It Started in June

by Susan Kietzman

  “I like that idea,” said Grace. “Plus, we’ve got a pediatrician handy.”

  “I did take that into consideration,” said Bradley, smiling at Grace.

  “Mind if I go with you?” asked Dorrie.

  Grace quickly decided that the affirmative was the only response to Dorrie’s request and then said, “I’d love your company. But I’ll be slow.”

  “I took a walk this morning,” said Dorrie. “So, I’m happy to go at whatever pace suits you.”

  Grace walked to the closet for her coat. “We’re well matched then.”

  “Mom,” said Bradley, hugging Hope to his chest with his left hand as he poured another mug of coffee with his right, “did you pick up anything at the store yesterday for lunch, or should I order subs?”

  “I got some tomato soup,” she said. “And I thought we could have grilled cheese with it. Why don’t you start heating the soup—use milk instead of water—and then I can make the sandwiches when we get back.”

  Out the door and on the beach, Dorrie got right to it. “Are you feeling depressed at all?”

  By now Grace was used to Dorrie’s insistence on getting “to the heart of the matter.” And Bradley had told her that his mother thought psychiatrists who approached problem solving with gentle questioning, by scratching at the shell for months and months until they finally found the buried treasure, were doing a disservice to their patients. Her philosophy was to crack open the surface, to get past her clients’ resistance in order to examine their core. She was as subtle, in Bradley’s opinion, as a jackhammer. But Dorrie’s frankness didn’t bother Grace, who liked directness.

  “No,” said Grace. “I’m tired, but I feel good.”

  “You’re happy then, now that the baby has arrived, with your decision to keep her?”

  “Yes, I’m happy,” said Grace. “This is all brand new, so I can’t tell you how I’m going to feel about my life in six months. But today I’m content.”

  Dorrie stepped in front of Grace, stopped, and turned to face her. “How are you going to feel about my son in six months? Do you know that?”

  Grace was unprepared for this new line of inquiry. She and Dorrie had, until now, talked mostly about the pregnancy, about the baby, rather than about Grace’s relationship with Bradley and its staying power. Dorrie, who was several inches shorter than Grace, looked up at her expectantly, but Grace took her time answering. She turned her head and looked out at the midday sun lighting up the surface of the water. It was cold now, the water, but the light lent it the illusion of warmth. And Grace smiled at the thought of swimming with Hope. Bruce had been kind, considerate, loving even, from the moment they met. But Dorrie? She was more complicated, or at least she exuded that aura. Grace wasn’t sure what to say, and then said, “When Hope is six months old, Bradley and I will be better at parenting.”

  Dorrie raised her eyebrows. “Will you be parenting together?”

  “I hope so.”

  Grace stepped to the side, disengaging herself from Dorrie and her confrontational pose, and continued walking. Dorrie scurried after her. “Is that why you named the baby Hope? Because you have nothing but hope that you and Bradley will be together?”

  “I named her Hope because she is my hope. Whether or not she is Bradley’s hope remains to be seen, yes?”

  Apparently undeterred, Dorrie said, “Do you love him? Do you love Bradley?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Falling into step beside Grace, Dorrie said, “Well, there’s that then.”

  “Yes,” said Grace. “There’s that.”

  Five, six steps of quiet, and then Dorrie said, “You must think I’m a monster.”

  Grace smiled for the first time since they left the house. “I most definitely do not think you’re a monster. You’re a mother who loves her son and wants the best for him. And while I am very new to motherhood, I can already understand the depth of that desire.”

  “I want you to be together,” said Dorrie. “I didn’t want that at first—you must know that. But I want it now. You have made the decision to have this baby. Bradley has made the decision to be a father. And now I want you to make the decision to be together.”

  “We live together,” said Grace.

  “Why not marry?”

  Grace laughed. “For starters, I haven’t been asked.”

  “You could ask him, you know.”

  “I suppose I could,” said Grace. “But right now, I feel like I’ve asked enough.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Bradley, who had moaned a bit about the daily commute when he moved from the city to what he referred to as the country, was looking forward to having forty minutes alone in the car on his first day back to work after his two-week leave. It would give him some time away from Grace and the baby to sort through his thoughts and to make the transition from stay-at-home dad to regular working guy. He had already started the process, when, after showering, he put on a dry-cleaned dress shirt, a tie, a pressed suit, and the shoes he had shined the night before rather than the jeans and flannel shirt he had often worn during the day and draped over the corner chair in their bedroom at night. He kissed Grace and Hope goodbye and strode out the door to his car, bolstered by the freshness of an early spring morning, and consumed with the euphoria felt by a man released from prison.

  This was a harsh analogy, Bradley admitted to himself as he drove his car onto the highway. And he didn’t, honestly, feel like a prisoner. He loved Grace and he loved the baby, and he had been grateful for the time off, to give Grace a hand and to bond, as she called it, with Hope. He had taken his dad’s advice seriously, cooking and cleaning for Grace and allowing her to get as much rest as she could. But it had been exhausting—the trips to the grocery store; the chopping and sautéing of vegetables; the dish washing; the laundry (who knew a seven-pound baby could generate so much?); the foot massages; the middle of the night feedings; the diaper-changing lessons; the baby-bathing instructions—this full immersion into fatherhood. Bradley had been giving, giving, giving, and he was more ready than normal to receive, receive, and keep receiving. Is that what it was,—that he liked receiving more that giving? Oh boy, his mother would have something to say about that.

  The exits flew by.

  Grace had been much more of a giver than a receiver lately, too. But her giving was directed at Hope rather than at Bradley. Bradley had been giving to Grace and the baby, and Grace had been giving to the baby. No one had been giving to Bradley, who was unaccustomed to this phenomenon.

  Was it so bad to be a receiver? After all, many people liked to give. It made them feel good about themselves. It gave them a sense of purpose. The givers needed to serve people who were not only willing but also liked and were comfortable with receiving. And Bradley was their guy! He liked receiving attention for his witty remarks and innovative marketing strategies. He liked receiving compliments on his sharp suits and snappy ties. He liked being the center of attention at client meetings. He liked his boss’s high-fives. He liked being somebody others emulated or looked up to, someone others sought for office counsel or barstool banter.

  He didn’t really blame Grace for not giving him the attention she once had. She was a new mother and as such, she was, rightly, consumed with the baby. This is what any guy would want, right? He’d want the mother of his child to be in love with the child, to make the child the priority. Grace was so good with Hope, the way she held her and sang to her and clucked at her and bathed her and fed her. She was very, very busy at being a mother. It was not surprising then, of course, that she had no time left over for Bradley. Intellectually, Bradley understood this. But emotionally, viscerally, he felt shortchanged. He knew it was wrong, it was selfish to feel this way, but he felt it nonetheless.

  What he wanted from Grace was just a small fraction of her attention, of her energy, of her concern. Would it have been so hard, for example, for Grace to cook dinner for him one night, or for her to, say, buy him a cupcake or pick up a six-pack of b
eer for a reward? She could have come home from one of the few times she ventured out of the house without the baby with a little something to show that she appreciated his efforts.

  That was it—appreciation! In the last two weeks, Bradley had not felt appreciated. Grace was not inclined to offer praise, even at her best moments, and Bradley again realized he had been missing it. Maybe her mother and grandparents never told her she was good at anything. But surely, she had been told in her adult life. Surely, her husband had complimented her. And Bradley knew that she regularly received kudos from Paul and Dana because she continued to bring in business that eluded the best efforts of others. She was incredibly smart and capable, which was one of the reasons Bradley was attracted to her in the first place.

  But she wasn’t known for doling out attaboys. She worked hard. She expected everyone else to work hard. She thought the reward should come from the work itself, and from the compensation earned by doing it. Occasionally she offered a head nod or two for the accurate assessment of a client’s needs or for quick progress on/special attention to an account in crisis. But rarely did she comment on the everyday stuff. She left that to those in the office who still believed in participation trophies for their benchwarming kids. Good job making a copy of that report! Nice work leaving the bathroom stall just when I needed it! And then there was that young guy at work—what did he say? “Awesome sauce!” He said “awesome sauce” to everything. Bradley smiled at the image of the kid saying this in a meeting a few weeks back. After that, he was known in certain circles as Mr. Enthusiasm, or Mr. E for short.

  As Bradley steered the car off the highway, he decided he was acting like a child to need this kind of stroking. Grace’s reserved approach was how it should be. He reached for his phone. “Hi,” he said. “What are my two favorite girls up to?”

  “Let’s see,” said Grace. “We’re both fed and thinking about going to the grocery store, so I’m glad you called. What do you feel like for dinner?”

  “Hmmm,” said Bradley. “A big salad?”

  Grace laughed. “I think you’ve had enough salad over the last two weeks to last you for a while. How about steak? I can sauté some mushrooms, bake a couple potatoes, and pick up a loaf of bread. No greens tonight.”

  “Are you drunk?” he asked, teasing her.

  “No,” she said. He could hear her smile over the phone. “I’m grateful—for everything you’ve done over the last two weeks to make my life easier. I have been one hundred percent focused on Hope, and you have been one hundred percent focused on me. Thank you.” Bradley said nothing. “Are you there?”

  “I’m speechless,” said Bradley.

  “Have a good day at work,” said Grace. “I miss you, but I know they’ll be glad to have you back.”

  “I miss you, too,” he said, meaning it.

  CHAPTER 39

  As soon as Bradley started up his computer and opened his e-mail, he saw a message from Paul, requesting a meeting at 9:30 a.m. Bradley looked first as this watch, which read 9:18 a.m. and then at the time the message was sent, 7:30 a.m. He sent a reply saying he’d be there, then sat back in his chair, allowing his brain a quick minute to fully wake up, gathering his thoughts. This was one of his dad’s expressions that amused Bradley because it could be employed in a variety of circumstances. Bradley used it most often to describe the moment he opened his eyes in the morning and looked up at the bedroom ceiling. He was not yet thinking about Grace or Hope or work or coffee or taking a run or breakfast. He was simply gathering his thoughts. It was a term for measured but leisurely engagement with one’s world. His gathering session was cut short by the presence of someone who laid a hand on his shoulder. Bradley turned in his chair; it was Rachel.

  “Hi, stranger,” she said. “Welcome back. We missed you.”

  “Thanks. It feels good to be back. How are you?”

  “Great!” she said. “I assume you heard the good news?”

  “No,” said Bradley, standing, forcing Rachel to back away from his work space. “I’ve got a meeting with Paul right now. I’m sure he’ll clue me in.”

  “It’s about us,” said Rachel. “I think we’re going to have an opportunity to work together. I am so, so excited!”

  “Really?” Bradley took a step forward in an attempt at communicating the message that he needed to get going.

  “Hey, I love your shorter hair,” she said. “You look great!”

  “Thanks,” said Bradley, stepping to one side. “I’ve got to run.”

  Checking his watch as he walked, Bradley arrived at Paul’s closed door a minute ahead of their prescribed meeting time. He knocked on the glass door, and Paul waved him in. “Welcome back!” he said. “You look pretty good for a new father.” Paul had three teenage children and occasionally shared stories about their adolescent antics at Thursday meetings.

  “Yes, well, looks can be deceiving. I’m exhausted!”

  Paul laughed. “Take a load off,” he said, gesturing to one of the uncomfortable wood captain’s chairs that faced his desk. “It’s nice to see you back in the office.”

  “It’s nice to be here,” said Bradley.

  Paul asked about Grace and about the baby and Bradley gave him a quick synopsis of the birth, his parents’ visit, and what it is like to get only four hours of sleep a night. They smiled and kidded each other, and Bradley was again pleased that he had such an easygoing relationship with this boss. Kevin’s boss was, in Kevin’s words, a dick, always riding him about deadlines and billable hours, and Jada’s direct supervisor was a narcissist, adept at turning Jada’s questions about work policies into opportunities to talk about herself. Bradley and Paul often came down on the same side of whatever was being discussed at group meetings. They had similar political leanings and very similar senses of humor, often laughing aloud at each other’s jokes, even when others in the room didn’t seem to understand the punchline or were too self-conscious to draw attention to themselves. Paul was fifteen years older than Bradley, not young enough to be a peer and not older enough to be a father figure.

  “So, I set up this meeting really as a means to formally welcome you back,” said Paul, “and to discuss an opportunity. Because you are making such a difference here, Dana and I would like to put you into a mentoring role. What do you think of this idea?”

  Thinking about what Rachel had said to him a few minutes ago, Bradley shifted in his chair. “Tell me more.”

  “You’ll still have your regular accounts that you manage on your own. You will also retain the accounts you manage with Grace and Francis. Both of them, by the way, have given you very high marks for your quick grasp of client history, direction, and intention. This comes as no surprise to me, and it’s the primary reason why I think you are ready to step into a leadership role. Your new title will be associate director, and your new direct teammates will be Sandra and Rachel. They will find the business, and you will help them secure it and manage it. Does this sound good to you?”

  Bradley, who had been looking for a promotion for six months, was thrilled with the new title and with the opportunity for a leadership role in the firm. He was not pleased he had been paired with Rachel, as he was resolved to spend less time with her rather than more. He was close enough to Paul to tell him this, to explain that Rachel was attracted to him and was, therefore, a poor choice as a partner. But what message would this confession send, that Bradley was not strong enough to resist her advances or to make clear his insistence that their relationship not stray from professional to personal, as it already had? Then Bradley thought of another angle. “What about Troy and Stefano? Aren’t they ready for this next step as well?”

  “Good suggestions, Bradley,” said Paul. “Dana and I talked about them, too. We feel like they are almost ready, but they could benefit from another few months with senior management. Plus, they are in the middle of an eight-week training session—and to pull them out of it would be detrimental, we think, to their development.”

  �
��Ah,” said Bradley. “I had lost track of their training.”

  “Any problem working with Rachel and Sandra?”

  One more chance to spill it, thought Bradley. One more chance for Bradley to reveal that Rachel had a crush on him, that he was uncomfortable working with her. “No,” said Bradley, standing. “When do we start?”

  “Right away,” said Paul, picking up a red folder from his desktop. He walked around the desk to present the folder to Bradley. “Here are the compensation and benefit details of your promotion. I think you’ll be more than pleased. But if you have any question whatsoever, you know my door is open.” He extended his hand; Bradley shook it. “If everything meets with your approval, I’ll start the process.”

  “I’ll have a look at this as soon as I get back to my office,” said Bradley. “Thank you for this opportunity, Paul.”

  “You’re very welcome, Bradley. You’ve earned it,” he said. “Oh, and we’re working on some personal space for you. When Sheila retires at the end of the year, you’ll have her office.”

  “Sweet,” said Bradley, already picturing himself in the office two doors down from Grace’s, and almost as big.

  As Bradley turned to leave, Paul said, “Meet with Rachel and Sandra this week. They have already been notified of this mentorship. And because your name came up in conjunction with this assignment, they may have guessed your role in this.” They walked to Paul’s door. “It really is great to have you back,” he said. “Give my best to Grace.”

  * * *

  When Bradley got back to his cubicle, he found a text message from Rachel on his phone: Was I right? Instead of texting her back, he sent both her and Sandra an Outlook meeting invitation for the following day. He would meet with them at the same time whenever he could, limiting his time alone, his one-on-one mentoring sessions, with Rachel. She responded right away, telling him she could hardly wait to work side by side with him.