Other People's Houses, page 11
“And did you have fun?”
The top of Lucas’s head bobbed. “Yes, it was awesome.”
“Did everyone from class go?”
More bobbing. “Yes, except for Alison, she’s sick. So, she didn’t come. She was at home. Sick.”
“OK. And did you see lots of spiders?”
“Lots!! Some of the girls were scared, but I wasn’t. Why are girls scared of spiders?”
“It’s not just girls. Lots of people are scared of spiders.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“What are you scared of?”
There was a pause, and Bill looked over at the back of the screen. He knew she’d be wondering what to tell him. She wasn’t scared of much, his wife. She was a tough woman who’d grown up in near-poverty in the rural Midwest, made it to college, and didn’t talk about her childhood much. They had met randomly in the library, fallen deeply in love after a week, and been together ever since. He’d never met her mother. Her father was never mentioned.
“I don’t like being cold.”
Lucas peeped over the top of his screen at his dad. “No one likes being cold. But are you scared of it?” His dad looked at him and smiled, thinking of the possibly hundreds of times he’d brought Julie a blanket, a sweater, his jacket, a hot water bottle. She really didn’t like being cold. He hoped she wasn’t cold right then, and then realized there was nothing he could do if she was. She didn’t want his help anymore.
“I guess not. I’m scared of sharks.”
Lucas made a snorting noise. “My teacher said more people are killed by cows every year than are killed by sharks.”
“Really? Maybe I should be scared of cows.”
Bill could hear she was running out of energy. There was a time difference, it was later where she was, and he knew she’d had a busy day. “Come on, kid, it’s time for dinner. Say goodbye to Mommy, and come eat.” He called out, “Bye, Jules, I’ll call you later.”
“OK,” her voice floated back, and then dropped as she murmured good nights and much love to her son. Bill knew what she was really terrified of was never seeing Lucas again, but they didn’t need to talk about that.
They never talked about it, in fact.
* * *
• • •
Ava was also on Skype, as it happened, that service’s ethereal wires humming with bedtime chatter between parents and kids, grandparents and kids.
“So, how’s your mom?”
Ava shrugged and smiled at her grandma. “She’s fine, I guess. She’s always fine, right? She’s the most even-tempered person on the planet, which is so annoying. Was she always like that?”
Her grandmother laughed. “Oh yes, she was a very stable kid.” She dropped her voice. “One might even say boring, except that she was also very sweet and friendly and most people liked her a lot.” She looked sad, fleetingly. “I think I left her alone too much.”
Ava snorted. “Well, she hasn’t repeated your mistake, unfortunately. She’s always up in my beak.”
“She loves you.”
“I know.”
“She worries about you.”
“There’s no need. Everything’s fine.”
Her grandmother snorted, the original that came down through time and genetics to her granddaughter. “Please, Ava. There is nothing fine about being fourteen. It’s a total mess.”
“It’s OK. Parts are OK.”
“The whole period from eleven to fifteen is pretty much a yawning chasm of pain.”
“A catastrophe of confusion.”
“A maelstrom of unrelenting hormonal surges and storms.”
“OK, you win, Grandma. I don’t want to talk to you about hormones, please. That’s weird.”
“Why?”
“Because I can barely get my head around them in the peace and quiet of my room, let alone discussing them openly.” She looked at her spotty socks and flexed her feet, wishing she had longer toes. Just one more thing that wasn’t perfect about her.
Grandma sighed. “Your generation is far more prudish than mine. You get naked online, you send topless self-chats, or whatever you call them, but when it comes to having a private conversation about basic biology you get all squeamish.”
“Kids these days,” said Ava. Her mother’s voice floated up from downstairs. Dinner was ready. “I’ve got to go, Grandma, dinner. We’ll talk soon, yeah?”
“Of course. Give your mom a hug and kiss from me. And your brother and sister, please. When are they going to get on this thing?”
Ava got up, carrying the laptop over to her desk. “I don’t know. Milo has a laptop. I’ll help him put it on. Lally doesn’t have anything, but she could use mine, I guess.”
“That would be nice. Go eat your dinner, baby.”
After Ava had folded the screen down she stood there for a moment, her hand resting on her computer, a smile still in her eyes.
* * *
• • •
Wyatt and his mom were having dinner alone that night. Sara was shooting a commercial and was running late, as usual.
“Will Mommy be home in time for bed?” Wyatt was talking with his mouth full, but Iris didn’t care. Mommy was Sara. Iris was Mom.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. She wants to be, but sometimes these things take longer than you’d like.”
Wyatt nodded wisely. “Directors.”
Iris smiled. “Exactly.”
He turned up his hands, one of which was holding a carrot. “And don’t get me started on the studio.”
His mom laughed out loud and he joined her, thrilled to have pulled off a comedy bit. It was a relatively new skill, and he was crushing it. Iris leaned across the table and stroked his cheek where it grinned, a petal-soft swelling of happiness. She was blown away by him, then as ever. When he was small he’d basically gotten his words from Iris and Sara, so although she would sometimes hear her wife in what he said, she rarely heard anything surprising. Then he started watching TV and things from shows cropped up, little references from Dora or songs from Sesame Street, tiny nuggets of cultural exchange. But once he’d started school, and started listening more carefully to the conversations of adults, suddenly a whole new lexicon opened up and for the first time he brought fresh material to the table and, more thrilling still, ideas of his own.
It reminded her of his first smile at six weeks, that moment when the beauty of nature revealed itself by producing a smile at exactly the right moment to prevent parents from taking their irritating little blob and exposing it on a hillside. Hello, parents, said the smile, look, I am an actual human being, I will make all this exhausting trouble worth it. And your heart pulled a total Grinch and expanded three sizes. Now, looking at her son doing comedy bits he’d learned from his other mother, the woman she loved so much, she thought there might come a time her ribs wouldn’t be able to hold it all.
* * *
• • •
Anne was sitting with Kate, later that same evening, reading to her. They were lying next to each other on Kate’s bed, Anne on her tummy, propping the book in front of her. Kate was curled up, holding a knitted bunny, lifting her head whenever Anne said there was a picture.
“She’s naughty, isn’t she?” asked Kate. They were reading Junie B. Jones.
Anne smiled. “She’s just a kid. She’s not really naughty, she’s just full of beans.”
“Would you be mad at me if I cut the dog’s hair?”
“Well, we don’t have a dog, so I would be confused rather than mad. You’d have to go get a dog and then cut its hair.”
Kate giggled. “It’s a lot of trouble.”
“Right.” Anne leaned on one elbow to free her other hand to stroke Kate’s hair. Kate gazed at her, still amused by the idea of the dog. Anne could see Charlie in Kate’s bone structure, but saw herself in her daughter’s eyes. Each child was such a blend of history, of influences forgotten generations ago, but saved in DNA to confer height or a sense of humor or green eyes. Anne suddenly thought back to the aborted conversation she’d tried to have with Richard that day. She’d called him several times, but he’d never answered, and only texted back at the very end of the day that he’d been monitoring exams and hadn’t had his phone. Did she want to meet up? Was Charlie away? He wanted her.
No, she’d texted back, we’ll talk tomorrow.
I love you, he’d said, and she’d deleted the conversation.
“I love you, Mom,” said Kate, snuggling into her shoulder. “Keep reading.”
So, Anne turned back to Junie and the unfortunate Tickle, and tried to pretend her biggest failure as a parent was not getting her kids a dog whose hair they could cut.
Fifteen.
The next morning Lucas had a fever, so Bill texted Frances not to pick him up. Thank God for cell phones. Frances frequently listened to Ava bitch about not having one, watched her classmates all sitting with their heads bowed over their devices like penguins with their eggs, and wondered if they were destroying an entire generation’s ability to have a regular conversation. But then something would happen—she’d be able to coordinate an entire carpool, or arrange last-minute babysitting, or order something from Amazon—and she would sigh at her own reliance on her shiny little oblong. She wondered if parents watching their kids picking up books back in the eighteenth century had worried that they were going to rot their minds. And then she wondered if she was too fat, and should she download a tracking app of some kind.
“I’m sorry, Anne, did you say something?” She was suddenly aware she’d been gazing at Anne as her kids clambered into the back of the car and that it was possible the other woman had said something to her.
Anne smiled, although she looked anxious and uncharacteristically messy for once. “Yeah, but it was only good morning.”
“Good morning,” replied Frances automatically.
There was an awkward pause. Fortunately, the kids helped by starting a squabble in the back over who sat where, so Frances was able to turn away from Anne to take care of it. By the time she was ready to pull away from the curb Anne had already gone back inside.
“Mommy didn’t say goodbye!” wailed Kate.
This was really A Thing. Kids who seemed mature and capable of many irritating things were thrown to the floor when their parents failed to say goodbye. To discover a parent had left the house without the correct handoff could ruin a whole day. Proof, if proof were needed, that children were masters of magical thinking. Frances knew better than to breeze through it. She started to dial Anne’s number but then just punched her seat belt and got out, jogging up Anne’s path to knock on the door.
Anne opened it, holding her phone and looking worried. “What?”
“You forgot to say goodbye,” Frances said, already turning and heading back to the car.
“Shit, sorry.” Anne followed her and there was a sweetly sentimental goodbye scene, as if she was putting her kids on the Kindertransport, rather than sending them to public school for a few hours.
Eventually it was done, everyone felt emotionally ready to face the day, and Frances was able to pull away. Ava had gone temporarily blind from excessive eye rolling, but apart from that, all was well.
* * *
• • •
Anne went back inside, determined to end the affair she’d been having for six months, and making a mental note to not forget to say goodbye in the future.
Charlie was still wandering around upstairs, so she took him a cup of coffee.
“Thanks, babe,” he said, pulling her close and smelling roses in her hair. “What are you doing today?”
“Not sure. Not much.” Breaking up with my boyfriend.
“Do you want to have lunch?”
“Sure, that would be nice. Where?” Assuming I stop feeling nauseous long enough to eat.
He named somewhere they’d been before, close to his office. She nodded, and went to get herself more coffee, too. I can barely see for panic.
Charlie watched her turn the corner of their bedroom door, and smiled all the way down to his toes. He was a lucky man. He turned around and sat down on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes. Maybe he’d stop at the little hipster jewelry store Anne loved so much, and pick her up a gift he could give her at lunch. She was a sucker for pretty things, always had been. When they’d first met she’d not been all that interested in him. She was an art student, he was a law student, they couldn’t have had that much in common. She was a free spirit but, it soon became clear, a free spirit with a serious penchant for silk underwear and vintage jewelry. He blandished her with gifts until he could charm her into falling in love, and here they were, a decade later, still together.
Charlie tied his shoelaces, and stood, shaking his suit into place, satisfied with his lot.
* * *
• • •
It turned out that breaking up really was hard to do. Anne called Richard and explained the situation. As soon as she heard his voice she’d stopped feeling anxious and sick. She was going to end this, and she was going to be free of it. End of story.
“But nothing has changed,” he protested. Why had she never noticed how whiny he was?
“Yes,” she said, firmly. “You texted me the other night and my kid saw it and I suddenly realized I don’t want to do this anymore. It’s very simple, Richard, it’s over. Please just accept it.” She was in her underwear in the bathroom, choosing an outfit to have lunch in. She wanted to make an effort for Charlie. She needed to turn this ship around. She looked at her body briefly; it was still good. The best side effect of infidelity, it turned out, was improved core strength and muscle tone. Young men were so energetic. Her particular young man was still talking, so she dragged her attention back.
“I’ll be more careful. I won’t text you at all anymore. Please come see me. I miss you so much.” He was in his office at school, having gone in early in the hope of talking to her before his day began. He woke up thinking of her, went to lunch thinking of her, held his dick and peed thinking of her, washed his hands thinking of her. He knew it was getting dangerous, he could feel himself losing control, knew on several levels that payback was going to be a bitch. He just couldn’t handle it being over now. He needed more.
“No, Richard. I’m not going to see you again. It’s been fun, but you knew it was never going anywhere. I never wanted to leave my family. I never lied to you.” Everyone else, yes, but not you.
“I know.” Silence. “I’m coming to see you.”
“No.”
“Please. Let’s go to bed. We can talk about it after I make you come like a million times.”
She wrinkled her nose. “No. This is it, Richard. We’re done. Goodbye.” She hung up and went back to her closet. The celadon dress, which said elegant woman of a certain age, or the overalls, which said hip young mother who still gave blow jobs? Such a tough call.
Three miles away in his office, Richard put his head on his desk and sobbed.
* * *
• • •
It just so happened that when Sara walked into the restaurant where she was meeting her agent for lunch, the first person she spotted was Charlie, the guy who lived up the road and was married to that cool drink of water whose name she couldn’t remember right away. He saw her, too, because he was watching the door. He raised his hand in greeting.
“Hey, Charlie, how’s it going?” Sara leaned down for a kiss, and suddenly remembered his wife’s name. Anne, her name was Anne. They didn’t really know each other, but they had a kid in Wyatt’s class . . . ? Iris took care of all of that stuff.
“Hi, Sara.” He was pleased he’d remembered her name. “Everything’s good with me, how’re things down the street?”
She smiled. “Good. Are you meeting Anne for lunch?” Look, see how casually I display my knowledge. I do know you, we know each other, we are friends and neighbors, and I didn’t just screw up the social contract.
He nodded. “Yeah, although she’s late. Mind you, she’s always late, so that’s not a big deal. Are you meeting Iris?” Five points for remembering the other lesbian’s name. He didn’t consciously think of them as “the lesbians,” but that was one of their many tags: neighbors, parents, women, hot women (this one in front of him, the other one not so much), famous people (again, this one, not the other one), parents of a son, a friend of Milo’s, people in the kids’ carpool, people one saw at the holidays, people one saw at soccer practice . . . It was a long list of tags.
Sara shook her head, and then made eye contact with her agent, whom she’d spotted at a table in the back. “No, I’m here for work. I see my person. I’d better go.”
“Sure, well, see you in the ’hood.” He smiled, pleased to have navigated their little exchange without messing up anyone’s name. Anne took care of all that stuff. As he thought that, Anne walked in the door and his head turned, along with several others. She had her own set of tags in his head, of course, but the most important one was Best Friend, and he was pleased to see her. He stood up as she approached the table and she smiled her incredible smile, the one that touched him to the core, the one that made him think of the birth of his children, the first time he’d kissed their little wet heads and then looked up into Anne’s eyes and felt that nameless connection nothing could explain or express sufficiently. Nothing would take that away; that was in their bones.
