His jaw clenched and unclenched. “He brings her amot too. I think this is mostly because she hasn’t seen him. In Armenia, family is very important. If we were married and living there. We’d live in my parents' home. Charlie would be taken very good care of. But now we deny them that because we are here in America and we don’t marry. She says she will not recognize Charlie because we do not bring him to her.”
My stomach turned at the thought. I don’t know how I was so certain, but my every instinct warned if Narek ever returned to Armenia he would never leave again. Charlie and I would feel bound to him, and we’d be there too, living in his parent’s house. That horrible thought coupled with the worry and guilt that had led to three sleepless nights flipped a switch for me. I remembered how to be angry.
“Our son is not a shame! You’ve done just fine here without her or any of them in your life for years now. We are a family; we don’t need them and as far as I’m concerned, she will never meet him now!”
He looked surprised by my outburst but not angered. “Maybe someday she changes her mind, but we will not bring him to her now.”
That night we found each other again in bed, not through lovemaking, but by book-ending our sweet-smelling son. I lay on my side, listening to the sounds of Charlie and Narek breathing in concert. It had been a difficult week, and things had been said and done that couldn’t be taken back, but as I drifted off to sleep, I tried to convince myself it was safe now. The bad time had passed. Finally, the soft lie lulled me into dreams.
6
Hope was a fleeting thing. We pretended for a while, but something had been broken and it couldn’t be glued back together. It wasn’t just the fact I’d broken our rules and answered the call, or even the fact that his mother had put such a horrible cloud over the legitimacy of our little family; we might have gotten past that. Narek’s abandonment of Charlie and me was the real problem. He’d come back physically, but part of him I couldn’t see really never returned to the apartment.
As he continued living his separate life away from us most days, my Spidey-Sense tingled. The less often he was home, the fewer times we made love each week, the more convinced I became he was checking out. I wasn’t a foolish woman; I’d known heartache before and I knew when a breakup was coming toward you like a stealth fighter. This time would differ from past breakups though, this time, I couldn’t just dust myself off, buy a new dress and stick pins in a doll with my girlfriends. When I looked at Charlie’s cherubic face, I felt panicked. He was depending on me to somehow hold it together.
We depended completely on Narek financially. His art was selling well, he earned a decent salary at the gallery, and he had taken on the adjunct position at the art school. We certainly weren’t uncomfortable or struggling, but I knew that could change in an instant if and when he left. I began sending resumes and filling out applications at daycare centers around the city. It seemed like the best way to earn a paycheck and avoid having to pay out for daycare for my own child. When I was finally hired at The Kid Garden, it was with great relief.
Next, I turned to my future prospects because I knew a daycare salary would only stretch so far and enrolled in my first night classes at VCU. I was determined to get the degree I’d walked away from earlier in the year. My plan might have changed, but I knew it was imperative there always be some version of it in place.
For the next six months, we maintained a careful, respectful balance of work, school, and shared childcare duties. On the surface, we presented the image of the perfect young urban couple to our friends. We still hosted the occasional dinner party in our small apartment. We had a trusted sitter by that point and would occasionally make the pub rounds with the old crowd, Narek still slung an arm casually around me when we walked into a party.
The truth, though, was that we barely talked anymore other than to exchange casual pleasantries or pass longer Charlie updates as we swapped off. And as for Charlie, he was blissfully unaware of the underlying tension. He grew and thrived under our shared care and the watchful eyes of my coworkers at Kid Garden.
At Kid Garden, they assigned me to the three- and four-year-old “Daffodil Room” while Charlie was safely ensconced in the 12-18 month “Rosebud Room.” I enjoyed working with the slightly older children, the part of me that had naturally eschewed baby talk with my own son, enjoyed children who were of an age to reason at least a bit. Also, I knew that while it might have been nice to spend all of my time with my own son, that probably wouldn’t have been fair to the other children. It felt like the best of both worlds, Charlie and I could both benefit from a little separation, yet I was just two doorways away from him at any time.
It was my normal practice to spend my lunch hour with Charlie and the other Rosebuds. On that fateful May day, I’d sat on the thick-carpeted floor, chatting with the care provider, periodically glancing at the toy shelf to watch Charlie. He’d been pulling himself up for some time by then, and you never knew what he might start grabbing and tossing. It had become his new favorite game. On that day, though, he turned to look at me and then, with a huge smile, let go of the shelf and awkwardly stepped toward me. One step, two steps, three steps, before he fell with an outraged little “oomph!” onto his bum.
I was so proud and so excited; Charlie might well have been the only human being in history to have figured out how to stand up on two legs. Coworkers ooh and aahed appropriately, yet didn’t seem to quite understand just how incredible a feat Charlie had just accomplished. My child could walk! I wanted to share that moment with the only other person in the world who might be as impressed as I was.
I knew Narek wouldn’t be home until several hours after me, and I just couldn’t wait to show him what his son could do now, so we headed straight for his gallery after my workday ended. As we rounded the street corner, I could see the back of Narek’s head through the large windows. He was deep in conversation with a woman I didn’t recognize. That alone didn’t concern me, the art world was full of women, and this one was standing in the middle of an open gallery after all. What gave me a funny feeling, though, was the look on her face. She was gazing up at him, smiling, and the smile seemed very personal. Then I saw her hand reach out, and she was touching his forehead. Although I could only see what was happening from the perspective of the back of his head, I recognized the gesture. I’d done it a thousand times, she was pushing one of his stray curls out of his eye. It was an intimate gesture, not something a stranger or casual acquaintance would have done.
My heart beating rapidly, I quickly said to Charlie in a sickly-sweet mom voice, “Want a cookie? Let’s go to the coffee shop.”
“Cookie!” he cried happily, blissfully unaware of the fact that I felt as if I might drop dead from a heart attack at any second.
We sat in the coffee shop across from the gallery for 40 minutes, where I continued to feed my toddler a steady train of cookies as I watched the gallery door. The slightly annoyed looking barista came to our crumb covered table multiple times to ask if we needed anything else, and I impatiently waved her away each time, turning back to the window. When the lights went off in the gallery across the street, I continued waiting. When no one exited a full 15 minutes later, I reluctantly put Charlie back into his umbrella stroller and made my way across the street. Peering in the windows, I saw no one. Had they somehow snuck out at some random moment I’d been looking away?
I fumbled with my keychain; it was still there. Narek kept the spare gallery key on my ring in case of emergency. I’d never used it before, but it struck me that this felt an awful lot like an actual emergency. I opened the door carefully and remembered the alarm after the fact. It was with immense relief I read the “unarmed” on the nearby wall panel. We stopped and listened. I could hear no one. I really must have missed them leaving. I was about to turn around and leave myself when I saw the painting on display in the center of the room.
I walked slowly toward it. I hadn’t been to the gallery in several months, and I’d never s
een this painting before. I recognized it immediately, though, for what it was. The gold settee; I felt a hysterical laugh build up inside me. He had recycled the same damned gold settee for his current students. This time the nude body on it wasn’t my own, though; it was the blonde-haired woman I’d spied through the window earlier. Familiar with the original painting, which hung in our bedroom, Charlie cried out, “Mum!” helpfully.
A sudden ray of light spread across the floor as a door toward the back of the gallery opened. The office. I’d forgotten about that. He stood in the doorway, his face difficult to read because the light was behind him. We could only see Narek, but I knew he wasn’t alone. She was in that office behind him; I was certain of it.
“He walked today,” I explained casually.
Narek shut the door behind him and approached us. Even in the waning light, the distress was clear on his face. “I didn’t expect you; you should have called.”
Yes, I was certain he wished I would have called. I didn’t reply to that comment. I walked up to him until I stood so close, I could smell her on his face. He looked a little fearful, and I wondered what he was more scared of, that I’d accuse him or that I’d try to kiss him. I reached a hand up and mirrored the exact gesture I’d seen the woman made just over an hour earlier; I moved the curl from his eye. His recoil made it clear I might as well have slapped him.
“I think it would be best if you stay… someplace else… tonight,” I said softly, and after a moment of hesitation, he nodded.
Narek snuck in and removed most of his personal belongings while I was at work a few days later. I’d known what we had was over, but the cowardly way he’d walked away stung. When I returned home that evening and saw that his things were truly gone, I sat down on my bed and indulged in ten minutes of crying. I’d felt this coming for a long time, but I still mourned the loss of what we’d once had and what I’d once imagined we would have in the future. After blowing my nose, I took a deep breath and undertook the next difficult step.
Calling my parents wasn’t easy, but I didn’t want to prolong a fantasy life every time we spoke, and since we spoke daily, it seemed prudent to just get it over with.
“Hey, Mom…”
“Oh, hi honey, how’s the baby?”
“He’s good. I didn’t call to just chat though; I needed to tell you something.”
She was quiet, and I knew she was running every possible scenario through her mind. I put her out of her misery quickly.
“So, remember the time I called and told you I was knocked up and dropping out of college?”
She gasped and said, “You’re pregnant! I knew it!”
“God no. What I was trying to say is keep that in perspective because I know you’ll be disappointed and worried, but the important thing to remember is, I’m not knocked up and dropping out of college.”
“Okay,” she said in a way that made me certain she was on the brink of hysteria.
“Narek’s moved out. But again, at least I’m not knocked up and dropping out of college!”
She was stunned. I knew how much she loved Narek; she’d held on to the dream we’d marry eventually and perhaps have more babies. She’d wanted for me what she had with my father. The kind of enduring, dependable love you knew would see you through old age. Even though I was the injured party in all of this, I felt unreasonably guilty for dashing her hopes. I declined to give her all of the gritty details but confirmed that I was quite certain and it was quite final.
She put me on speakerphone eventually so my father could participate, and in the unnerving way only a couple who had been married for almost thirty years could pull off; they were immediately on the same page with their advice. It was time to pack up Charlie and move home to Michigan. They pledged their full support during the transition, and I knew they were sincere, but that wasn’t an option for me.
I was adamant about this. I wouldn’t quit again; I would finish my night program at VCU. There was also Charlie to think about. While having my parents nearby would no doubt be of benefit to him, moving away from his father would be much more detrimental. He needed Narek in his life. I did finally agree to accept my father’s generous offer to fund an attorney; Charlie would need more than just what I could provide. That seemed to make them feel at least a little better and we all began the business of accepting my new single status.
In the end, the end of Narek and I, he agreed to pay child support, and we created a visitation schedule I knew he would never keep. If he was entirely undependable as a boyfriend and father, he at least proved to be fairly consistent with his support checks. I clocked in 40 hours a week at the daycare, took classes every night, and soldiered through Charlie’s first three years alone. Narek showed up once in a while, we might go months without hearing from him, and then there’d be a knock on the door. We maintained a veneer of civility, a distant politeness that belied the fact we’d ever shared the most intimate of moments. How foreign the once familiar landscape of a former lover’s body could become, and it happened so fast.
7
My life wasn’t shattered when Narek left; it was merely broken into a handful of sharp-edged pieces. I carefully picked up the shards and attempted to glue them back together with hard work, a whole lot of studying, and very little sleep. My goal was basic; I would build a life I could be proud of and become a woman worthy of my son’s pride.
In late May, my parents flew into Richmond and held Charlie on their laps in the crowded Seigel Center. At just three years of age, he didn’t quite understand the fuss, but Mom told me later that he had clapped his little hands together jubilantly when I’d walked across the stage to receive my diploma. We’d stopped outside to indulge in a photo op, and as a stranger snapped a shot of Charlie and I between my two beaming parents, I allowed myself to indulge just a bit in the warm glow of gratification that only someone who had failed and then recovered can understand. I’d done it. I’d bucked all of the odds and had finished my degree.
With my old dreams of law school swept aside, I focused on creating a new, more realistic plan. I would pursue my Master’s degree and teaching licence next. One of the more unexpected revelations that life had given me when it blessed me with Charlie was the interesting fact, I was actually good with children. I enjoyed their company far more than I’d ever have guessed from the babysitting days of my youth. Their undiluted joy was contagious; their willingness to embrace life filled me with hope and inspiration. Even better yet, children seemed to like me in return. Teaching felt like a natural evolution from my daycare experience; it was an attainable and realistic plan.
If my professional life was finally taking shape, my personal life had flatlined. Charlie was the only man in my life in those early years. I’d been asked out plenty, but I had no desire to pursue anything new, not yet. Although I’d never have admitted it to even my closest friends, part of me was still tender from the wound Narek had left. I wasn’t sure if it would ever completely heal, and it seemed foolish to consider courting a potential reinjury from anyone else. Not that I really believed that anyone else would be able to reach in deep enough to touch my bruised heart. Not really. Narek had been the love of my life, and the only reason I was able to wake up each day and move forward happily was the indelible gift he’d left me. Charlie. Charlie was the center of my world.
After the breakup, I had decided to stay in our apartment for a while and save what money I could, hoping I’d eventually be able to buy my own home. Slowly, surely, Narek’s footprints disappeared from that apartment, and it became just mine and Charlie’s. I boxed up the clothes he had missed during his first pack out and handed them over when he finally managed to stop by for a visit with his son. I tossed the spice jars his mother had sent, intended for dishes Narek had never bothered cooking. The books and movies he’d decided he didn’t really want went to Goodwill. The paintings were what I struggled with most.
Narek had always kept most of his work at the gallery. We had a few smaller oil
paintings on the living room wall, though, and those came down quickly. Begrudgingly he accepted them back and took them to display in his new life. Much more difficult to part with were the two most personal works, the portraits of myself on the gold settee. I certainly couldn’t just donate nude paintings of myself, and I didn’t really want Narek to possess them either. He’d lost all rights to look at my body. Cutting them to shreds also wasn’t an option. I couldn’t bear the thought of destroying Narek’s golden interpretation of my pregnant image. Beyond being a visual reminder of the most important night of my life, it was proof that at some point in our relationship, Narek had loved me as fiercely as I loved him. That love was evident in every brushstroke. The earlier painting was perhaps less sentimental, but I still felt fondness for the young, carefree girl on the canvas. Ultimately frozen with indecision, I decided to pay for a small climate-controlled storage locker and moved them there for safekeeping.
The next two years were among the most exhausting but rewarding years of my life. I worked feverishly through grad school and student teaching, as focused on my new The Plan as I’d once been on the old one. When not busy with work or school, I spent all my time and energy on developing the amazing human being that was my son. Charlie saw the world through lenses filled with magic and beauty. He discovered joy everywhere, from the dead crickets I’d pick out of his pockets to the garbage truck he gleefully ran to greet twice a week. Walking around the city with him was like exploring an amusement park every day. Some new, unexpected thrill existed around each corner and Charlie was determined to find them all.
As his little body grew leaner and older, his resemblance to Narek only increased. He’d also displayed some of his father’s artistic talents. When his little preschool class held their art fair, his own drawings and paintings looked different from the other children’s work. They were better composed, used up more of the white space, were bolder in color and in the decision to deviate from whatever the class example had been. He’d inherited his father’s best features, and I was thankful for that. He wasn’t all Narek’s son, though. His early love of reading, the way he doggedly pursued whatever task he was intent on, his outgoing nature; those traits were all me.
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