by Owner
“Love you too, Dad.”
I’m not sure I ever noticed any changes after that talk. But I do remember having that same talk again and again over the years. That’s when I learned that you can’t change who people are. You just have to take whatever they’re able to give.
CHAPTER 7 - EMILY
If you have kids, there’s one thing you can find in almost any room: cheerios. They have a way of sticking to soft pudgy skin as they waddle around the house. Then they fall off and land in the most inconceivable places. I sit at the kitchen table and watch as my Ben contemplates a scattering of cheerios on the spot in front of him. He picks up one, examines it, and then sticks it on his tongue. After he swallows it, he brings both hands down on the cereal and begins rearranging them, plotting out his own little army attack. I don’t dare interrupt him for fear of breaking the glorious silence. James is on the floor in the other room playing with Legos, and Sophie is next to me doing homework. I glance at my phone and note that three whole minutes have gone by without a sound from anyone. I can now officially die happy.
When I recover from my euphoria, I realize that silence in a home filled with children is almost always bad news. I lean back and eye James who is still being an angel. Then I set my sites on Sophie.
“You’re so quiet. Did something happen today?”
She shrugs one shoulder and lets out her I don’t know sound, “Mm-mm,” that usually means yes.
“Did something happen at school, sweetie?” I repeat.
She puts her pencil down and eyes me with hesitance. “I got my clip moved down.”
“Oh,” I say in a soft, almost whisper. I’ve learned that non-reaction works best to get the whole story. Then, when they confess, I lower the boom. They haven’t figured it out yet. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“I yelled out a landmark and Ms. Weldon made me move my clip down.”
“I don’t understand what that means. Why a landmark?”
“We were doing centers, and me and Keeley were at Math cubes. She said her parents were getting divorced and she was going to have to move away.” Sophie’s mouth is tight and her eyes glaze over.
I reach over and rub her arm. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“Are you and Daddy going to get a divorce?”
“Of course not. Why would you say something like that?”
“Because you and Daddy don’t have enough romance, and Keeley said you have to have romance or your parents will get divorced.”
“Do you even know what that word means?”
“Sure I do. It’s when a man and a woman kiss and have the time of their lives.” She said the last part with her arms stretched out as if she was reading a fairy tale.
“Where did you hear that from?” I’m almost sure I know the answer before it comes out.
“Auntie Jax.”
So far, I haven’t worried that when I look at my Sophie, I see pieces of Jax: both wild, uninhibited, speaking their minds, and trying to save the world one soul at a time, but completely botching it up half the time. “First of all, Daddy and I have enough romance. Now, that still doesn’t explain this landmark business.”
“When Keeley said she was moving, I got mad. I wanted to yell and say a bad word like I heard Daddy do in the garage when he dropped the drill.”
I shake my head and wait for this story to make any kind of sense. With Sophie it eventually gets there, but sometimes the trip is oddly fun. “And…”
“So I yelled, Hoover International DAM!”
This takes me by complete surprise and a tiny laugh escapes me. Sophie will always find a way around the rules. “Sweetheart, I understand you were upset, but you may not say that word…even if it is disguised in a landmark.”
Just then, Ben slams his hands down on his pile of Cheerios. “Damn, damn, damn.”
I shoot Sophie my serious-mother eyes and a head tilt, then stand and cross over to Ben to distract him. I don’t say a word to him because telling him “no” will only make him want to say it more. Instead I go to the laundry room, grab the hamster out of his cage and stick him in the plastic ball. Ben loves to watch him roll around the kitchen.
“Hammy, Hammy, Hammy,” Ben says.
I turn back to Sophie who is also now watching Hammy. “Sophie, do you understand what I said to you? It’s okay to be angry or sad, but it’s not okay to yell and say things we aren’t supposed to.”
She nods, and I decide this is sufficient enough for a first offense which is good because the doorbell rings.
At the door, I look through the peephole and see Jax. The first thing I do is pull my phone from my pocket. Shit, what did I forget? I think as I thumb up my calendar. I don’t see anything. I take two seconds to check out my appearance: black yoga pants—I’ve never done yoga in my life, not to mention I can’t remember the last time I exercised—gray, long-sleeved t-shirt, light-brown hair in a sloppy bun. Add one unidentified stain on my right breast. Perfect.
I open the door and greet her with a smile and a hug. “Hi, what are you doing here?” She knows I don’t appreciate drop-ins. I quickly scan the living room for any embarrassing landmines she might trip over. My mind goes to my list of things to do today, and I contemplate how this visit will set me back. I note the washer is in spin mode, so those clothes will need to be transferred to the dryer within minutes.
Jax goes right over to James and kneels down next to him. “Hey, Buddy Boy,” she says using the nickname Eric gave him when he was born. James smiles and hooks his arms around her neck. “Hi, Aunt Jax.”
After she stands, I say, “Benny’s in the kitchen. Let’s go back.”
She follows me back and makes her rounds to my other two children, Ben greeting her in the same manner James did and Sophie displaying a smile equivalent to being handed an ice cream cone before dinner. Then Jax picks up the plastic ball and addresses Hammy, speaking to him as if he were the fourth child. James runs in at the sound of Ben’s and Sophie’s giggles and quickly joins in.
Since the day each of them was born, Jax has been their aunt, babysitter, friend, and confidant. It amazes me how great they are together, and yet she seems to have no yearning for children of her own. I don’t even think she’s been close to marriage.
“Good to see you, Jaxie,” I say, scooping Ben’s Cheerio army into a pile. He protests, so I leave them, aware it will be easier for us to talk.
“You too, sweetie.” She sets her purse on the island and takes a seat at the table.
James runs back to the living room to finish his Lego robot. He tells me he’s going to be the next Tony Stark. I worry about leaving him alone for too long when I know Jax will keep me distracted.
I brush away some crumbs at the spot where she sits, and begin to tidy up the homework papers Sophie is working on. The dirty dishes in the sink catch my eye. Why didn’t I put those in the dishwasher when we got home? I let out a frustrated sigh.
“Stop,” Jax says eyeing me. “I don’t care.”
I smile and pretend I don’t hear her. She brings a hand down on my arm. “You’re the best mom I know,” she says with kindness in her eyes.
Jax could convince a tiger he was a tabby, but I don’t think that she’ll ever convince me. “I’m the only mom you know.”
“That’s not true. What about Gert?”
“Oh, yes, the biker that owns that tattoo shop.” I understand I am in no position to judge another parent especially since I never met the woman. The one time I set foot in the place was when Jax was working and convinced me to come in for a tattoo. It was right after Sophie was born, and I guess I was trying to prove to myself that I was still young and hot. Apparently I couldn’t stand the heat, because I left without getting inked.
“Hey, she doesn’t look it, but she’s a very loving and responsible mother,” Jax says.
The word “responsible” pokes at my gut, and I turn my head away. I wonder if I’ll ever stop letting remorse run my life.
“Hey, nobody c
an be a perfect mother, Emily. God knows I’m not perfect at anything.” She sees the expression on my face and grows more determined. “Everyone makes mistakes … and that doesn’t mean you kill yourself to avoid future ones. It’s un-freakin’-avoidable!”
Sophie sucks in a breath, about to call Jax on her slip-up. I quickly hold up a finger. “Sweetie pie, it’s time to feed Jersey.” I’m glad I thought of the distraction, but more importantly, I can’t recall the last time we fed her iguana. “Run upstairs and take care of it, please.”
She lets out the air, defeated, and surprisingly gives in. She most likely understands I can still punish her for what happened today at school. When she sulks away, I take a quick peek at James and then turn back to Jax, determined to change the subject.
“So how was lunch with Sage?”
“Great. She’s hot as ever. Still running after that uptight boss of hers and trying to pretend she’s not becoming just as uptight.”
“I’m sure she’ll work it out,” is all I come up with. It’s hard not to compare myself to Sage. And I often reflect upon where I’d be now if I hadn’t dropped out of college to marry Eric. But I don’t regret my decision. “So how was George’s? Sage get her soup?”
“She did.” Jax smiles, probably remembering how we’d teased Sage when she brought soup to school for lunch. “It was really nice to see her, and it’s a beautiful day out there. Supposed to be a beautiful weekend too.” She raises eyebrows at me that feel out of place, especially since I don’t recall seeing the same weather report.
“I would have loved to be down at the beach with you guys. Sorry I couldn’t make it.”
Jax doesn’t respond. Instead, an odd expression materializes on her face and she smiles.
“What?” I ask a tad unnerved.
She’s still staring at me, grinning when the doorbell rings again. Ben is fidgeting, asking to get out, “Up, up, up,” so I pull him up, set him down, and he hits the ground running. I gaze at Jax. Her eyes light up, and I cast a suspicious glance upon her before heading to the door. I see through the peephole it’s Sage, and the light bulb goes off that Jax’s giddiness is about Sage coming to surprise me. As I open the door, I let my elation rule over my desire for control. “Oh my gosh, Sage!” I hug her tightly in the doorway, drinking in the fresh aroma of someone who has unlimited time in the bathroom.
Jax appears behind me, and after Sage steps in, the three of us clasp hands instinctively. It has been almost two years since we were all in the same room together. I remember because it was in the hospital, right after I gave birth to Ben. I’ve seen Sage two other times after that, but Jax wasn’t there either time. We use Facebook and texting to stay connected, but it’s not nearly enough, evidenced by the expression on each one of our faces as we stand in the circle of friendship. My eyes burn, and I’m not certain if the lump in my throat is for something gained or something lost.
The moment is broken when Ben stumbles off the small step in the living room and into James’s newly built robot.
“Mom!” James yells over Ben’s wailing.
I break from the girls and scurry over, but my subconscious picks up something from Sage that sounds like, “Did you tell her?”
James is feverishly trying to rebuild the arm that came apart. Ben is crying, holding his barefoot. “Oh, Benny,” I say as I take his foot in my hand. “Do you want Mommy to smother it away?”
He nods and I smother his foot with sloppy wet kisses, his sobs decreasing with every smooch. In the background, I hear a speaker phone ringing. An instant later, the girls are giggling, and Eric’s voice permeates the room.
“Babe! You ready for a surprise?”
He knows I hate surprises, so I’m not sure why the hell he sounds so chipper. Probably because I can’t beat him through the phone. Whatever is going on, Sage and Jax have obviously not thought this part through because now James and Ben are at their feet yelling, “Daddy, Daddy!” I detect a disaster is about to unfold.
Jax gives James the shushing signal with her finger, and Sage picks up Ben and carries him to the couch. She insanely gives him her wallet, and he begins pulling out all her credit cards, carefully examining each one.
“All right, what’s going on?” I keep my tone playful, though I don’t have a good feeling. I’m about to unravel so I focus on breathing.
“Babe, this is for your own good. Sage and Jax are kidnapping you for the weekend. You’re going to have a great time. And before you say anything”—my mouth was already open, ready to unload the excuses—“I’ve got everything covered for the kids.”
I have no idea what the plans are, but I don’t even ask. My mind is already spinning in a hundred different directions. What about the new gate at the top of the stairs? Eric can never get it latched right. What about Sophie’s report that’s due Monday or how Ben will only let me bathe him because he wants the “Splish Splash” song the way I sing it? I can’t stop the panic from rising up, and I almost hate myself for being so weak. Was I completely incapable of having fun away from my family?
Was this separation anxiety normal? Did every mother experience this? Part of the reason is obvious. But I also consider it is because I’m a twin; I spent much of my life growing up with someone nearby to love and support me, even when Ned was the fourth wheel in our group.
At some point during my silent trance, I hear Eric again. “I can hear you thinkin’,” he says in his over exaggerated Hispanic accent. He always pulls out his Ricky Ricardo imitation when he thinks he’s in trouble or is trying to be convincing. “Is not goot when jou do too much thinkin’.”
“There’s nothing to think about,” Jax says. “It’s perfect! We’ve got a great house on the bay side.”
“What about a car?” I ask, trying to sound practical. Eric’s car was in the shop, and he’s been driving his border agent truck. “You’ll need the van.”
“It’s covered,” Jax jumps in. “You can take your time packing, getting ready, and obsessing, and Ned will bring you over later. Sage and I have a little errand to run.”
“Ned’s coming?” Sage says as if that was the only thing she’d heard.
I’m so overwhelmed I can’t come up with another thing to say. I go mute, retreat into myself as I so often do. Eric tells me he loves me, says he’ll be home early, and hangs up. He’s been a border patrol agent for almost ten years, and I could probably count on one hand the amount of days he’s missed. So for him to take time off is probably not an issue. But the thought of him being with the kids twenty-four seven brings me nightmarish visions of noses going unwiped, pots corroding, and animals dead at the bottom of their cages. I can’t let my mind go there, not now, not in front of them. I make a date with myself to process this when I’m alone.
Jax stares at me, pride tinging her eyes. When I concede I’ve been outnumbered and outvoted, I try to find the bright side. This could be more enjoyable than getting my teeth cleaned. I could find it in me to relax and spend quality time with the friends that I’ve missed so much. I take a deep breath and ready myself for what’s to come. I clasp my hands together before I realize they are shaking. My first inclination: lists. Oh, there will be so many lists. First, I need to get these ladies out and tend to my children. But when I turn toward my youngest, my eyes catch Sage and I’m startled. She has a desperate hold on Ben in her lap, her lips pressed against his soft hair. And, there are tears in her eyes.
CHAPTER 8 - SAGE
There is nothing that makes me more uncomfortable than old people, especially when one of them is my grandmother.
When I was ten-years-old, my grandmother moved from Chicago to California, staying with us for several days while she waited for her things to arrive at her new house. Mother would remind me that I should “speak only when spoken to” around Rose. I had no problem with this rule, but even when she did speak to me, I always said the wrong thing. One afternoon I had Jax and Emily over to play. We were in the backyard in my playhouse trying to figure out w
hich of us would be the mommy, the daddy, and the baby. Grandmother was sitting in the sun reading a book and smoking a cigarette.
“Girls, come here,” she said, mashing the butt out in the tray. We wandered over cautiously. “It’s not necessary to argue over this. You can all be mommies.” Then she paused, scanned across all three of our faces. “Better yet, why don’t you pretend you’re three career women living in a big mansion together? After all, you don’t have to be mommies if you don’t want to.”
None of us said anything at first. I knew they were waiting for me to respond since it was my grandmother, but I didn’t know what to say. At last, Jax spoke up with her arms folded across her chest. “Emily wants to be a mommy. And I’m not gonna to live in some dumb mansion ever. I’m going to live in a cozy, little beach house.” She turned to head back to the playhouse, Emily and I following in her wake, holding our breath. Once inside, my grandmother said, “You live in your beach house. But you’d better have a damn good job because ocean-front property might as well be a mansion.” I thought she was mad at Jax’s outburst, but when I peeked out the play window, she was grinning.
Jax and I step into the lobby of Oak Grove, and it’s like visiting hours in Heaven. I try to place my finger on what sets me on edge. Is it the odd smell of over-used fabric softener? The myriad of assisted movement devices being hovered over by hunched backs? Maybe I’m imagining the looks they give me, as though I’ve somehow stolen their youth and inhaled it into my body during some sort of soul sucking binge.
A gorgeous decorative fountain stands in the lobby slightly ahead of a check-in desk for visitors. Elevators on the right lead to the occupants’ private rooms, and in the back is the dining area as well as several activity rooms. Oak Grove is beautiful, but not the sort of place someone with our family’s money would end up in. But Grandmother Rose never did enjoy being alone, and she refused the home nursing set-up my father had suggested. This way, she can be surrounded by people, be near the ocean, and still have her every need met.
