ve had no one. You’re irreplaceable, Janet. Irreplaceable. Welcome back. I’m thr-ill-ed you’re back.”
Amandine came by my desk. “Horrible,” she said. “The temps were just horrible. The first one complained that our billing system wasn’t intuitive. It’s state-of-the-art. I approved it myself when we opened the firm. The second one was entering lots of overtime. Well, we quickly found out why. He was getting it on with one of the new hires. You know April, who told us during interviews that she was a poor millionaire and billed like crazy? Yeah, that April. She was caught in the refreshment suites refreshing herself with the one billing overtime, and they were both billing our clients for their time. The third one was just eccentric. We fired her after two weeks. She wore an orange wig to work, almost the color of the dust storms, and she bunched her hair together with huge binder clips.” Amandine sighed. “You are definitely getting your bonus, even with that six-month leave.”
Andy stood at his door, smiled, and waved.
I walked to Larry’s office.
“By the way,” Larry said, “we did just fine without you. Just fine. Did you do fine without us?”
“Hi, Larry,” I said. “Thank you so much for the bouquets of roses and the sunflowers. We loved them, and we took lots of photos. You’re awesome, and I’m glad to be back.”
He smiled.
“There was also a big bouquet of proteas. Unsigned,” I said.
“Water Party,” Larry said. “Yeah. That’s Mike.”
“How do I thank them?”
Larry shook his head. “Leave it alone, Janet. Trust me on this one.”
As I left Larry’s office, I popped by Hannah’s office and got “the lowdown on the past six months, Janet.”
Larry and Michelle were back together.
Anton had visited Sequoia & Birch and had told them he’d drive them out of business if they cut ties with WS&X because of Eleena. Michelle then came to WS&X, and she screamed at Larry. They were back together a month later.
The Water Code was an absolute disaster. A di-sas-ter. They’d been watching videos of dust storms across the world that the Hoviaks had provided. They’d read and reread the Southern African Federation laws. They’d even been reading about the collapse of amphibian populations and the rise in malaria deaths. The firm billed for all their time, and Larry said the CWP and Trehoviak’s organizations paid “a shitload of money” just for the previous six months of work.
“The Hoviaks also visited Larry at home, which is their thing, you know, the Hoviaks,” Hannah said. “They visit you at home and threaten you. They also visited Amandine when she was on vacation in Maine, and they visited Andy three weeks ago. They hated what the firm came up with for the Water Code. There’ll be a meeting today about it, but no one will mention the night visits at 2:30 in the morning.”
Hannah also said that Mike had been in the office the day before. He and Hannah had been chatting over the past few months. He’d asked her out. He was married now, but it was an open marriage, and Hannah had nothing against being with a man who was honest and whose wife was fine with it. Hannah herself wouldn’t be in an open marriage, but she didn’t mind “sharing” until then.
I stared at Hannah and found myself grabbing her by the shoulder. Was she crazy? Hadn’t she just told me that these were the people who visited you in the early hours of the morning to threaten you, no matter where you were in the country?
“Don’t do it,” I said to Hannah as I looked directly at her. “Don’t do this to yourself, Hannah. He has a wife. He’s, well, he’s . . . You just deserve better.”
“He’s the hottest guy around.” Hannah winked. “And he’s powerful. I like powerful, smart men. He’s also really cute, and he likes that I’m really smart and really cute, too.”
“He’s your client,” I said to Hannah. “Your client.”
“It’s just dinner,” Hannah insisted. “Even Larry knows about it.”
“As if that were reassuring.” I sighed. “Larry, who’s back with Michelle, his own client.”
“He just bought Albertine-Rose a home in Aspen,” Hannah said, “and he had a serpent ring with emeralds and white diamonds from Zanzivahl delivered to Michelle last night. Since you weren’t here, I put the order through. Don’t ask. I just do as I’m told. Perfect for the practice of law in a corporate environment.”
“Hannah,” I sighed, “don’t become like them. You’ve always been your own person, and that’s what I love about you. Mike is eye candy, I know that. He knows that. The first time I saw him, I just about passed out, but ‘hot’ is not the same thing as ‘safe,’ Hannah. Safe will never burn you. Hot always will.”
“You don’t understand, Janet,” Hannah said as she put her hands on my shoulders. “I’ve been alone now for almost three, four years. It gets lonely, and I don’t get outside because I’m always indoors working and looking at the world outside. I notice time go by, the years pass me by, and everyone my age has a spouse, kids, a home, and they’ve all settled down. I’m tired of going to events as the spare wheel on the rare day I have time to myself. I just want to feel attractive, you know, Janet, like I’m being seen, like I’m desirable. You know the last time a man touched me—outside of a handshake? Three, maybe four years ago. Women like you and me, strong, intelligent women, have a hard time of it if we reach this pay scale
at a place like this and don’t already have someone. You have Mauru and the kids.”
Hannah paused. It was if she’d come to the realization that success in one part of her life had required failure in another, and she had to do her very best to fix that.
“Tonight, for the first time in years,” she said slowly as she adjusted her eyeglasses, “a really smart guy will be sitting across from me at the best restaurant in town, and he’ll tell me he finds me attractive. If he wants to touch me, maybe I’ll let him touch me. If he wants to spend the night together, maybe we’ll spend the night together. I’m no longer interested in being a good person at the expense of my own needs, Janet. Good people always come out last, and their needs go unmet because they’re always thinking of how things seem, how it will look to people who don’t care about them. Look at Larry.” [Hannah whispered now.] “Total asshole, who has everything he wants and needs. Name a single good person you know that people want to spend the night with. Name a single good person that others don’t want to make their doormat and wipe their feet on. There’s a reason the good die young and assholes laugh to their graves. I’m joining them.”
I took a seat at my desk.
A thought came to mind. “Not my circus, not my clowns,” as Anna once said.
LSD walked up to me smelling of cinnamon. Really smelling of cinnamon. If she’d asked me to suggest an additional name for her to add to “Lindsey-Stella-Dominique,” I would have suggested “Cinnamona” (and her nickname would be “LSDC”); that’s how strong that fragrance was.
“There’s a guy out of Chico,” LSD said, “who makes unisex fragrances from cinnamon. Amandine hates the smell, says it’s overpowering but” [LSD lowered her voice] “I think Amandine’s opinions are overpowering. How are the twins?”
“I’ll see them this evening, but I miss my kids. I just do,” I said.
“First day back,” LSD said as she walked away. “First day.”
“Ha-nnah!”
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