These Girls

by Sarah Pekkanen

  “Sure. I’m just on my way to my apartment,” she’d said.

  He’d hesitated. “Why don’t you call me when you get there?” he’d finally suggested.

  Something inside that simple sentence had made her stomach clench. She’d gripped the phone with a hand that suddenly felt ice-cold and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “What is it? Oh, my God, is Mom okay?”

  “She’s fine,” he’d said. “Look, honey, I really think you should call me back—”

  “Dad, tell me,” she’d said. She’d thought she’d spoken in a normal tone of voice, but she must’ve shouted, because two passersby turned to stare at her—or maybe they were just transfixed by the image of her face flipping from joyful to terrified in the space of an instant.

  Her father had cleared his throat. “You know your mother and I both love you and Christopher very much,” he’d begun. He’d kept talking for a few more minutes before he got to the point—that he was leaving, moving across town; that he’d already left, in fact. But Cate’s legs had stopped moving at that first sentence. She’d just stood there, as all the colors and noises of New York—honks and flashing neon lights and shouts—faded away around her, until she was left standing alone on the cold, gray island.

  Cate had harbored a secret hope that their separation would be temporary. But when her mother called her one night six months later, sobbing so hard she had trouble breathing, Cate couldn’t believe it: Her father already had a girlfriend. Or—the horrible thought leapt into her mind—maybe he’d had one all along.

  She’d punched in her father’s new number so hard that one of her nails broke. She’d almost hoped the girlfriend would answer the phone; she wanted to rain obscenities down upon her, to scream at her for ripping apart a family. Her father was throwing away a long marriage because of a midlife crisis. He was a smart man, a good man. She’d never thought he’d turn into such a pathetic cliché.

  But her father had picked up on the first ring, saying “hello” in a calm, solemn tone, as though he was expecting her call. Maybe he was; he’d probably broken the news to her mother about his new girlfriend, then sat back and waited for her to tell Cate before the communication triangle was completed by Cate’s call.

  “I can’t believe you,” Cate had said. Her hand had curled so tightly around the phone that her fingers went numb. “Just tell me one thing: Did you leave Mom for her?”

  “Cate,” he’d said, and his normally deep voice was so weary. “I didn’t even meet Darlene until a few months after I’d moved out. And you must know it wasn’t working between your mother and me long before then.”

  Darlene? Cate had pictured a busty, giggling blonde—her mother’s opposite. Her father was a fool. She’d give him a month before he came back, suitcase in hand and head hung in shame. No, a week.

  “The truth is, after you kids left the house . . . I began to realize you were all that was holding us together.”

  Cate had wanted to argue—she’d been poised to argue. But as she’d turned his words over in her mind, searching for a way to tear into them, to claw and stomp on them until they were shredded and powerless, she’d realized she couldn’t. They were filled with the strength of truth. Her parents never went out on dates, never took romantic vacations together. At night they watched television in separate armchairs, instead of cuddling on the couch. Even in family photos, her parents were always on opposite ends, flanking their children.

  When Cate had opened her mouth again, the question that emerged surprised her: “But what about Mom?”

  Her anger hadn’t broken her father, but this question did. His voice had wavered, and he’d had to blow his nose before answering. “I hope she finds happiness, Cate. I truly do. I still love your mother . . . just not in that way anymore.”

  Remembering it now, back in her childhood home, made Cate’s eyes burn all over again.

  Darlene had lasted much longer than a month. Her father was still dating her. Cate had met her a few months later, when her father brought her to New York for a weekend of shopping and Broadway shows. Darlene was bottle-blond and busty, but not the slightest bit giggly. She had a dry wit, and worked as a patent lawyer. Cate had liked her, even though it made her feel queasy to see her dad with another woman, to watch him hold open doors for her and put his hand on the small of her back as he walked a half step behind her. It was almost as if he’d become a different man, one who wore cologne and had a shorter haircut and asked to see the wine list instead of ordering a bottle of Budweiser. Her dad must’ve known how uncomfortable it made Cate feel, because when she came back to Philly for the holidays, he always made time to see her alone. Sometimes Darlene dropped him off at a restaurant and popped in to say hello, but she seemed to be making an effort to stay in the background. It made Cate like her more, if a bit grudgingly.

  She wouldn’t see her father on this trip home, though; he and Darlene were taking a long weekend in Barbados.

  Cate quickly wiped the corners of her eyes with her index fingers at the sound of her mother’s voice.

  “Honey?” Her mother came in from the kitchen. “What are you doing out here?”

  Cate shook her head and stood up from the step. “Just remembering. Thinking of how Christopher and I used to slide down this banister.”

  Her mother laughed and put a hand lightly on Cate’s shoulder. “You almost gave me a heart attack the first time you did it.” She stood there, looking at the banister. “A lot of good memories are in this house, aren’t they?”

  And suddenly Cate realized that was why her mother wouldn’t move. She was scared she’d lose those memories along with everything else.

  Cate hadn’t wanted to bring up her father—she and her mother had pretty much wrung the subject dry over the past few years—but it was her mother who did so, as they were finishing up dinner. How like her mother, to wait so Cate’s meal wouldn’t be ruined. Maybe if her mother had stood up for herself, had demanded to be swept away to a hotel for a romantic night, had made her own needs known instead of worrying about everyone else’s . . . But no, Cate couldn’t blame her mother for the divorce. Her father was every bit as much at fault. Or maybe, and this was the saddest thought of all, maybe no one was.

  “Dad called earlier this week,” her mother began. She reached for her wineglass and took a healthy sip. “He wanted to tell me he’s getting engaged. He was going to ask her in Barbados. He probably has, by now.”

  Cate drew in her breath sharply.

  “He was going to call you next, but I convinced him to let me tell you in person since you were about to come down here.”

  Cate searched her mother’s face. She expected to see a tumble of emotions—sorrow and anger and jealousy—but her mother’s expression remained inscrutable.

  “How do you feel about it?” Cate asked softly.

  Her mother sighed. “I saw it coming. Your father doesn’t like to be alone. And he’s a good catch.”

  “But are you okay?”

  “It hurts. I won’t pretend it doesn’t. But I was prepared for it. We talk every few weeks, your father and I. He wants to be friends. He asked if he could call you tomorrow, after I told you. Honey, I know this is a shock for you.”

  Cate wondered if her mother was trying to protect her, even now, by subverting her own feelings so she could focus on Cate’s.

  “It’s so weird,” Cate said. She felt a pang deep inside her stomach. Suddenly the smell of roast chicken and lemon, which had been so delicious moments ago, was overpowering, and nausea rose in her throat. “I shouldn’t feel this surprised, should I? I just can’t believe he’s getting married.”

  She wished her mother had let her father tell her, instead of trying to be a buffer. It was silly, but suddenly Cate wanted his reassurance that he still loved her. She thought about her father and Darlene walking on the beach, holding hands, clinking together champagne glasses as they started a new life. Having the kind of trip he’d experienced with Cate’s mother only early
on in their relationship, before the children came along. When they got back from the trip, he’d probably move into Darlene’s apartment in Rittenhouse Square. Cate would have to fold Darlene into their relationship. The next time she saw her dad, she’d insist his new fiancée come along. If she didn’t make an effort with Darlene, she might really lose her father.

  Cate looked at her mom and saw her plate was still mostly full. Another thing she’d inherited from her mother; an inability to eat when she was stressed.

  “Are you okay?” her mother asked. They were being so polite—too polite! Didn’t her mother want to smash dishes and yell and cut up her wedding photos? Darlene would be a yeller, Cate suddenly realized. She remembered how, at the restaurant in New York, the waiter had tried to take Darlene’s dessert before she was finished eating. She’d grabbed his forearm and said, “Young man, there’s still tiramisu in that dish. Take it away and risk a premature death.” The waiter had cracked up, and Darlene had savored her last bite, rolling her eyes in exaggerated delight while Cate’s father laughed and toasted her with a glass of Merlot. Cate’s mom probably would have let the waiter remove the dish without a word, too embarrassed to make a scene.

  “It’s just going to take a little time to process,” Cate said. She pushed away her plate. The meal her mother had prepared so lovingly lay like a rock in her stomach. “Does Christopher know?”

  “Dad was going to phone him this weekend. I’m going to talk to him, too, but with the time difference, it’s always tricky. I might not be able to catch him for a couple days.”

  Cate nodded. She’d call her brother in Hong Kong this week. He was the only person who could understand exactly how she felt. She swallowed over the lump forming in her throat. Her big brother lived halfway across the world, and now her father was moving on. Any whisper-thin fantasy she might have harbored about her parents putting back the pieces of their family was gone. But the truth was, Cate was also forging ahead. With her new promotion, she couldn’t see herself leaving New York anytime soon. If she wanted to work in magazines, she needed to stay there.

  “You must be so lonely,” Cate blurted. “Mom . . . I’m so sorry.”

  “Oh, it’s not all that bad,” her mother said. “I’ve got my book club and the church flower guild. We’re doing a lot of weddings. And there’s always so much to do around the house. All the stuff Dad used to take care of—raking and getting in wood for the winter and having the car serviced. . . .”

  “Would you want to do something else? Work part-time or volunteer?”

  “Who would want to hire me, at my age?” her mother said, not quite pulling off a laugh. “I don’t have that many skills.”

  “But there’s so much you have to offer,” Cate said. “You could help a kid learn how to read. You could travel. They always need people to help out during a crisis, like when the Gulf oil spill coated so many birds and volunteers helped save them. You’d be really good at that.”

  Her mother didn’t answer for a moment; then she sighed, a soft, nearly imperceptible sound. “I think it’s still hitting me. Not just the divorce but . . . getting older. You wouldn’t believe how quickly the time passes, Cate. Every year zips by faster than the one before. I feel as if I went to the hospital to deliver you one day, and the next, you were leaving for college. Every day was so busy and full, and yet it was over in the blink of an eye.”

  Cate reached out and enveloped her mother’s hand between her own. It felt small and bony, like a trapped bird. Her mother was depressed, Cate suddenly realized. Not clinically, unable-to-get-out-of-bed depressed, but she probably endured the heavy, gray sensation of constantly having to walk through a cold drizzle.

  “It’s never too late,” Cate said. “Would you want to go visit Christopher in Hong Kong? He said he’d love to have you. Why not do that for yourself?”

  “He’s been asking me to. I think . . . maybe it’s time. Maybe I’ll go.”

  But Cate wondered if she really would, or if her halfhearted resolve would slip away, like water through the cracks in a cupped hand. If her mother had just one really close friend, someone Cate had gotten to know through the years, Cate could call her and ask her to keep an eye out, to cajole her mother into going for daily walks and weekend excursions. But then, maybe if her mother had sought out friends all along instead of just living for her family, she’d be in a better place now.

  Sure, her mom had chatted with other parents at soccer games, and, back when they were married, she and Cate’s father had occasionally gone out to dinner with other couples. But most of those couples were through her dad’s connections, Cate realized. They were his co-workers, his old college roommate, his tennis partner. She’d never truly understood how quiet her mother’s life had been.

  “Have you gone to see the doctor?” Cate asked. “It might be good for you to have someone to talk to.”

  “A therapist?” Her mother nodded. “I’ve thought about it. I just . . . I guess I haven’t gotten around to finding one.”

  “Let me do that for you,” Cate said. “Find you a therapist and book you a flight to Hong Kong. Please?”

  Her mother’s eyes were wet. “You’re a good daughter, Cate.”

  “I’ll try to come home more often, too,” Cate said. She didn’t know how she’d manage it, but she’d figure out a way.

  They stayed in the kitchen, talking for another hour, and then Cate went to her room to unpack her bag and take a shower. But first she sat on her narrow single bed, staring at the patterns the moonlight painted on the wall as it filtered through the branches of the old oak tree in the backyard. Memories clung to her mind: making an igloo with her father and Christopher after a record-breaking, three-foot snowfall, then coming inside with tingling toes and red cheeks to gobble down chili and honey corn bread before falling asleep on the rug in front of the fire. Their street hadn’t been plowed for almost a week, so they’d hunkered down, using up pantry items to create increasingly funny dinners and voting on the winner. It was a canned corn casserole topped with crushed Cheerios, Cate suddenly remembered. She saw herself in the kitchen, using a rolling pin to grind the cereal held in a plastic bag, while her father set the table and her mother scrounged up a can of pineapple juice for everyone to drink. Later, her dad had read them the first book in the Narnia series, and as Cate lay on the couch, the words washing over her, she’d felt a deep contentment, like a blanket that magically warmed her from within.

  She felt a single tear run down her cheek. She thought she’d known the story of her own family. How much of it had been a fabrication?

  A beep jolted her out of her reverie. Cate searched through her purse until she located her ringing cell phone. It was Trey.

  “Hey,” he said. “I just called the apartment and learned you’d gone home for the weekend. Everything okay?”

  “I came to visit my mom,” she said. She knew her voice sounded downbeat, and she tried to inject some energy into it. “I’d forgotten we’d made plans. But Renee is there with Abby . . .”

  “Yeah, they seem to be doing great. Abby was actually laughing when I spoke to her.”

  Cate smiled, and tried to ignore a little pang of feeling left out.

  “Anyway,” Trey continued, “I wanted to tell you the interview with Reece’s roommate was amazing. Fantastic details. And guess what? She called Reece at the end of our talk and put in a good word. Now I’m getting another shot at Reece.”

  Cate felt limp with relief. “Thank you,” she breathed, feeling like the words were inadequate.

  “No worries,” he said. “I can write it fast, once I do the interview.”

  “You just saved my job,” Cate said. She was so grateful. Her family might be falling apart, but at least her professional life wasn’t.

  “Oh, come on. It’s one story. No one would blame you if a flaky celebrity canceled. It happens all the time.”

  “I just—I want the issue to be good. It’s complicated,” she said, thinking about Sam and
the polygamy story. Cate could survive one blown story; two would make her look like a disaster. When Sam had come into her office—after the world’s longest bathroom break—he’d told Cate he’d been sick and hadn’t been able to get to the rewrite yet.

  What is your problem? Cate had almost screamed at him. But instead she’d said, “Monday morning at ten o’clock. If it isn’t in by then, we’re scrapping it.” She’d picked up the phone and started to dial a number, hoping he wouldn’t see her hand tremble, and then she’d glanced back up at Sam, her eyebrows raised, as if surprised to find him still standing there.

  Cate hoped she’d conveyed that she was too busy to spend any more time worrying about Sam’s story, rather than the truth, which was that she couldn’t bear to fight with him, not knowing if she’d win.

  “You sure everything’s okay?” Trey asked. “You sound kind of down.”

  “I just learned my father is getting remarried,” Cate blurted.

  “I’m sorry,” Trey said.

  “No, I’m an adult, right? I shouldn’t be that upset.”

  “I don’t think there’s an expiration date on feeling like that,” Trey said. She could hear rock music in the background, and she pictured him in one of the big chairs in his living room, his feet propped up on his distressed wood coffee table. “It’s not easy no matter how old you are.”

  “Are your parents together?” she asked.

  “Yeah, but they’re a strange couple. I wouldn’t say they’re in love. I guess they’re . . . comfortable with each other.”

  Cate knew exactly what he meant. “I’m mostly upset for my mom.” She lowered her voice, just in case her mother had come upstairs. “And it’s strange to be rewriting my own history. I thought we were this perfect family when I was growing up, and it turns out, we weren’t. It was an illusion.”

  Cate cleared her throat; she needed to get off the phone quickly. She shouldn’t be talking to Trey like this. “Anyway, I really appreciate you calling and updating me on the story. One less thing to worry about.”