by Kristi Rose
When my fingers are shriveled and the water is cold, I get out. Still unable to sleep I lie in bed and check my e-mail. Hank sent one. The time stamp was an hour ago.
Hey, just got home. Maybe we should talk tomorrow. Give me a call.
I pull the sheets up to my chin and try to withstand the loneliness surrounding me. Watching Heather’s dreams crumble reminds me of my own losses and, though I’m much happier without Trevor, I still like the idea of being one half to a whole. Of course I know a person needs to be whole to be a half of something, but I don’t know what more I need to do to come to terms with my single status. I’m trying. I really am.
I roll over and, on impulse, call Hank. It’ll be nice to hear his voice even if he is mad at me. He answers on the second ring.
“Yep.”
“Hey. It’s me.” I try not to cry.
“Hey, Paisley.” The way he says my name, his voice lifting slightly on the last letter, tells me it’s followed by a smile. “What are you doing up at this time of night?”
It’s not what I expect, considering, the last time we saw each other, he left taciturnly.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I just got in from my trip and was unpacking, sorting my mail, and watching some TV. I guess my clock is off. I’m not too tired.”
“Where did you go?” I stretch back onto my pillow and try to breathe. Holding back my tears is causing a lump to form in my throat.
“Off to take care of business.” He sighs and the TV clicks off in the background.
“Is that code for you can’t tell me? You go out of town a lot.”
“Nah, it’s code for nothing interesting. Traveling is part of the job. I work for one of the admirals, so when he goes out of town, so do I. In this case it was a conference in D.C. You haven’t answered my question. What’s got you up?”
I pause and tears break lose. “My friend’s husband left her. Left her and their child. I just found out today.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s my friend whose child had the seizure. I guess he couldn’t take it. Truth is neither can Heather, at least she can’t alone.”
“I’m sure it’s a hard thing to deal with. I can’t imagine. People react in different ways to these things.” He pauses. “Are you surprised he bailed?”
I don’t give it a moment’s thought. “No, not really.”
“What else is bothering you?”
“I dunno. I guess it’s hard to watch people hurt.”
“And?” He prompts.
My pangs of fear expand and bring with them anger. “Do marriages last anymore?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“I look around me and see marriages falling apart all the time.”
“Who else’s has fallen apart?”
Feeling defensive, I give a quick shrug. I know he can’t see me, but I have nothing more to say.
“You’ve seen only yours and your friend’s fall apart. Sarah Grace and Dan are still married. Gigi and John have been married five years, my parents almost forty. I bet your parents would still be together.”
“Yeah, but Gigi and John aren’t happy.”
He laughs abruptly. “Aren’t they?”
“Have you seen them lately? They fight all the time.” Obviously I know them better than he does.
“Do they? Maybe you should take another look.” He sounds smug and all knowing.
Why did I even call him?
“Never mind. I thought you’d understand,” I snap.
“I do understand, Paisley, more than you think. Not everyone is upstanding or will react the way you think they should. People are flawed. That doesn’t make their actions unforgiveable. Sometimes you have unreasonable expectations.”
I gasp and am about to launch into a rant when he interrupts.
“Take this guy, for example. You seem bent out of shape because he left, but you just said you aren’t surprised. When his kid had a seizure, his wife doesn’t even call him. She calls her sister-in-law. No one expected him to rush home and help. Either he’s already let everyone know he’s the unreliable sort so his actions now shouldn’t be any surprise, or he’s never been given the chance to step up, so why should he bother now?”
I sigh with exasperation. How can he possibly understand? When was the last time he watched his marriage fall apart? Oh yeah, I forgot. Hank’s never been married. What was I thinking to call him?
“How is being responsible, loving, dependable, and trustworthy an unreasonable expectation?”
“People you love will let you down. It’s where you go from there that makes the difference. Now don’t hang up. I can tell you’re angry. I only want you to think about why you’re really upset.”
“And just what makes you think this isn’t the real reason why I’m upset?” My tears have dried up, replaced with bolts of anger flashing through me.
“Because I know you.”
What Mr. Henry Shane Lancaster the Third doesn’t realize is I’ve changed. I’m no longer the teenybopper who used to hang out at his house all the time. I have changed.
“So why do you think I’m upset?” I’m a natural glutton for punishment.
He’s quiet a moment except for a grunt that tells me he’s choosing his words carefully. Hank has always been deliberate about his words.
“Let me ask you this, Paisley. Are you one of those people who needs to be married, or are you OK by yourself? For the rest of your life.” He yawns as if our conversation is prosaic.
“Of course I don’t have to be married. If I had to be married, wouldn’t I still be with Trevor?” I counter, emphasizing each word. I’m positive of my response and feelings.
“OK, but who initiated, who pursued the divorce?” he pushes.
“I don’t think it’s relevant whose idea it was. I think it shows who was the quitter and who was willing to make it work.” I’d taken my wedding vows seriously and didn’t appreciate any implications otherwise.
“I’m not an advocate for divorce, Paisley, which is why I’ve yet to marry. I also don’t need to be married to complete some life goal.”
“Do you ever want to marry, Hank?”
“Yes, when the time is right and the girl, too. Which may be never.” He sounds calm and blasé. “Just think about what I’ve said.”
It’s bullshit, in my opinion. Since when did Hank think he’d become the resident expert on Paisley McAllister? Sleeping with someone doesn’t lend itself to insider information.
“I’m sorry I called so late.” If he can’t give me what I want, if he doesn’t want to understand then there is no point to continuing this conversation. Frustrated, I jerk my covers to my chin and make a great production of snuggling in my bed, hoping the sound is coming across on his end.
“Don’t get angry. I want what’s best for you.”
“Are you going to Poppy’s party?” I’m rethinking my weekend plans.
“I don’t know. I may have to head out again. Paisley?”
“Good night, Hank.” I try to sound friendly.
“Night.” He sighs and hangs up.
I slam the phone on the bed and surrender my urge to scream.
“Asshole.” I yell and turn over in a fit of vindication. I start to cry and don’t stop until my body gives in to exhaustion and I fall asleep.
Chapter 15
I drive to Lakeland early Saturday morning with plans to stay the night at my mother’s and see Gigi. Her dad’s birthday party is this afternoon. It’s a large family event, and I haven’t missed one yet. Last I heard, Hank won’t be there, leaving me feeling the weird combination of disappointment and relief.
I head straight to my mother’s house, use my spare key to let myself in, and find no one home. Momma’s preferred mode of transportation, her golf cart, is not in the garage. I toss my bag into her spare room, jot a quick note, and drive the ten minutes to my sister’s. So
metimes on Saturdays my mother takes her little cart to my sister’s for breakfast with her grandchildren.
When I arrive, Sarah Grace is manically sweeping her front porch. She pierces me with a glare and I rack my brain, wondering if maybe I offended her.
“Hi.” I hope I’ve read her mood wrong.
“You’ve been to Momma’s yet?” She doesn’t stop sweeping.
“Yeah, I just left there and neither she nor Nana was home. I thought maybe they were here.” I walk onto the porch and try to avoid her broom.
She huffs, throws down the broom, and stalks inside, leaving me to follow. My mother and sister have this crazy love-hate relationship and living close never helps matters much. It’s because they’re alike, independent and stubborn.
“What’s happened?” I know the minute I ask I’ll regret it. I also know if I don’t ask I’ll regret it more.
Backing out of the kitchen, Dan gives me a curt shake of his head and mouths, “Good luck.”
Coward. I want to yell it at him.
“Your momma,” Sarah Grace says it with clipped words. “Your mother... Oh, I can’t even say it.” She pulls out a baguette and begins to slice it into wide pieces.
“Momma what?” I want to snap at her but I know doing so will get me nowhere. Instead, I mentally count to ten, three times. One day I’m gonna drink on the drive into town. Maybe then I’ll be able to cope with my family’s madness.
She stops cutting, pinches up her face, and turns to me. “Momma went on a date last night.”
“Oh, phew. I mean, you had me worried for a minute.”
“What do you mean, ‘Oh’? Momma has been with another man and Daddy’s been dead only a few years.”
“Ten.” Ten very long years.
“What?” She gives me another annoyed look, for talking out of turn, I suppose.
“Daddy’s been gone ten years, Sarah Grace.”
“I know how long Daddy’s been gone, Paisley. That’s not the point. The point is Momma is already out there dating and can’t even bother to talk it over with us, and don’t you think she’s a bit too old for this?”
She pulls eggs and milk out of the fridge and begins to mix the two. I know she’s making French toast and my sister makes the best French toast. However, there is no doubt this conversation is leading me down the path of no breakfast at the Mitchell House.
I don’t know what to say. It’s great my mother went on a date and, frankly, it’s about time. I don’t understand why Sarah Grace is this upset. I try to choose my words carefully.
“Are you ever too old for companionship? Maybe she needs some male attention. She’s the one who’s alone.” OK, maybe those weren’t the best choice of words, but I couldn’t help it.
My sister throws her whisk into the sink and turns her fury toward me.
“Don’t tell me what momma needs and doesn’t need, Miss-come-only-every-few-weekends. I see her almost every day. I stand in a better position to tell you what she needs.” She dunks bread into the egg mixture and slaps it onto a griddle. “Besides, you’d think she’d give me the courtesy of telling me about her plans instead of letting me stumble on them unaware.”
Ahh, therein lies the real problem. Sarah Grace does not like surprises, of any kind.
“You stumbled upon them?” I have visions of Sarah Grace walking in on Momma and some strange man in bed and I shudder.
“We went to dinner last night and there they were. Snug in a booth, laughing.” She flips her French toast and is about to say more when we are interrupted by her kids.
“Aunt Paisley’s here,” Jackson says as he runs to me, arms open for a hug. Jill right behind him. I wrap them both into a tight hug and squeeze them until they squeal before I let go.
“Are you staying for breakfast?” Jill asks.
“No,” my sister answers.
“Sorry. I have to go see Mimi and Nana. What’s happened to your hair?” I ask Jill, who until recently sported very long hair. Now it brushes her shoulders.
Jackson erupts with laughter, and Jill gives me a sad face.
“We were playing with Pete and he stuck gum in my hair,” she says and follows it up with a pout.
“Oh, honey, don’t you know peanut butter can get gum out?” She’s wanted long “princess hair” forever.
“They took it upon themselves to solve the problem,” Dan calls from the couch as he’s flipping channels.
“I cut it.” Jack puffs out his chest.
“You went to Gigi’s to play?” I ask Sarah Grace.
“Yes, we’ve set up a weekly play date for the summer.” Her look dares me to challenge her. I won’t. It makes sense for them to do play dates. Though it’s hard to imagine Gigi adding booze to her tea in front of Sarah Grace. If she wasn’t in such a foul mood, I might ask her if she thinks Gigi is happy, but it’ll have to wait.
“Time to eat,” Sarah Grace calls and looks away. Dan walks by, giving me a shrug. He walks over to Sarah Grace and hugs her from behind, she sinks into him before stepping away to finish her French toast. This is what a happy couple looks like, even when one is being a miserable cow. I give the kids a good-bye hug and get out fast. I figure it’s worth swinging past my mom’s one more time.
This time she and Nana are there and making a fancy breakfast of crepes with fresh fruit.
“Paisley,” they call out in unison, raising champagne glasses filled with what looks like orange juice.
At least I’m wanted somewhere.
“Would you like a crepe?” my mother asks.
“Please.” My stomach is growling something fierce.
“Did you get my note?” I pour a glass of orange juice and giggle when my grandmother adds champagne.
“Aye, we knew ye wouldn’t be there long. We were giving ye ten minutes more before callin’ ye.” Nana lifts her glass. “To Helen’s date.”
We raise our glasses to toast. I take a good swallow and finish it in one toss. So far the day isn’t going well for me.
“Tell me about this date, Momma.”
She flips the crepe, using the pan only, and turns to me.
“You aren’t upset, are you?” Her tone tells me it doesn’t matter at this point.
“Actually, I think you’re long overdue.”
“Hear. Hear.” Nana fills up our glasses again, raises hers, and takes a drink.
“You’re sweet, Paisley. I think it’s time, too.” My mother smiles at me and comes over to give me a kiss. She’s not one for affection, so when she dishes it out I’m always surprised. My dad was the touchy-feely one. It makes me realize how much I miss being affectionate with my family, with people I love.
I’d never thought of my mother as a single person who might be lonely, desperately missing her husband, until I was in the process of my divorce and in a similar position, without a husband. At one time, she’d been half of a well-oiled, smoothly running whole. I can’t remember my parents arguing. Something they must have worked out early in their marriage.
I scan my mother’s kitchen and living room. The pictures of my father and all of us are scattered throughout. I’d always assumed my mother did that for our benefit. I realize now it’s been for hers too. Losing a husband because you are not compatible is difficult. Losing a life mate unexpectedly must have been devastating.
“It’s time for you, too.” She hands me a plate of perfect crepes with a scoop of mixed berries on top. “Marriage is hard work, Paisley. Make sure you pick someone who can do the work. Who wants to do the work.”
“Hear. Hear.” Nana cheers for the second time.
As if I knew Trevor wasn’t going to work on our marriage. It’s not like he was a slacker. He was a medical student for crying out loud. I’m not a complete idiot. But her words dig and cut me open. I focus on my plate, grasping for composure. What if I smash the plate against the counter or cram the crepes in her face? Will she hear me then?
It requires
some serious mental deep breathing before I’m able to say anything. “I know it’s hard work. I gave Trevor everything, and we were fine until he got into med school.” Which, in all honestly, was the first six months of our marriage.
I know what I need to say but my courage to say it is waffling. “When you say those things, I take it personally. Like I’m a failure.” I’m pleased I remember to use the I statements my shrink taught me.
“I don’t mean it, honey. I don’t want to watch you get hurt again.” With a wave of her hand she dismisses me yet again and turns back to focus on her crepes. The mood deflates faster than a balloon.
“That’s what I’m talking about, Momma, you’re insinuating I’m going to fail again.” Hell with “I” statements. Once I start, the rest bubbles up and over. “The comments about my hair, telling Hank I’m divorced and not many people want to date me. Those things hurt. Just now you blew me off. Yes, my marriage failed. Yes, I didn’t pick so well in Trevor, but I’m sick of you defining me by this one incident.”
When she doesn’t look at me, I look over at my Nana. She’s smiling and gives me the thumbs-up. I wait for my mother to say something, do something. She stares down at her crepe; the only things moving are her blinking eyes and the slow rise and fall of her chest. I wait, running my lower lip over my teeth.
She sighs and moves the pan over to the other burner before she comes to me. She takes my hands and looks me in the eyes.
“Paisley, I think you’re a bright, funny, beautiful woman. You’ve been in hiding since the day you found Trevor with that girl.”
She raises her hand to stop me from interrupting, “Yes, you’ve been getting out. Yes, you’re dating.” She emphasizes the word dating as if I’ve been calling sitting next to a stranger at the movies a date. “But you’re still not really present. It’s getting better. The last few months I’ve seen bits of the old you. When I said those things, I was trying some of the reverse psychology Dr. Phil talks about on his show. I wanted to get you angry so you would see how much you have to offer. I never meant to hurt you, only wake you up.”
