by Kate Hewitt
“But not with marmalade. Yuck!”
“Yuck,” I agreed with a little laugh.
Ruby’s face lit up. “Could you make it with chocolate inside?”
Could I? For a second I felt disorientated, as if I didn’t know where or even who I was. Once I’d made krofne with my mother, and now I might with this little girl. A simple act, yet one laden with so much memory and meaning, time turning over on itself, a circle when I thought it had been a terrible, never-ending line.
“Maria?” Ella took hold of my hand. “Can you? Please?”
I looked down at her, blinking her into focus as worlds collided and then came apart again. “Let’s go see what there is in the kitchen,” I said, as Ruby slipped her hand into my other hand. As we started out of the room, I turned to Nathan. “Do you want to help?”
He gave a lopsided smile, his gaze sliding away. “I think the tree needs a bit more securing, so it doesn’t fall down again.”
It felt like an excuse, but who was I to say? I nodded, and the three of us left the room.
The kitchen was a mess, as it had been before, and I tidied it up as Ella and Ruby got out sacks of flour and sugar, spilling some in their excitement, so eager to begin this little adventure.
All the ingredients were there; Laura had clearly done lots of baking. There was a whole shelf in the walk-in pantry dedicated to it, and I ran my fingers along a stack of cupcake cases, the half-filled box of icing sugar, wondering when she’d last used them. Had she baked with Ella and Ruby, as I was about to now? The possibility made me want to shiver, almost as if I could feel her presence, here in her own kitchen, a whisper of her breath as I closed the pantry door. What would she think of me being here?
Together we measured the flour and yeast, sugar and milk and water, Ella and Ruby both so endearingly intent.
“We need to let it sit,” I instructed them. “Until it bubbles. Ruby, can you tell me when it bubbles? Ella, when it’s ready, you can add the eggs.”
“Can I add an egg?” Ruby asked eagerly. “Mommy always let me add the eggs.”
“There are two,” I assured her. “One for each of you.”
They peered at the mixture, standing on their tiptoes, elbows on the counter as they gazed down at it. My heart stretched and expanded, cracked vessel that it was. It felt painful and good, like muscles that hadn’t been used in a long while. It felt.
“Hey.” I looked up to see Alexa standing in the doorway, winding a strand of hair around one finger. “What are you doing?”
“Making donuts.” I smiled tentatively. “Do you want to help?”
Alexa looked at us all standing together, her eyes narrowing, and then wordlessly she turned around and left the kitchen with a swish of her hair. Ella and Ruby both glanced at me questioningly, and I pushed the unreasonable needle-prick of hurt I felt aside. Alexa was grieving, and I was nobody to her. A stranger still, and perhaps I always would be. These moments with the Wests—that’s all they were. Moments. I had to remember that. I had to keep reminding myself.
Then Ruby grabbed my arm. “Look,” she exclaimed. “It’s bubbling!”
Thirteen
Nathan
Christmas was quiet. I did my best, buying the girls each a couple of presents, although admittedly they’d picked them out themselves online because I had absolutely no idea what they would want, or even what they already had.
“Mommy didn’t do it this way,” Ruby told me accusingly, after she’d selected some glittery plastic ponies, and I had no answer. There were a lot of things Laura had done differently. Done better.
Our Christmas dinner was straight from Fresh Direct, ready-made side dishes and a ready-to-cook turkey, already stuffed and basted. Even that I managed to mess up; the turkey was dry, the side dishes microwaved for too long. Everything tasted rubbery.
Still, the girls all pretended to like it, which felt worse than if they’d complained. They’d started to pity me; they knew I was trying, just as they knew I wasn’t measuring up.
“I’ll do better next year,” I told them, trying to inject some sort of enthusiasm into my voice. “I’ll learn to cook.”
My daughters deigned not to reply to those overly optimistic statements.
“You didn’t get Christmas crackers,” Ella said quietly.
“Yes, Daddy, why didn’t you? We always have Christmas crackers.”
Yes, we did—another tradition from Laura’s family. For a second I felt as if I could almost see her at the other end of the table—her paper crown tilted rakishly over one eye as she read out one of the terrible jokes or played with the little toy included in the crown—a kazoo or a tin whistle, enjoying it all so much.
I missed her bubbly sense of expectation, even as I recognized I’d taken it for granted. So much for granted that perhaps I hadn’t realized how it had been ebbing away, because now that I thought about it, that memory of Laura wasn’t from last year; it was from when Ruby was a baby. She’d torn off her crown and started to eat it and Laura had rescued it from her with a laugh.
Last year… last year… what had happened last year? What had Laura been like? Why couldn’t I remember? Why had I not noticed?
I turned back to my girls, blinking them into focus. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Maybe we can have crackers on New Year’s Eve.”
“No one has crackers on New Year’s Eve,” Alexa said, rolling her eyes, and Ruby tugged at my sleeve.
“Daddy, why did you forget?” How could I answer that? “And why didn’t Maria come?” she asked, her voice taking on the accusing tone she seemed to reserve for me, as she pushed her dessert—a chocolate cake that tasted bland and chilled—around her plate.
“It’s Christmas, Ruby. She’s celebrating with her own family.”
“I thought she didn’t have any family.” This from Alexa, sounding suspicious.
I shrugged. “I’m sure she has someone.”
“Can she come again?” Ella asked quietly. “She’s nice. I like her.”
“So do I.” Ruby jutted her lip out, her eyes starting to gleam dangerously. A tantrum threatened like thunderclouds moving in, the latest manifestation of Ruby’s grief that I couldn’t handle. Last night she’d lain on the floor screaming for twenty minutes because I’d peeled a banana for her instead of letting her do it herself.
“I’ll ask,” I said, even though I didn’t feel I could. Maria wasn’t really part of our lives, even if the two evenings we’d spent with her had been the highlights of an admittedly crappy month and a half. I hadn’t spoken to her since we’d decorated the Christmas tree, and I’d pretty much figured that was it. We’d never see her again. I didn’t know how I felt about that, only that it was the way things were, the way they had to be.
After the mostly morose dinner, Paul and Elaine called and spoke to each of the girls in turn; it had been three weeks since they’d left and, after a frosty silence, just to make me aware of the extent of their displeasure, they were back, on their terms as always.
“We’d like the girls to come to Boston for the week after Christmas as they usually do,” Paul said after they’d spoken to them all. The invitation was clearly for the girls, not for me.
“And you tell me this on Christmas Day?” I couldn’t help but retort, even though I’d told myself I was going to be measured, even friendly. Sort of.
“I don’t think we’re being unreasonable. We’ll come and collect them and bring them back. You won’t be required to do anything.”
“That’s not the point, Paul.” Although I wasn’t sure what was. And, if I was cringingly honest, a week on my own did not sound like a terrible thing at this point. I was exhausted and overwhelmed by the constant demands and needs—Ruby’s clinginess and tantrums, Ella’s silence, Alexa’s anger. Being by myself could be a break of sorts… a way to get on top of the house and work, at least.
“Have you sorted out childcare yet?” Paul asked in a tone that suggested he knew I hadn’t. “You’re going back to
work after New Year’s, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” And I hadn’t sorted out childcare, although I’d at least made a start. I’d contacted a nanny agency and filled out an endless form, and then been chided by the director that I’d left this far too late to be able to get anyone of quality. I’d been too annoyed by her prissy, scolding manner to take it any further, even though I knew I had to.
“Nathan, this really seems like it’s too much for you.” Paul was pouring on the fake sympathy, which made me grit my teeth.
“I’m coping, Paul.”
“But the girls deserve more than coping, surely?”
Laura had died just a little over a month ago. Did he really expect me to do more than cope at this point? “What are you trying to say?” I asked, even though I already knew and didn’t want him to tell me yet again how my daughters would be better off with him and Elaine.
“We’re here to help,” Paul said quietly. He was still going the sympathy route, although it clearly grated on him; there was an edge to his voice he couldn’t hide. “I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye on a lot of things, but we’re here to support you.”
“By taking away my children?” I hissed, not wanting the girls to hear. I was standing in the kitchen, staring out the window at Third Avenue, covered in grey slush. So much for snow.
“For a week. To be able to spend time with them. To give you a break.”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“Let’s let bygones be bygones, shall we?” A steely note had entered his voice, and I let out a harsh laugh.
“Seriously? You classify that as a bygone?”
“What’s your answer, Nathan?” No sympathy now.
I let out a long, low breath, my shoulders slumped as fatigue crashed over me. I was so tired, all the time. Ruby had come into bed with me at four this morning, and started chatting away at five. A week of uninterrupted sleep sounded pretty good right now, about the best thing I could hope for. Still, I resisted.
“I don’t know…”
“We have a relationship with them,” Paul persisted. “We have a right to a relationship with them. Laura would have wanted that. She always wanted to come to Cape Cod with us. Never missed a summer…”
Ah, those awful vacations to Cape Cod, where Paul insisted on paying for everything, and making sure everyone knew it. I finally put my foot down when Ella was a baby, even though it cost a mint. Money aside, the week was always an exercise in how other I was, when the family in-jokes about horse riding and country clubs were made with sliding, speculative looks I tried not to notice. Laura had a couple of ritzy cousins who looked at me as if I were some sort of alien species, tittering behind their hands when I betrayed my ignorance. No, I didn’t know how to play polo. Who did?
A couple of years ago, I started leaving early, only staying the weekend, claiming the pressures of work. I think everyone was relieved, even Laura. She could have her family time and I could be free.
“Fine.” I bit out the word, hating giving anything to my father-in-law. “When will you collect them?”
“We can come tomorrow, bring them back on New Year’s Day. They start school on the third?”
How did he know that? I didn’t even know that, although I probably should have. “Fine,” I said again. “I’ll let them know.”
“We’ve already told them,” Paul said, and he didn’t even sound apologetic.
When I came back into the living room after the call, all three girls were there, waiting. I raised my eyebrows. “So Grandad told you?”
Ella nodded soberly. “Do you mind?”
I sidestepped the question with one of my own. “Do you? Do you want to go?” I felt oddly vulnerable in asking the question, afraid they were choosing my in-laws rather than me. And really, why wouldn’t they? I was doing a terrible job at this whole single-parenting thing. I could admit that, and in any case, Alexa had already told me.
None of them answered; Ella gave Alexa a questioning look, and even Ruby, who always knew her own mind, looked lost.
With a jolt of guilt, I realized the position I’d put them in, making them choose. “Girls… Alexa… Ella… Ruby…” I shook my head slowly. “You can go. I don’t mind if you go. I mean, I’d be happy if you did, although of course I’d miss you.” The words stuck in my throat, but I forced them out, like jagged splinters, catching on everything. “Granny and Grandad are your grandparents, and they love you. It’s okay,” I assured them, and I couldn’t miss the relief that broke over Ella’s face like a wave. Alexa’s shoulders hunched a little less, and Ruby smiled.
“They said they’re coming tomorrow,” Ruby said, and I nodded.
“I know.”
* * *
It felt strange, packing their things that evening. The Christmas tree lights twinkled and the living room was a mess of torn wrapping paper, the remnants of our Fresh Direct dinner strewn across the kitchen. The prospect of an entire week alone loomed large, both a promise and a threat.
“Ella, don’t you have any more underpants?” I asked as I hunted through her near-empty drawers. Damned if I’d send them to Paul and Elaine unprepared.
“You haven’t done the laundry, Daddy,” Ella said, without a single note of censure in her voice. It was just fact. “And some of them are too small, anyway. I need new ones.” New underwear. Something I never, ever would have thought of, but, of course, these girls of mine were constantly growing—they’d need new everything eventually, and I’d have to be the one to provide it. Yet another thing Laura did that had not so much as rippled across my consciousness.
I put a load of laundry in and hoped there would be enough to see Ella through the week. Then I packed Ruby’s stuff, and checked Alexa was packing hers, to which I got a silent shrug in reply, her back to me as she sat on her bed, hunched as usual over her phone. At some point I would have to pry that thing away from her.
“Is there anything you need?” I asked, a bit desperately. “Can I do some laundry for you?”
“I’m fine.” The words were bitten off, hurled out.
I stared at the slender, rigid back of my daughter and wondered, yet again, why she was so angry with me. Did she really blame me for Laura’s death? Was that a natural reaction, all things considered? Or had something gone wrong between us that I’d never even known about, and was I even more of a crap dad than I realized?
When I’d gone to the police station, Lisa had given me a card for Victim Connect, a charity that helped family and friends of those who had died by violent crime. A mother from Ruby’s preschool had mentioned a grief support group for families offered at a nearby church. I’d more or less dismissed both things; I could barely handle life as it was, never mind adding another commitment to it. But now, six weeks on, I wondered if we needed that kind of support. If my daughters did.
In any case, it would have to wait until they returned from Boston.
“When you get back, Alexa,” I said, hearing the desperation in my voice. “Maybe we could do something together?”
She turned towards me, scathingly incredulous. “Do something?”
“Whatever you want. Just… spend some time together.” The words were stilted, painful. “I want us to get along.” Which made it sound as if that was all I was hoping for.
Alexa stared at me for a moment, her eyes narrowed, lips pursed. “You never do something with me, Dad.”
“That’s not true.” I couldn’t help but be defensive; I hadn’t been that bad, surely. “We went to the movies a few months ago…”
She rolled her eyes. “That was in the summer, and I didn’t even want to see it.”
“You didn’t?” I felt lost.
“Whatever, Dad. You don’t have to try so hard, okay? It’s just embarrassing.”
Ouch. “Why are you so angry with me, Alexa?” I asked quietly, and her eyes flashed for a millisecond before she closed herself up, like a shell snapping shut.
“Just go away, okay? I’m fine.�
�� She turned her back to me once more, and I stared at her helplessly, completely at a loss. After a few miserable moments, I did as she said.
* * *
Paul and Elaine showed up at ten the next morning; they must have left at the crack of dawn. We had an awkward exchange in the hallway, with a lot of shuffling and muttering, before the girls filed out and I brought their bags behind.
“I can take those,” Paul said, shouldering two before I could stop him, but I held onto the third, a matter of principle.
“I’ll say goodbye outside.”
“We’re double-parked,” Paul returned warningly, and I had to fight the urge not to say something ugly.
Outside, Ruby clung to my legs as Ella gave me a quick, tight hug before climbing into the Taylors’ luxury SUV, where Alexa already sat, her face turned away from me.
“Daddy, have you filled in my swim team form?” Ella asked anxiously. “I start as soon as I get back…”
“Swim team…” Vaguely I remembered something about it; it was in the plastic tray in the kitchen with myriad other school forms and letters I hadn’t looked at. “I’ll sort it out, Ella. Don’t worry.”
“It’s important.” She looked uncharacteristically anxious, and I tried to give her a reassuring smile.
“Don’t worry.”
“Daddy, I don’t want to go.” Ruby started with hiccuppy sobs, and I couldn’t help but give Paul a pointed look as I prised her off me.
“You’ll have lots of fun with Granny and Grandad. And I’ll see you in a week…”
Yet as she clambered into the car, a visceral fear clutched at me; I had a sudden, terrible premonition that Paul and Elaine might not bring them back. Wasn’t that what happened in custody battles, parents disappearing with children, all false promises and fake smiles? Possession was nine-tenths of the law, after all. What if this was it? How would I survive then? Because I realized in that moment that I needed my girls even more than they needed me. Even if I wasn’t the best thing for them, I wanted them with me. I couldn’t let them go, and yet I was.
