Our New Normal

by Colleen Faulkner

  She only had salad and bread for dinner. No pasta. She’s trying to lose weight. When she told us that was why she wasn’t eating the spaghetti, Mom suggested she cut back on her alcohol consumption. She stuck her tongue out at her.

  “What countries?” I ask Aunt Beth.

  “Germany, Austria, and France. The boat stops in lots of towns and cities, and you can get off and just walk around, eat, go shopping.”

  “Hazel, I think she’s poopy.” Mom talks over Aunt Beth.

  Aunt Beth turns to me, going on with her story about all of the excursions available on the river cruise.

  “Have you talked to him?” I hear Gran say to Mom.

  “Just about logistics. There’s a leak in the roof here.” Mom is still trying to get Charlie to take her Binky. “About Sean’s plans right after school gets out. He’s going to California to meet Kyo’s parents and her little brother.”

  “I mean talk to him.” Gran touches Mom’s hand, something I don’t see her do often. She’s not a physical person, not like Granddad was. Before he got dementia. Before he had a stroke and died. I still can’t believe he’s dead. I loved him so much. And I liked him, too. Even when he got crazy.

  Aunt Beth is still going on about the trip her boyfriend is going to take her on. I want to ask her how she can afford to take off so much time from her job, but I’m also trying to listen in on Mom and Gran’s conversation, so I just let Aunt Beth go on.

  “He really misses you, Liv,” Gran says. “He wishes he could take back what he said to you.”

  I have to read Gran’s lips to get this part.

  “How do you know what he said to me?” Mom says kind of loud.

  Charlie is really starting to fuss now so I don’t hear Gran’s response.

  “If he’s sorry, I think he’d have said so, Mother.” My mom’s voice sounds weird. Higher pitched than normal. Like she’s trying not to cry. I don’t want her to cry. I don’t want her to divorce Dad because he said something dumb. I wonder what he said. I doubt Gran will tell me. I know Mom and Dad won’t. They’ve never done that, even when they were really mad at each other—get Sean or me involved.

  “You know how men are,” Gran goes on. “You need to be the one to offer the olive branch.”

  Mom is bouncing Charlie’s seat with her foot and making soothing sounds. Charlie isn’t having it and now she’s squirming and fussing louder. She’s about to go ballistic. I can see it in her little squinched-up face.

  “Maybe I don’t want to offer an olive branch.”

  “Oh, baloney,” Gran says, sounding a lot like Granddad.

  “. . . Thinking about the Greek islands,” Aunt Beth is going on. “But Jason’s always wanted to try a Viking river cruise. He says . . .”

  Charlie’s fussing that has now escalated to crying is drowning out Aunt Beth. Which is kind of a good thing because I don’t care that much about her rich boyfriend or her river cruise. It’s not that I’m not happy for her, but she always gets like this with a new guy. And then he always turns out to be a dickwad and she ends up back in her bathrobe, drinking wine out of a box and watching Little Women: Atlanta, or Real Housewives of somewhere. She has terrible taste in men. We all think so.

  “Mother,” my mom says loudly. “I’m not discussing my marriage difficulties with you. It’s not your business.”

  “It’s my business if I’m living in your house, listening to him every day,” Gran says, her voice louder than Mom’s.

  Aunt Beth stops talking mid-sentence to look at Mom and Gran. Charlie never takes a breath.

  “Hazel?” Mom speaks sharply, turning to me. “Are you going to—” She stops and starts again, getting out of her chair. “Never mind,” she says, unbuckling Charlie and taking her out of the seat. “I’ll do it. You finish your dinner.”

  All three of us watch Mom walk out of the kitchen, holding Charlie, who is still giving it her best. She cries so loud sometimes that, at home, I put Dad’s noise-canceling headphones on.

  Mom disappears down the hall and I turn back to look at Aunt Beth and Gran. Aunt Beth is eating the little pieces of bread that have fallen out of the basket onto the tablecloth. According to her, things like that don’t count calorie-wise. Also whatever she eats off other people’s plates.

  “I’m sorry,” I say to the table. I don’t even know why I say it.

  Gran looks at me. “It’s not your fault.”

  Aunt Beth picks up a glass of wine. “I beg to differ.” She turns to me. “You know why she left, right?”

  I can faintly hear Charlie crying. Mom has taken her upstairs.

  “Because of me,” I mumble, looking down at my plate. I haven’t finished eating my spaghetti, but all of a sudden I’m not hungry anymore.

  “Because of that.” She points in the direction my mom has just taken my screaming daughter. “You’re not taking care of her properly.”

  “Beth,” Gran says sharply.

  “What?” She looks at her mother and then at me again.

  “I am taking care of her,” I say. “I’m doing my best.” My voice quivers.

  “Well, your best isn’t good enough. And where’s Baby Daddy in all of this?” my aunt asks, opening her arms and looking around. “Huh? Why isn’t he walking her? Buying her diapers and shit?”

  Gran gets up and takes her dirty plate with her.

  Aunt Beth has another drink of wine. “Honey, I’m not trying to pick on you. You know I love you, but you’ve got to step up. Because leaving your baby with your grandmother all the time?” She waggles her finger at me. “Not cool.”

  I stare at my plate, not sure what to say. Mostly because I know she’s right.

  “It’s time you take on your own responsibilities, Hazel.” She gets out of her chair. “You wanted to be an adult and have sex with your boyfriend? Too dumb to use a condom? Well, it’s time to put your big girl panties on and be a mother to the by-product of that stupidity.”

  I hear Aunt Beth walk out of the room. Go up the stairs. Charlie isn’t crying anymore.

  But I am.

  Gran walks over and stands beside my chair. We’re both quiet for what seems like a long time. I can hear Aunt Beth talking to Mom upstairs. She’s pretty loud.

  “You can’t let what she says hurt your feelings,” Gran says gently. “She’s had too much to drink.”

  I sigh and pick up my fork, pushing some noodles around my plate. “But what if Mom and Dad get a divorce because of me?” I’m trying not to cry. I feel like this all the time now. Except when I’m with Jack. He’s the only one who makes me feel better about myself. Makes me feel like I’m not such a loser. Such a crappy mom.

  Gran pulls out Aunt Beth’s chair and takes her time sitting down. I think she’s in pain today. She seems to be moving slowly. “Couples who have been together as long as your mom and dad have issues to work through sometimes. I can’t tell you how many times I threatened to divorce your grandfather.”

  I stare at my plate. “But they’re fighting about me. About Charlie.”

  “I think they’re disagreeing about you and Charlie. But this is not just about you, I can promise you that.”

  I look up at her. “Then what’s it about? Why’s Mom living here and Dad’s in Judith?”

  Gran sighs. “My daughter refuses to talk to me about it, but I think it’s just growing pains.”

  “Growing pains?” I think for a minute. “Isn’t that’s something little kids have? When Sean’s legs used to hurt at night, Dad said they were growing pains.”

  Gran runs her hand over the back of my head and down over my hair. Which worries me a little because first she touched Mom, now she’s touching me. I hope she doesn’t think she’s going to die or something.

  “Your mother’s life has changed. Sean’s gone off to college. You’ve made her a grandmother. She has a job now.” She shrugs. “Different times in your life, you have to go through things. Not just when you’re seventeen.” She picks up Aunt Beth’s plate. “I do
n’t think you should worry. Your mom and dad love each other. They’ll work it out.” She sets the plate down again. “That said, I have to tell you, I think your mom’s right about you not being home enough with Charlie.”

  I press my lips together, staring at my plate.

  “I’m old, Hazel. I helped you out in the beginning because I knew how hard this was, but . . . you need to be home more. I’m not going to watch her as much as I have been watching her. One night a week. Maybe two, that’s all I’m going to give you. And no more going back to sleep in the morning after your dad goes to work.” She pauses and goes on. “My friend Anne called me this week and asked me to come back to mah-jongg. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings. They’ve got an open seat at the table. I had to stop playing when your grandfather couldn’t be left alone anymore. I want to play again.” She picks up the plate and this time gets up, taking it with her to the sink.

  I sit there staring at my stupid plate, trying not to cry anymore. She’s right. I know she’s right. I know they’re all right. I just . . . don’t know if I can do it anymore. And what’s the alternative? Charlie’s almost three months old.

  Tears drip onto my spaghetti plate.

  When I first found out I was pregnant, I overheard a conversation with Mom and Dad. Dad was talking. About him and Mom adopting my baby. At the time, it sounded so crazy. It still does. But not as crazy now as it did then.

  37

  Liv

  It takes longer for Oscar to make the phone call than I expected. In fact, I’d nearly given up on him making the call at all. And I wasn’t sure if I could make it.

  When my phone rings, I’m sitting behind the cottage in his favorite Adirondack chair, trying to read a book I picked up at the grocery store on the way home from Lincolnville. I’m not reading, though, I’m worrying. I’m worrying about my mom, who’s not feeling well this week. About my project in Lincolnville, about the bid on the store project, and my upcoming meeting with the owners. And then there’s Hazel. And Charlie. I miss Charlie so much that it hurts.

  It’s a beautiful evening, warm for May, and the view from the cliff top is astounding. I can hear the waves crashing as the tide comes in and the faint call of the female loon as she hunts. Calling to her partner.

  When I answer my cell, the first thing out of Oscar’s mouth is, “I’m sorry, Liv. I’m so damned sorry.”

  It takes me a few seconds to respond, long enough for him to say, “Liv? Are you there, hon?”

  “I’m here,” I say softly.

  He exhales. “I miss you, baby.”

  “I do not miss the baby,” I joke. “Well, I do miss her.”

  “But not the crying,” he puts in.

  We both chuckle. It’s not a laugh. Neither of us is at the point of laughing, but at least we’re at the point of joking. There’s been no joking on the phone since I left. Just brief, curt exchanges involving the who, what, and where of our lives.

  “I want you to come home,” he says.

  I set my book down on the red chair and make my way to the edge of the bluff where the house sits. There’s a path that leads down to the beach. It’s a steep walk so there’s a rope attached to a pinion at the top, to use if you need it. I don’t go down to the beach. I just stand there looking out at the water, at the jagged black rocks protruding from the white surf.

  “I’m sorry for what I said. I don’t want a divorce,” he goes on. “You know I don’t. I was angry, and tired, and . . . hon, I don’t want to sleep another night without you. I miss you. I need you, Liv.”

  I press my hand to my forehead. “I miss you, too,” I confess. “But I have to admit, I don’t miss the chaos, Oscar. I don’t miss the arguing. I don’t miss . . . being at odds with you about Hazel and the baby.”

  “You were completely right. I’ve been babysitting too much, covering for her too often. Making it too easy for her to come and go as she pleases. I’m working on that. Your mom and I. We both agreed to limit our babysitting time. Hazel has been home every night but one since she and your mom came back from visiting you. And the one night, I watched Charlie and I told her she had to be home by ten or I wasn’t watching her again.”

  I smile to myself. I know that had to be hard for Oscar to do. I’m touched he would do it for me. But he’s skirting the issue of what the argument was actually about. I decide not to bring that up right now.

  “How’s our daughter making out?” I ask.

  “Terrible. A lot of whining. A lot of time on the phone talking to her friends, whining. We got a baby swing that plays classical music so she puts Charlie in that a lot. Charlie likes it.”

  We’re both quiet for a minute.

  “Liv, I’ve been thinking,” he says. “When you come back . . . if you’ll come back, I want to focus on our marriage. On what we used to have because I want that again. And I think you do, too. I’m going to put you first. Ahead of work, ahead of Hazel and Charlie. Like the old days. Remember when the kids were little?”

  “Oscar first,” I say, feeling nostalgic.

  “Liv first,” he says into the phone.

  It was a silly thing we used to say each night before we went to sleep. It went with “I love you.” In those days, it was a reminder that no matter how crazy things got with work, our families, a house sadly in need of repair, two toddlers, we’d always put each other first. It was a reminder that we married because we loved each other. That we had children to deepen our relationship. We didn’t marry so we could have children.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says.

  I can’t help thinking how sexy he sounds. His voice and that he would want to know my feelings on all this. But I don’t say that. “I don’t know, Oscar. I can’t come back to the way things have been. And Hazel and Charlie aren’t the only problems.” A seagull soars over my head, making that mournful sound they make. “I mean, they are. Hazel is, but . . . Oscar, we weren’t connecting well before Hazel got pregnant.”

  “I know,” he says quickly. “I know, but I don’t think it was because we don’t love each other anymore. I’ve been thinking a lot about this since you left. After I got done being angry. And feeling sorry for myself.”

  I smile. One of the things I always loved about Oscar was that he could take a good snapshot of himself. It might take him a while, he might fight it, but in the end, he’s always been able to analyze his behavior accurately.

  “I think we just . . . I think we got lazy, Liv. Like a lot of couples who have been together as long as we have.”

  “You’re probably right,” I agree. “We were distant, too. I know I was. And I was apprehensive about my new company. I didn’t know if I could make it fly. I didn’t know if I could do the work.”

  “I knew you could do it, Liv.”

  “But—Oscar, you never said that to me.” I turn and walk back toward the house. “You made me feel like I was inconveniencing you by doing something for myself. Something I really wanted to do. I thought . . . I thought you didn’t think I could succeed.”

  “Really? You thought that?” He groans. “I’m sorry, then, because that was never my intention. To make you feel that way. I knew you could do it. I was just wrapped up in what was going on at work. All the changes in policy, the new medical records system. Then after we found out that Hazel was pregnant and you told me the whole thing about wishing you had worked when the kids were little.” He exhales, seeming to be looking for the right words to express himself. “You were so angry about staying home to work. Resentful. Liv, it pissed me off that you held that against me for all those years and I didn’t know it. I’ve been thinking back and you never told me you were unhappy.”

  I look at the sky, running my hand over my head, tugging at my ponytail. “I wasn’t unhappy. I just felt . . . trapped. Unfulfilled. I loved being a mother but—” I hesitate. We’re having a good conversation here, the best we’ve had in months. I wonder how honest I should be, though. Well, forthcoming. I decide I have to be complet
ely honest with him and speak my mind. Because that’s at least partially why we’re here where we are now, because I haven’t always told him everything I was thinking or feeling. “If I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t have been a stay-at-home mom. I don’t know that I would have wanted to work full-time when the kids were little, but I should have worked. I would have felt better about myself, which I think might have made me a better mother. Maybe a better wife.”

  “You should have told me at the time that’s how you felt.” His tone isn’t accusatory. It’s only honest.

  And we’re both quiet again. Both thinking.

  He’s the first to speak again. “Will you at least consider coming home? So we can talk? If you come home tomorrow after work, we could go out to eat dinner. Just you and me.”

  I hesitate. Truthfully, I don’t know if I want to go home or not. Things have gotten so turned around since Hazel became pregnant. Who I am has changed. My roles have changed. And not just with Hazel, but with my parents, too. With Mom now. And I’m still reeling from Dad’s death. Subsequently, my expectations of myself and of what other people want from me have changed. It feels overwhelming. And I’ve enjoyed my time alone here at the cottage. Enjoyed not having so many people need me. Not risking disappointing them. Not risking disappointing Oscar.

  Tears spring to my eyes. We’ve had such a good life together; the idea that our marriage could be over breaks my heart. But I truly don’t know if I can go home to him. To the life we had.

  “Please, Liv,” my husband says. “Will you come home? Or . . . at least think about it?”

  I walk back toward the sea. I hear the female loon calling again and the sounds make me shiver. A female loon out hunting calls to the male loon in the nest caring for their young. It’s the way they keep in touch while she’s out fishing. It’s their communication.

  “I’ll think about it, Oscar.”

  “Okay.” I can tell by his tone of voice that he’s hurt. And disappointed. But he’s also not defeated.

  It’s so like him that he thinks one ten-minute conversation, even if it’s a good one, and this has been a good one, can solve problems that have been building for years.