The Year We Turned Forty

by Liz Fenton

  • • •

  “When are we leaving?” Emily’s voice broke Claire away from her thoughts and she turned to face her daughter, who was leaning against the archway in the kitchen.

  “Not for a while,” Claire said, looking over at her dad, who was staring blankly at the burrito. “I want to be here when she wakes up from her nap.”

  Emily rolled her eyes. “I’m hungry.”

  “There is a ridiculous amount of food in this house. Help yourself.”

  Emily let out a huff and stomped over to the refrigerator, pulling at the handle with much more force than was needed, the contents banging against the door. “There’s nothing in there I want,” she stated without even looking at the food inside.

  “I guess I could go grab you something,” Claire said, exhaustion creeping into her voice. She swallowed her tears, the small tickle in her throat that had been threatening all week finally getting to her. She avoided her father’s eyes now as he watched her from his chair at the kitchen table. Her dad had always been quiet, often letting Mona do the talking for both of them. Claire couldn’t count how many conversations with Mona that had begun with, Your father wanted me to talk to you about. Ten years ago, he had faded into himself as Mona’s condition worsened, almost as if he was trying to figure out how to live life without her before she was gone. After her mother’s death, Claire tried to engage him, inviting him over for dinner once a week. But the truth was, she had never really known how to communicate with her father, and her mother’s death had only made that more obvious. Claire had thought of how Gabriela’s mother’s death had bonded her to her father. She wanted the same thing, but didn’t know how to achieve it, once admitting to her therapist that she’d been dreading the silence if she stopped at her dad’s house on her way home from work so much that she’d deliberately missed the exit. She never dreamed that she’d get a second chance.

  This time, Claire had inserted herself firmly into her father’s quiet, retired world. Sometimes the relationship felt more like it was Claire who was the parent, her dad the sullen teenager, reluctant to share. She’d ask him to tell her stories about Mona while she was in the other room sleeping off the poison streaming through her body—discovering more about her father in the last six months than she had in her entire life, a fact that made her both deliriously happy and somewhat sad. What else had she missed last time?

  “Your mother is tired,” her dad said to Emily. “Eat something here.”

  Claire smiled shyly at her dad. They had slowly formed a united front since Mona’s diagnosis. Against Emily’s bad behavior. Against the insurance companies that were constantly trying to deny their claims. Against the cancer that was consuming not just Mona, but their entire family.

  “Grandpa, all you have is leftover junk that even Grandma doesn’t want to eat. It’s gross.”

  Claire’s phone rang before she could deal with Emily and she recognized the number as Sandy, a needy client to whom she had just presented an offer on her house. Claire held one finger up to Emily and walked into the other room to take the call. Sandy hadn’t received the counteroffer that Claire had faxed before meeting her mom at the infusion center. “Goddamn fax machines!” she said under her breath, wondering how the hell she got any business done before she started using DocuSign, a program that allowed her clients to receive and sign all documents electronically. She wished she could invent it while she was here, but Blair had been very specific about what they had the power to do, and she was pretty sure making millions from stealing someone else’s idea wasn’t included in the deal. “I need to head over to the office to grab a contract,” she announced as she stepped back into the kitchen, Emily standing against the counter, her hip jutted out.

  “Good, let’s get out of here,” Emily said as she began to round up her books and folders and shove them haphazardly into her backpack.

  “Hold on a minute.” Emily’s lack of compassion toward what was happening right in front of her made Claire furious. Couldn’t she see how much pain her grandmother was in, the same woman who had given so much of her time to help raise her? She caught her father’s eye, and like a lightning bolt had hit her, she suddenly knew what Emily needed. What had been missing for so many years. What Claire, even though she had it in spades herself, had never instilled in her daughter.

  Empathy.

  “You’re staying here. I’ll be back in under an hour.”

  “What? No! I’m coming with you!” Emily cried, throwing her bag on the floor, the contents splaying across the tile, Claire instantly flashing to Emily as a three-year-old when she’d done the same with a box of crayons at a restaurant.

  “Tell you what, Em. I’ll grab you In-N-Out on my way back. But on one condition.” Claire hoped that dangling Emily’s favorite hamburger place in front of her would make her more amenable to her idea.

  Emily crossed her arms tightly over her chest, blocking the words silk-screened across her pale blue sweatshirt: As If. Claire almost laughed out loud at the symbolism and made a note to throw it out next time she did laundry. “What?”

  “You stay here and sit with Grandma,” Claire said softly. She pointed at Gabriela’s latest book sitting on the counter, remembering how Gabriela had pressed a copy signed for Mona into Claire’s hand as she was leaving the event, Claire fighting back the tears as Gabriela wrapped her arms around her, the hug saying more than words ever could. “Can you read that to her when she wakes up? We’re on chapter ten, and it’s getting really good.”

  Emily’s eyes shot to the doorway of Mona’s bedroom. Suddenly she wasn’t twelve with long hair and braces. Her cheeks were soft and round, her wispy strands of hair sticking to her face, her tiny arms wrapped around her favorite doll. She was scared, Claire thought, and still a little girl in so many ways.

  “Please,” Claire pleaded. “I can’t do this without you. Grandma needs you,” she said, and watched Emily soften.

  “She does?” Emily asked. Claire had never directly said those words until now, wanting to protect Emily from the day-to-day realities of cancer—the emotional roller coaster they had ridden last time, one that often left Claire feeling dizzy herself. But looking into her daughter’s eyes now, she realized she might have finally struck the right chord. Everyone wanted to be needed.

  “Of course. You know how much she loves you.” Mona had always been the one person who understood how to walk Emily’s tightrope, balancing discipline and love with such ease that Claire often wondered why Mona had never done the same with her. She had confessed to Claire, days before she died, when Claire had finally worked up the courage to ask. “I’ll tell you a secret,” she had rasped, Claire leaning in closer to hear, the machines in her hospital room threatening to drown out the words Claire had waited so long to hear. “You make all your mistakes with your own children, so by the time your grandchildren arrive, you know how to get it right. Plus, once you turn fifty, you kind of stop giving a shit what others think,” she said, laughing weakly. Claire thought about her mother’s words, and how horrible it was that she was finally ready to hear her mom’s advice now that she was almost out of time to give it.

  Emily took Gabriela’s novel off the counter and flipped through it. “There aren’t any R-rated scenes in here, are there?” She half smiled and walked into Mona’s room, sat in the chair beside her grandmother’s bed, and began to read as she waited for Mona to stir. Her voice was strong, a stark contrast to Mona’s fragile one. Claire picked up her keys and headed toward the door. It was a small victory, but she’d take it.

  As she drove to the office, Claire was feeling optimistic. Emily could help take care of Mona, and maybe doing so was just what she needed. And she hoped Emily would gain some perspective. Maybe she’d start being kinder. More understanding. Maybe.

  She rolled down the window slightly, letting the warm Santa Ana wind blow through her car, and returned the call to Emily’s teacher.

  “Mrs. Marks. Hi, it’s Claire Harris. I’m so sorry
you had to call, but I wanted to let you know I’m going to make sure she turns in whatever assignments are missing.”

  Mrs. Marks cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, did Mr. Randall not talk with you yet?”

  Claire struggled to conjure an image of a stout man with a comb-over. “The vice principal?”

  “Yes, he said he was going to fill you in on what’s happened.”

  “What do you mean on what’s happened?” Claire asked, turning on her blinker as she exited the freeway.

  “Well, this would probably be better discussed in person,” Mrs. Marks said tentatively. “Can you come by the school first thing tomorrow and we can talk about the situation?”

  Claire knew herself. She wasn’t going to be able to wait until the morning to find out what the situation was. “We recently found out my mother has cancer and we’re all struggling a little right now, so do you think you could give me more information tonight? You’ve got me worried here.” Claire felt terrible playing the cancer card, but her heart clenched as she wondered what had happened to Emily.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.” Mrs. Marks paused. “I can tell you there’s been a serious incident involving bullying.”

  “Oh my God,” Claire said as she imagined Emily pinned up against a locker or worse. Was that why she’d been so upset, so reclusive lately? Claire’s stomach contracted—she had been too hard on her. “What happened to Emily? Who’s been bullying her?”

  Claire heard Mrs. Marks exhale. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but you’ve got it mixed up. Nothing has happened to Emily. It’s actually your daughter who’s been the perpetrator.”

  Perpetrator? Emily definitely had an attitude problem, but she was also almost a teenager, going through puberty and navigating middle school—the trifecta of hardships for any adolescent. Not to mention her grandmother was dying. Claire pulled her car into the parking lot and turned the engine off. Emily wasn’t a mean girl.

  Was she?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  * * *

  Jessie watched Lucas as he rocked back and forth on his knees, the blanket gathering beneath him and his face full of marked determination as he tried to move his body forward into a crawl. As he blew bubbles through his tiny pink lips, she smiled, remembering the day she was leaving for the fiftieth birthday trip to Vegas, when Grant came to pick him up, how long his legs looked as he cascaded down the stairs. She’d wondered where the years went as he wriggled from her grasp when she tried to kiss him good-bye.

  Last time, after Lucas was born, she’d been convinced she needed to keep him on a strict schedule, refusing to let even Morgan and Madison’s busy activities dictate his nap or bedtime, often watching their softball games from the car as he slept. She was religious in her approach to when he slept and ate, while also trying to squeeze in the right amount of time—whether tummy or story.

  But now, if Lucas refused to sleep, she’d scoop him from his crib and let him be awake, his large green eyes drinking in his surroundings. If he wailed in anger until she picked him up, she’d give in. If the girls wanted to hold him or feed him, she didn’t hover over them in case they lost their grip. She just let life happen, as it should. And she’d worked harder this time to create a bond between the twins and their new baby brother. Just that morning, she’d asked the girls to feed him and watched as they both tried in their own way to get him to eat his strained peas. She’d felt so much more like a family this time than she had before. When Grant was able to get home for dinner and they all sat around the table together, the twins talking about their science-fair projects—Madison was calculating the density of fruits and vegetables and Morgan was doing a data analysis of the most popular animals—turns out kittens beat out puppies two to one!—while Lucas mashed his food, she could almost pretend Grant had fathered all three of them.

  She leaned back on her wrists as she waited for Gabriela at the park, letting the sun dance across her face as she soaked in all these moments, willing them to replace the ones she’d like to forget.

  “Jessie?”

  Jessie snapped her head around at the sound of a familiar voice. She sat forward and pulled Lucas into her lap as she looked up, putting her hand over her eyes to see Peter standing above her.

  “What are you doing here? Is Cathy with you?” She looked around, feeling a pit in her stomach. It was the first time she’d been alone with Peter since the day she’d told him she was pregnant. Jessie hugged Lucas against her chest and he squirmed. But she pressed him closer anyway.

  “No, she’s at work,” Peter said without elaborating. “May I?” Peter pointed to the grass beside her.

  “Actually, I was just about to leave.” Jessie started to rise from the blanket.

  “Jessica—”

  “Please don’t call me that.” Not even Grant used her given name. And something about Peter saying it made her skin crawl—at least this time. Before, he’d mistakenly called her that and then it had morphed into an inside joke that for the life of her she couldn’t remember why she’d ever thought was funny.

  “Okay, Jessie.” He put his hands up as if showing her he wasn’t holding anything. “Listen, can I please talk to you?”

  “Did you follow me here?”

  “No . . . well . . . sort of,” he stammered.

  “What do you mean sort of?” Jessie started tossing squishy blocks and rattles into her diaper bag while perching Lucas on her hip.

  “Just hold on a sec. I know how this looks, but I’m not stalking you. We need to talk and I couldn’t think of another way to get you alone,” Peter began, wedging his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “I haven’t been able to get Lucas out of my mind since we ran into you.”

  All the sound around her quickly faded as if she’d shoved earplugs into her ears. She could see Peter’s lips moving, but she couldn’t hear him.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  Jessie scrambled for something to say, for the words that would make him retract his statement. When he’d refused to have anything to do with her pregnancy, she’d quickly settled into the idea. It would have been too complicated for him to be in Lucas’ life. And she’d never told anyone, but when she used to rock Lucas to sleep while alone in her empty house, the twins with Grant for the weekend, she would thank her lucky stars that he was gone. His presence would have only reminded her of that night.

  “What do you mean you can’t get him off your mind? Where did he fit into your brain during the nine months I was pregnant? For the six months since he was born?” And what about the ten years after that?

  “I don’t know. There was something about seeing him, the way Cathy held him. Like, maybe we could work it all out somehow.” He sighed loudly. “Maybe that’s a crazy thought. But I felt something. And now I can’t pretend I didn’t.”

  “You could barely bring yourself to look up from your damn BlackBerry!” Jessie’s voice rose and two speed walkers looked over as they passed.

  “I know,” he said sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I think I was in shock. But I did. Look at him, I mean. He has my eyes.” Peter started to peer around Jessie’s shoulder at Lucas’ face, but she turned to block his view.

  “So what are you saying?” Jessie could see her vein throbbing through her wrist.

  “I don’t know, exactly. Maybe I could spend a little time with him here and there?”

  “Here and there?” Jessie snapped. “What, you want to take him to his Mommy and Me tumbling class? I’m sure that won’t raise any eyebrows.”

  “No. Not like that. No one could know,” Peter said, ignoring her dig. “Obviously, we’d need to keep this from Cathy and Grant. For now.”

  “What do you mean, for now?” Jessie said, shifting Lucas to her other hip and slinging her bag over her shoulder, panic rising inside of her.

  “I mean, I think we should consider that one day we may need to tell them the truth. Now that I’ve seen him, I don’t think I can live with myself, knowing I have a son out th
ere who doesn’t even know who I am.”

  Jessie felt bile rushing up to her throat. All along, she’d banked on the fact that Peter would be the same uncaring jerk he’d been last time. But now that she’d made different choices, Peter seemed to be following suit. She felt a burst of rage. Why couldn’t the universe just let her be content? Had her one mistake been so awful that she would forever be denied happiness? She had hated herself for years after what happened, and now she realized that the karma gods might be hating her too.

  “No,” she spit out.

  “No what?” Peter looked at her incredulously

  “I said no. Like you mentioned, you have a wife. And you also have a son, named Sean. You need to go back to that life,” Jessie said as she started walking away.

  “I have rights,” Peter called after her, but she refused to stop, putting one foot in front of the other, nearly colliding with Gabriela as she turned the corner to where her minivan was parked, her breathing coming in short, desperate spurts.

  “Are you okay?” Gabriela eyed Jessie as she tried to catch her breath.

  “I’m fine,” Jessie said as she took in the gauze and bandage on Gabriela’s arm, remembering that she’d just come from the doctor, that today was the day she’d had the blood test that would determine if she was pregnant. “There was a swarm of bees over by our blanket and they kept following us wherever we moved.” The lie fell off Jessie’s tongue effortlessly. “Can we just have lunch at my place?”