All the Right Mistakes

by Laura Jamison

  “Please sit down and make yourself comfortable, assuming, of course, that remains a possibility for you at this stage,” the dean said wryly.

  Martha smiled and said, “Not really, but I’ll give it a chance.”

  “When are you expecting the new arrival?” the dean asked pleasantly.

  “Any day now,” replied Martha with a tired smile.

  “Excellent. Well, I won’t beat around the bush given your condition. I’m sure a rest would do you good. I called you and your husband in to discuss a serious matter.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry Robert was unable to make it. His work at the hospital makes it very difficult for him to get away,” Martha interjected apologetically, annoyed that she was yet again in the position to have to make excuses for him.

  “Well, if we don’t make some progress, I will want him to participate in future discussions. It’s important in our community that both parents are part of the process.”

  “Of course,” replied Martha, wondering what could be such an enormous problem at the first-grade level that it required both Robert and her to attend a future meeting.

  “I assume the issue is in the first-grade classroom,” prompted Martha, wanting to get this over with and find a place to get ice cream. She was hungry and tired.

  “Actually, this is a more global concern,” replied the dean in a serious tone. “Our staff have observed some ongoing issues with both the boys. In the case of Bobby, we have witnessed a number of instances of aggression toward the other children. There was one instance in which he pulled the hair of another classmate and two reports of shouting on the playground. These sorts of behaviors are not the kind that are acceptable in our community. While they haven’t risen to the level that would require immediate action, we wanted to inform you of our findings so that you can be part of the solution moving forward.”

  “I’m sure that a part of that is the stress of the move,” said Martha, vowing to read Bobby the riot act when she got home. “Robert and I will address it, of course. You mentioned that there are issues with both boys?”

  “Yes, with Jack, the staff informs me that he has had a number of accidents requiring the staff to be pulled away from learning activities to assist him. As you know, our policy is that all 4K community members must be fully toilet trained. I appreciate that accidents happen, but more than a few accidents indicate a failure to be fully trained. And, as you know, the accidents are, shall we say, often so catastrophic that we can’t simply clean him up here at school, necessitating an immediate parent pickup.”

  Martha felt her cheeks go hot with embarrassment. “Yes, I know Jack has had some issues in that department. I think the change has been hard on him as well.”

  “Agreed. And we will give you every opportunity to adjust more fully. It’s only been nine weeks after all. But I must advise that with the arrival of a new baby, we often find this can create additional difficulties. I have an excellent consultant if you are interested.” The dean began rummaging around in her desk. “She’s available to speak with you tomorrow if you are available.”

  “Actually, I have an interview tomorrow,” Martha blurted out.

  “Yes, I imagine you are still looking for all sorts of help. You know, we produce a list of recommended service providers for a wide variety of needs, from household help to doctors, tutors, and coaches. I’ll ask Glenda to e-mail it to you,” said the dean.

  “No, actually, I am interviewing to get a job as a doctor in a local clinic run by an old classmate.”

  The dean looked confused.

  “But won’t you be taking care of the new baby for some time?” she asked.

  “Maybe for a few weeks, but I’d really like to get back to work. I’m a doctor,” said Martha lamely.

  “Is there a financial consideration? We can certainly talk with your family about our financial aid options.”

  “No, no, we don’t need the money,” Martha replied, with growing embarrassment at this entire exchange. “I miss being a doctor, and I’m excited to return to the profession.”

  “I see,” said the dean, although it was clear that she didn’t see. “I do hope you take into consideration the needs of your boys and the issues we covered as you make your decisions. Perhaps you could delay that degree of change until things are settled.” Rising from her chair, she continued, “Well, that’s enough of that. Good day. My door is always open.”

  Having properly shamed Martha, the dean motioned her out.

  Well, there you go, thought Martha. Women who think men are the problem really are missing the boat because no one is less kind to women than other women, regardless of the circumstances. We truly can’t win. And shame is the weapon of choice. The dean would have never told Robert not to go to work.

  It made her remember again that day she had been so angry with Heather, the moment that she had never fully forgiven, if she was being honest.

  It had happened right after Jack was born. Heather had started her family and had just been recruited to her big executive job at FLASH. Elizabeth had made partner at her law firm, but she hadn’t started trying for a baby yet. Sara was on baby number three and was working at her in-house lawyer job. And Carmen was home with Avery, probably busier than any of them with her various school and community commitments.

  That year they had decided to meet for their annual girls’ weekend in Chicago, where Carmen and Sara were living.

  Martha was excited to tell her friends about her choice to stay home full-time. She didn’t tell them the whole story, of course. Only Carmen knew about all of it. But she thought they would be happy for her, and, selfishly, she was trying to be okay with her decision, and their approval would have gone a long way toward that cause.

  Heather had insisted that they go to the Four Seasons and that she pay. They all objected. The stress of keeping up with the Joneses was making everyone feel relatively poor, and they expected Heather was no exception . . . until she told them what her pay package was going to be at FLASH. When they heard the eye-popping sum, they couldn’t say yes fast enough.

  Heather had booked them into the biggest suite in the place. For her money, Martha would have stayed in the room the whole weekend, luxuriating in the enormous white-and-gray marble tub, but Heather had insisted that they all get dressed up to celebrate her and Elizabeth’s promotions. They went to dinner at one of those great Chicago restaurants where an individual cut of steak was enough to feed the whole table.

  Martha still had a picture of the five of them at that dinner in a moving box somewhere. Everyone looked so happy and full of life in the picture, with their glasses raised in a toast.

  The dinner went as it always did. They told stories about the old days—skating on Occum Pond, building the ice sculpture on the Green, dancing around the bonfire at Homecoming. The conversation would inevitably turn to gossip about mutual acquaintances. Everything had been going swimmingly until Martha shared her news.

  Sara had said flatly, “Good for you—parenthood is exhausting, and you can always go back.”

  Elizabeth hadn’t crossed the motherhood bridge yet, but she apparently felt compelled to point out that when the women at her firm left, they never, ever returned. “But if that’s what you want, Martha, good for you,” she had said.

  “Do I have to be the asshole here?” Heather had exclaimed with exaggerated exasperation. “Martha, you are making a big mistake. Huge. If you leave now, you’ll never go back. You worked so hard to become a doctor. You went to Harvard, for Christ’s sake. And you’re great at what you do. What are you thinking? Just hire more help!”

  Carmen had immediately interjected, “Heather, it’s extraordinary that you think you know what’s best for everyone when you barely have time to hear about what’s really going on in all of our lives,” but she stopped short when Martha shot her a look that said, Shut it, Carmen.

  The girls moved on to happier topics, but Martha couldn’t shake off Heather’s comments, and she did her best to
hide her hurt. Carmen was right—Heather didn’t know all the facts, but she knew enough to wound. Martha intended to enjoy staying home regardless of all the reasons for being there, but she did feel some shame that she couldn’t do it all on her own, at least not right then.

  On the way back to the hotel, Carmen took her arm and whispered, “Heather’s a bitch. You are going to love being home with your baby. And don’t forget, this is what you need to do right now. It’s not a knock on you. No one can do it all alone. Not even Martha Adams. And of course you can go back when you’re ready. Elizabeth doesn’t know anything about the medical field. You’re good.”

  Martha didn’t look forward to talking to Heather much after that weekend. It was ironic. She should have had more in common with Heather after Bobby was born—she was in the motherhood club now! But she felt more distant from her than ever. It was so easy to stop talking every week. Then every month. And then one day they weren’t talking much at all. Martha didn’t avoid her per se, but she didn’t seek her out either. They were together on their girls’ weekends a few times in the intervening years, but Heather didn’t ever seem to perceive the rift she had created in their relationship. Martha never pushed the issue because Heather had always been Elizabeth’s closest friend and Martha didn’t want to hurt Elizabeth, who didn’t have many other friends outside their group. Besides, Elizabeth was a genuinely good person and didn’t deserve it.

  Things change, Martha thought as she walked out of the school and climbed behind the wheel of her car to drive back home. Dartmouth felt like a lifetime ago.

  At the end of the day, it didn’t matter what the dean or Heather or anyone thought. She couldn’t go back to work if the boys were in trouble.

  It was all very disappointing but somehow felt inevitable at the same time. It would be too much, again.

  Of their entire group, Sara was the only one who had managed to figure out how to work and mother with another working spouse, although Sara didn’t feel like a good data point. She seemed to relish living on the edge of disaster. Martha didn’t want to live like that.

  But Sara did. She wanted it all. And then she wanted to double it.

  SARA

  Sara always ate lunch at her desk and always while she was multitasking. As she raised a forkful of cobb salad, her phone rang.

  “Sara Beck,” she said in her serious lawyer voice as she smoothed back her long brown hair, which was possibly infused with vomit. She really had no idea. She had thrown it into a bun on her way into work. Her worn navy suit jacket had probably been hit too. Whatever. After she was back to her usual size ten, she planned to throw out the size twelves (okay, some fourteens too) and maternity items for good. Maybe she would burn them.

  “Scott Beck,” came back a deep, teasing voice.

  “I’m busy, Scott,” chided Sara.

  “Busier than taking care of a pukey baby?” Scott tossed back.

  “And I’m eating lunch,” said Sara.

  “Well, lucky you! I’m cleaning lunch up off the floor, and I’m taking a vacation day!” Scott retorted.

  “Okay, I’m putting down my fork,” Sara conceded with a sigh.

  “I just wanted to be sure that you can pick up the kids from aftercare and soccer. And probably pick up dinner.”

  Sara tried to control her annoyance. To be fair, Scott was taking his turn with the baby today. Not that it would matter. Even though they had been taking turns staying home when the kids got sick, Sara had missed almost six days in the first quarter alone because of a family strep outbreak, which she couldn’t seem to halt even after replacing every last toothbrush three times (total cost—fifty-four dollars). If she kept at it, her boss would give her that sad look he got when he thought she wasn’t performing up to her potential.

  “You got it, honey. I have to get back to work. Love you,” she replied in the most positive tone she could muster.

  She needed to do better and be kinder to her husband, Sara reminded herself. Since she and Scott had gone for baby number four, the very little time they had together had evaporated. Like ships passing in the night, her friends would say. Not exactly, thought Sara, More like exhausted shift workers forced to put in overtime without extra pay. And when she was tired, Sara was snappish at best.

  Sara’s work friend Katherine came into Sara’s cube to chat. Katherine was more than a decade younger than Sara and back from maternity leave from her first baby. She was finding it hard to keep her energy up throughout the day because the baby barely slept. Sara was also happy to lend a sympathetic ear or just chat for a while to help Katherine keep it together. To be fair, it helped them both keep it together.

  “I’m tired,” said Katherine.

  “Same,” agreed Sara.

  “Hey, what’s going on with your fancy friend in California?”

  “Heather Hall?”

  “Do you have other fancy friends I don’t know about?” asked Katherine.

  “No, she’s pretty much it, sorry,” Sara said with a laugh. “Let’s consult my favorite guilty pleasure, Facebook, shall we?” She turned to her computer. “You know, my friends and I barely hear from Heather anymore. She’s gone, like, supernova.”

  Sara clicked over to Heather’s page, and there was her old friend. Well, technically, not a “friend” on Facebook. Heather only had “followers” at this point.

  There she was. Heather Hall, Global COO of FLASH, the leading internet-based clearinghouse for, well, everything on Earth. She looked so perfect in her profile picture. Perfect maroon dress and cardigan set off by her perfect blond bob and blue eyes. Her cover banner featured three perfectly turned-out blond children posed along the perfectly blue ocean.

  Yeah, Sara was jealous. Definitely jealous.

  “What does her husband do anyway?”

  “He invests,” replied Sara.

  “That’s nonsense,” said Katherine.

  “One hundred percent,” Sara agreed, laughing. “Stars, they’re not just like you and me.”

  “What do you think it takes to be a Heather? She clearly has all the help in the world. But there has to be something special there, right? If we all could just focus one hundred percent on ourselves, do you think we could be Heathers too? Do you ever think about it?” asked Katherine.

  You have no idea, Katherine, Sara wanted to reply. Sara often wondered what her life would look like if she hadn’t been so eager to start a family with Scott in her twenties. At the time she’d made that decision, she really thought she had what it took to come back to her firm and make it work after her first baby was born. But she didn’t. She had been so young then. She hadn’t learned yet that when you leave a place and come back, even just months later, it’s never going to be just the same as it was before. The place will have changed, and, more importantly, you will have changed. The rewards and benefits that had seemed so enticing were—how could she describe it?—flatter, perhaps.

  “Nope,” Sara said to Katherine. “Heather is just one of those one-in-a-million people.”

  “Well, good for her. Just thinking about that life makes me more exhausted. But it does look amazing on social media, I’ll give her that. Hey, I think I’ll go for a Starbucks. Want one?”

  “No, I’m good,” replied Sara as she watched Katherine trail out of her cube.

  As Sara sat alone, she reflected on whether she might have become a Heather if things had been different. In truth, she believed all four of her old friends were wildly talented. But life, for lack of a better word, had happened to all of them.

  In Sara’s case, she had traded the exciting big firm life for marriage to the guy who had shown up to fix her computer on her first day, a less demanding attorney job at a local company, and four babies. So not Heather’s life, but, truly, not bad.

  Speak of the devil, she thought as the phone rang and she saw it was Scott calling again.

  “What is it, Scott?” she asked, taking care to sound light and pleasant.

  “I think the baby
needs to go to the doctor.”

  “Okay, what are the symptoms?”

  “So, basically he won’t stop crying. And more puking.”

  “A lot of puke?”

  “Well, no, but the dry heaving makes me want to puke.”

  “Nope. It’s a virus. You just have to deal with it.”

  “Sara, you know I really don’t do bodily fluids. Can you just work from home or something, please? I need a break. I’ve been at this for like five hours since you left.”

  Sara bit her tongue. Mmmkay. Five whole hours. Daylight hours at that.

  “Yes, I’ll come home,” she replied, “but Scott, we still need to pick up the kids.”

  “I thought you could give me a few hours off, then pick the kids up, and maybe get dinner while you’re at it.”

  She wanted to reply, Sure, Scott, I’ll just do everything.

  Instead she said simply, “Sure, Scott,” trying not to use a sarcastic tone. She just wasn’t up for another round of The Fight today.

  The Fight was always about the same thing—who was doing more, especially more of the shit work: dirty diapers, food prep, food service, food cleanup, cleanup in general, day care coordination, soccer driving, registrations, private lessons, doctor appointments, parent-teacher conferences, and on and on. The list was endless.

  The Fight was in reality an ongoing war with no winner and enormous collateral damage. The worst effect of The Fight was that neither of them could ever fully relax and enjoy their precious little time off. If Sara was watching TV with a glass of wine, Scott would assume that she was slacking off on something that he would have to do instead. And vice versa. When Scott watched football every Saturday in the fall, Sara looked around the house suspiciously thinking that he must be ignoring some of his chores. Sometimes she ran the vacuum during a big game just to be spiteful. He would retaliate by making a big mess of his “hands-off” space, just to make her squirm. Sara also suspected that he often worked late just so he didn’t have to hear about all the things he wasn’t doing right. And on and on The Fight went.