by Sarah Morgan
“This isn’t ancient Egypt.” Sometimes his head was so deep in his studies, she was convinced he’d forgotten that. “And we haven’t even met him.”
“Well, we’re not the ones marrying him. As long as she likes him, that’s all that matters.”
“Likes him?” Sometimes she despaired. “They’ve barely spent any time together. And it’s all been heady, romantic good times. That’s not real. That’s not what marriage is.” Marriage was holding tightly to each other as you stumbled over rough ground. Marriage was never letting go.
She and Nick had let go.
He stirred his coffee slowly. “Maybe it should be. Maybe there should be more of those romantic good times.”
What was that supposed to mean? Was it a dig at her? “Life happens, Nick. Someone has to handle it.”
“Woah—” He sent her a startled look. “What did I say?”
“You were implying that I was so busy looking after the practical side, I forgot to be romantic.”
“I wasn’t implying anything.” He put the spoon down. “You know I don’t think that way. I don’t go for hidden messages, or subtext or any of those other complex ways of communicating. I was simply saying that romantic, heady times can be real, too.”
Was she overreacting? “All I’m saying is that they’re still in the dizzy whirlwind stage. They’re not arguing about who is going to change a lightbulb or cook dinner. They haven’t had to cope with things going wrong. We both know there will be challenges. That’s life. They barely know each other. I’m worried this is the wrong decision.”
“If it’s the wrong decision, then it’s their wrong decision.” He took a sip of coffee. “And people who know everything there is to know about each other can get divorced, too.”
She felt herself flush. “I know that, obviously, but—oh, never mind.”
This was often how a discussion between them ended, with her giving up. It hadn’t always been that way. At the beginning, they’d talked about everything but somewhere along the way that had stopped. Conversations had gone from deep to shallow and practical.
Can you pick up Rosie’s prescription on the way home?
At some point she’d stopped sharing with him and it occurred to her now that she had so many thoughts and emotions that he knew nothing about. She’d never told him she sometimes felt inferior next to him, even though she knew deep down that she wasn’t. She felt, somehow, that she’d forgotten how to be her.
She remembered attending a parents’ evening where the teacher had said oh you’re Katie and Rosie’s mother as if that somehow became an identity. At the time it hadn’t bothered her because she was their mother. And she was Nick’s wife.
Who else was she? Lately that question had started to trouble her.
Nick put his mug down on the table. “You’re upset.”
“A little, yes. I’ve been looking forward to Christmas for so long. I brought the decorations down from the attic last week, and the cake is made—” She finished her coffee. “Ignore me. Christmas is just a day. We can all get together some other time.”
Nick frowned. “We’ll all be together in Aspen, but we both know that’s not why you’re upset.”
She put her cup on the counter. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not upset because of Christmas. You’re upset because our Rosie is marrying an American. You’re thinking that she might choose to live there permanently. Have kids there. Grow old there.”
Maggie felt as if someone had punched the air from her lungs.
She’d been trying not to think about that. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about that part of the equation.
She’d kept her thinking short term. Christmas. That was about all she could handle. But Nick was right. Deep down that had been her fear from the moment Rosie had made her announcement.
Maybe he knew her better than she thought he did.
She felt a surge of emotion that felt almost like grief. When Rosie had moved to the US to study it had shaken her, but she’d told herself that it was only a short-term thing. Not for a moment had she considered the move might be permanent.
“I feel as if I’ve lost her.” She wasn’t going to cry. That would be ridiculous. All that mattered was Rosie’s health and happiness. “You probably think I’m the most selfish mother on the planet, wishing she’d come home.”
“I don’t think you’re selfish. I think you’re a great mother, you always have been. Perhaps a little too good.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You put those girls ahead of everything else.”
“You make it sound like a sacrifice, but it wasn’t. I loved being there for our girls. If I had my time again I wouldn’t change a thing.” Some people had big dreams and big goals, but Maggie enjoyed the smaller things. The first buds appearing on the apple tree, the soft scratch of pen on paper as Katie had done her homework at the kitchen table, the scent of fresh laundry, the joy of the first cup of coffee of the day, and the sheer pleasure of a book that transported her to another life and another place.
But it was true that taking two career breaks had narrowed her choices. And then there was the fact that she’d built up goodwill with the publishing house where she worked. Because they trusted her to get her work done, they were flexible when she needed time off to care for Rosie. Worried that a new employer might not offer the same latitude, she’d felt it safer to stay where she was.
She looked closely at Nick and noticed the fine lines around his eyes. He looked tired.
“Have you eaten?”
She knew he sometimes forgot, and judging from the sheepish expression on his face this was one of those occasions.
“No. I forgot to shop, so I thought I’d grab something in college.”
“I’ll make you something if you have time to eat it.”
“I always have time for anything you cook.” He stood up. “What can I do to help?”
She gaped at him. “That’s the first time you’ve ever said that.”
“That’s not true. I clean up after you. I am a champion cleaner-upper.”
“But you don’t usually help with the cooking part.”
“Because you’re so good at it. Also, you never let me near the kitchen.”
Was that true? Probably. She’d wanted and needed something that was all hers. Something she could excel at and own.
Plenty of people would have rolled their eyes at her apparent lack of work ambition, but Maggie didn’t care. She’d been there when the girls had taken their first steps. She’d taught them both to read. Never once had she felt that what she was doing was anything less than valuable.
It was only in the past couple of years that she’d started to feel dissatisfied.
She envied people whose life looked exactly the way they wanted it to look. People like Nick and Katie, who had a passion and followed it. Even Rosie seemed to know the path she wanted to take.
Maggie felt as if she’d strolled randomly through life with no map.
“If you want to help, you could fetch eggs from the fridge.” She pulled a large bowl out of the cupboard and a whisk from the drawer.
When he put the eggs next to her she selected six and broke them into the bowl while he watched.
“The last omelet I made was crunchy.”
She tried not to smile. “Generally, it’s best not to include the shell.”
“Ah, so that’s the secret. I knew there had to be one.”
She snipped fresh herbs from the pots she nurtured on her windowsill and added them to the mixture, then she poured half into the hot pan, waiting as it sizzled.
“It isn’t only about me. I worry about her.”
“You have to stop protecting her, Mags.”
“The day I stop protecting my child is never going to come.”
“You know what I mean. She knows she will always have our love and support, but we have to let her live her life the way she chooses to live it.”
“Even if that life is a million miles away?”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“It might as well be that far.” She lifted the edges of the omelet and when she was satisfied she folded it perfectly. “Life can be tough, we both know that. You need family around you. What if she does settle there? What if they break up? What happens if they don’t break up, and have babies? I’d want to be able to help, but I won’t be close enough.”
“Wait—you’re worrying you might not be able to help with the baby they don’t have yet? You expend a huge amount of energy worrying about things that haven’t happened.”
“I don’t expect you to understand.” She slid the omelet onto a plate, sprinkled it with a few chopped chives and handed it to him. “All I’m saying is that it will be tough to support them from here.”
He put the plate on the table and sat down. “This looks delicious, thanks.” He picked up a fork. “And as for support, maybe they’ll live close to Dan’s mother.”
Why didn’t that make her feel better? Her mind raced ahead. Catherine was already arranging her daughter’s wedding, and there was every chance she’d be the favored grandmother. Maggie would be the stranger they saw a few times a year.
Who’s that, kids? No, it’s not a stranger, it’s your granny. Give her a hug and a kiss.
She imagined them recoiling, screwing up their faces as they tolerated a kiss from this semistranger.
A lump formed in her throat.
She wanted to tell Nick how it had made her feel, but she couldn’t find a way to say it that didn’t make her seem horribly small-minded. And maybe she was being ridiculous. Worrying about things that hadn’t happened. She did that a lot.
She poured the rest of the egg mixture into the pan, even though she didn’t have much of an appetite.
“Talking of tough stuff,” Nick said, “we need to fix a time to tell the girls the truth about us.”
“We can’t tell them yet, Nick.”
“Why not?” He took a forkful of fluffy omelet. “Neither of us has had an affair, we don’t hate each other, we don’t have any issues being in the same room. We’ll still be able to meet up at family gatherings and it won’t be awkward. Not much will change.”
Was he serious?
“Everything will change. We’re their parents, Nick! They see us as a unit. And maybe family gatherings will be amicable for a while, but in time you’ll meet someone. Then you’ll be bringing someone else and we’ll have to take turns and—”
He put his fork down. “Maybe you’ll be the one who meets someone.”
Where? How? She almost asked the questions aloud and then realized how sad they made her sound. She needed to build a new life. One that didn’t have Nick in it. She needed to join a choir, or learn Italian, or something. Anything.
After the wedding, she promised herself. After the wedding, she’d pull herself together. First she’d spruce up the house, then put it on the market and find somewhere smaller.
The idea of selling Honeysuckle Cottage made her feel physically ill. All the best parts of her life had happened here. Nick. Katie. Rosie. She still remembered the day they’d moved in. Nick, ducking his head to avoid the low beams. Fixing a gate across the stairs so that Rosie didn’t tumble down them. And hours spent in the garden, shaping it into the tranquil haven it was now.
There had been tough times, but the place was full of laughter and memories. All those things would be erased when someone else moved in. They’d see a dent in the wall and think it needed fixing. They wouldn’t smile, remembering that was where Rosie had ridden her bike into the wall on that Christmas morning when it had been raining too hard to go outdoors.
A new story would be written into these walls.
But that wasn’t her immediate concern.
“Hear me out.” She tipped her omelet onto a plate and grabbed a fork. “Whether it turns out to be a mistake or not, this is Rosie’s big day. This is all about her and Dan. A celebration. What do you think it will do to the mood if we announce our divorce at the same time?”
“If we do it today, then it won’t be at the same time. She’ll have had time to get over it.”
“This isn’t flu, Nick. You don’t ‘get over it.’ A divorce changes the landscape of our family. We all have to find a new way to be together. To fit. It’s going to be a massive adjustment.” Saying it aloud somehow made it all the more depressing. “And today she is going to choose her wedding dress. It wouldn’t be appropriate to spoil her day.”
“Divorce is part of life. Life happens. Wasn’t that the point you were making earlier?”
“It doesn’t have to happen before what is supposed to be one of the happiest days of our daughter’s life.” She forced down a mouthful of her breakfast and then put her plate down.
“So what are you suggesting?”
“That we act as if nothing has changed.”
“You—” He broke off, bemused. “You want us to attend this wedding together as a couple? Pretending everything is fine?”
“Yes. We present a united front. There will be plenty of time to share our less-than-happy news once the wedding bells have stopped ringing and the snow has melted.”
“To be clear about this, you’re suggesting we ‘act’ married?”
“Well, technically we are married, Nick, so it shouldn’t be much of a challenge to pretend for one week.”
His gaze was steady. “You want us to travel together, share a hotel room—”
“Whatever it takes.” She wasn’t going to offer to relinquish the bed. Nick could sleep anywhere, whether it was a tent in a desert or the hard floor of a hotel room. Maggie could barely doze off if she was lying on a feather-filled mattress, so she didn’t need to make things harder for herself. “It will be easy enough to keep up the pretense. It’s not as if we argue all the time or anything.”
He pushed his plate away. “It doesn’t feel right to lie to them.”
“We’re not lying. We’re withholding our news. We haven’t told them we’ve been living apart for a while. What difference does it make to wait a few more weeks?”
“We haven’t told them because we agreed it was better done face-to-face when we’re all together.”
“You seriously think the right time to announce a divorce is at our daughter’s wedding?”
He sighed. “No, I don’t think that.” There was a long pause. “All right.” The words were dragged from him. “But as soon as they’re back from their honeymoon, we’re telling them.”
“Agreed.” She felt a rush of relief which died as he reached across and dragged her laptop toward him.
“What’s this?”
Why, oh why, hadn’t she closed the browser? “I was finding out a bit about the family.”
He lifted his gaze from the laptop to her face. “You mean you’ve been torturing yourself.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’re the same before every college social event. You panic about what you’re going to wear and what people will think of you.”
“That’s called being human.”
“You’re lovely, Maggie.” His voice was rough. “I wish you had more confidence.”
She was a soon-to-be-divorced mother of two grown children who didn’t particularly like the way her life was looking. She thought about the file, safely tucked away in the drawer.
What did she have to feel confident about?
And if he thought she was so lovely, why were they getting divorced?
He tapped the keys and brought up airline details.
“How are we going to transport all the Christmas gifts?” She picked up her coff
ee and sat down next to him. “I won’t be able to carry everything.”
“Take a few key things, and they can have the rest next time they’re here.”
“I always make them a stocking. And I can’t imagine a tree without all the decorations the girls made over the years. It’s tradition.”
“So pack them up and bring them.” He glanced up from the screen, seemed about to say something and then changed his mind. “We’ll pay for excess baggage if necessary.”
Excess baggage. He could have been describing her.
“I can’t pack our decorations. That would be ridiculous.” She watched, anxious, as he keyed in dates and checked prices. “Is the flight overbooked?”
“I’m sure you’d like it to be but no, there are two seats left on the early flight. Business class.” He dug into his pocket for his wallet.
“Nick, we can’t fly business class.”
“Why not? We deserve a treat.”
Flying? A treat? The reality of strapping herself into a seat on an airplane and waiting for takeoff loomed in her brain. Her heart started to pound. “It’s an extravagance.”
“I know you’re scared of flying, but if I don’t book this now you won’t be going to your daughter’s wedding.”
Maggie moaned and put her head on the table. “How did Christmas turn into this?”
“They give you free champagne in business. I’ll pour a bottle of that into you before we take off. You won’t feel a thing.”
Maggie lifted her head. “What did you say to Rosie?”
“Last night? I can’t recall. You know me. I’m not as good at bouncing awake as you are. It takes me a while to surface. I hope I said the right things.”
What were the right things? She wasn’t sure. Should she have issued a warning or said congratulations? “She’s so young.”
“We were young.”
She was tempted to say and look at how that turned out, but she stopped herself.
Even though it had ended, their marriage hadn’t been a disaster. Believing that would mean the entire previous thirty-five years had been a mistake, and it hadn’t been. They’d had many happy years which was, perhaps, why she felt so sad about everything. It was messy, but life was messy wasn’t it? Full of good and bad, ups and downs, triumph and disappointment.
