by Lucy Arthurs
ME
Me too.
PATRICK
Will you marry me if we do?
ME
No.
PATRICK
Jesus, Pers.
ME
I won’t marry you just because we move. Or just because it would be romantic and fun and I’d get to wear a great dress. Or just because you’ve bought me the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen.
I raise my hand and watch the diamond glint in the sun.
ME
I’ll marry you when we’re ready to get married.
PATRICK
When will that be?
ME
I’ll let you know.
Chapter 34
A couple of days later. The lounge room.
“A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.” Jean de La Fontaine.
We’re standing in the lounge room of what used to be our family home when I tell Tom.
ME
I’m salvaging my family, Tom. Myself. My life. I’m putting myself back together.
TOM
And you’re taking Jack with you?
ME
Of course I am. I’m his mother.
TOM
Can you do that?
ME
Yes. It’s a fifty-minute drive. That’s within the rules.
TOM
That’s gonna cost a shitload in petrol.
ME
We’ll work it out. We’ll drop Jack to you some weekends.
TOM
You’re really doing this?
He’s choked up and I can see my silky oak replica door with stained glass kookaburra inlay slightly open behind him. The silky oak replica that he casually closed on our life together. It crosses my mind that it didn’t quite work out the way either of us thought it would. The unspoken question will probably always hang in the air between us—what went wrong? And that’s okay.
I’m no longer the girl who sees life written down as dialogue from a play—character name aligned with left margin, dialogue indented, stage directions when necessary, all neatly printed in Courier 12 point, judging how effectively the scene has been played. But if I were, I’d have to say that both characters in that lounge room scene were fully grounded in their emotional truth. They’re keeping it real and speaking from the heart.
But I’m not that girl. Well, maybe still a bit, but generally speaking, I’ve moved on. And maybe Tom has too. I don’t feel bitter or angry or disappointed when I tell him, just excited and a little bit sad. Excited for the future. Sad for Tom.
ME
Yes, I’m really doing this. I need to.
TOM
Why?
ME
Because I believe it’s the best thing.
TOM
For who?
ME
For all of us. You’re the most important man in Jack’s life. That will never change.
TOM
What about Patrick?
ME
Jack likes Patrick, but you’re his father.
I feel myself drop even deeper into my truth.
ME
I don’t need to have a relationship with you, Tom. You’re nothing to me except an ex. You’re someone I happened to marry once upon a time and it didn’t work out.
TOM
Thanks. But I gave you Jack.
ME
And I’ll be forever grateful for that. Thank you.
TOM
I did love you once.
ME
I know. And I loved you. But it would never have worked.
TOM
I know.
Pause.
We stand awkwardly, but comfortably. It’s not the first time we’ve shared a silence.
TOM
I’ve got something to tell you.
Pause.
ME
Go on.
TOM
I’ve fallen in love.
I can see it on his face. In his eyes. He looks soft, gentle, full of hope. Vulnerable, even.
ME
With Cynthia? That’s sweet. She’s a gorgeous woman.
TOM
No. I was never dating Cynthia.
ME
But you said . . .
There is a pause here and it’s a very full pause. He has something important to tell me, I can feel it.
TOM
With a man, actually.
ME
A man?
TOM
Yes. I wasn’t expecting it, but . . .
Wow. My sister was right. So was Patrick.
ME
That’s gorgeous. Just gorgeous.
I take his hand.
ME
I’m genuinely happy for you.
He lets out a gentle laugh.
TOM
So I did you a favour, really.
ME
I think we did each other a favour. Patrick will never replace you, Tom. You’re Jack’s dad.
TOM
Yeah.
I put my arm around him.
ME
You’re just full of surprises.
TOM
So are you. How does Jack feel about the move?
ME
He’s very excited.
TOM
He’ll love it. What kid wouldn’t?
Pause.
TOM
What about the house?
ME
We’ll rent it out.
TOM
And rent something in the country?
ME
Yeah. If the tree change works out, we’ll sell here and buy there.
I feel happy for him, but also sad. He’s finally found himself, but in the process he’s standing by, watching his former family move on.
Chapter 35
Two months later. The back deck. Moving out.
“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” Seneca.
The house is almost fully packed. Mum and Dad have been here all day, helping put things in boxes and do a final clean. They’ve gone home exhausted, in desperate need of a warm bath.
As the removalists load the final few boxes, Patrick, Jack, and I sit down for an impromptu fish and chip dinner on the back deck. Jack has been happily chatting with the removalist. He has one final question.
JACK
What’s your name?
REMOVALIST
Tom.
JACK
That’s my daddy’s name!
REMOVALIST
I thought your dad’s name was Patrick?
JACK
No, he’s not my daddy, he’s my stepdad.
We smile to ourselves, happy that he’s in a place where, unlike Cinderella and Hansel & Gretel, a stepparent is an okay thing.
ME
Tom needs to move those heavy things, Jack. And you need to eat your dinner.
Jack joins us and fills us in on all the interesting information he’s learnt from Tom the removalist. Tom doesn’t have any children, unlike us. We have two, Jack proudly informs us. Well, one and Wriggle. And he, Jack, will always be the older one. And apparently Tom USED to have a wife, but he doesn’t like her very much anymore. She made him sleep on the floor.
ME
What was her name?
JACK
I dunno . . . I forgot to ask.
Before we can stop him he’s calling out at the top of his lungs.
JACK
TOM! What was your wife’s name?
Tom the removalist laughs and calls out.
TOM
Teresa. Although I had a few other names I used to call her, too.
PATRICK
Come on, mate. Eat up.
JACK
(calls)
Thanks Tom! Now I’m eating my dinner with my stepdad. And my mum. And Wriggle. He’s in my mummy’s tummy.
TOM
(calls)
Okay, mate.
Jack’s grins from ear to ear.
JACK
Patrick, I just called you my stepdad!
PATRICK
I know, mate . . . I heard.
JACK
Is that okay?
PATRICK
You can call me anything you like, just not late for dinner . . . now, sit on your bottom and eat yours!
JACK
Okay. I’m going to call you stepdad, but only when I talk to my friends about you. When I talk to you about you, I’m still going to call you Patrick.
PATRICK
Sounds good.
JACK
And you can call me Jack.
As we eat our takeaway fish and chips, we watch Tom the removalist and his work mates load our possessions onto the back of their truck. They went to Patrick’s house first and are now filling the rest of the truck with my stuff. And Jack’s. And things for Wriggle. I feel relieved. I’m downsizing. I’m tree-changing. I’m getting real and lowering the bar. I’m no longer a member of the “Gen X You Can Have It All” club. I find myself wanting to shout at those who are still members—stop trying so bloody hard. Give it up. We’ve all failed! That’s the truth, really. The expectations were so high for Gen X, but when you weigh it all up, we’ve all failed at what we set out to do, to a greater or lesser degree. And that’s okay. None of us is brilliant. None of us is amazing or world beating or extraordinary or beautiful or breathtaking, or even particularly innovative. It’s actually a huge relief.
I’ve picked up my shattered self-esteem from the polished wooden floor onto which it was smashed when Tom uttered those inimitable words:
HIM
I no longer want to be married.
It was smashed into a thousand pieces and then sent into orbit by his next statement.
HIM
You don’t do it for me anymore.
But Persephone, embodiment of the earth’s fertility, simultaneously Queen of the Underworld, has put the pieces back together. Well, no, let’s be frank. Persephone has thrown the pieces in the wheelie bin and started again. Tom played ball in the house and broke my vase and then Patrick broke it again. Oh well, it was probably time for a new one anyway.
I took a journey through that life, a life I no longer recognised. And I came out the other side with a new vase in hand. It’s not Carol Brady’s vase. It’s my vase. And it’s beautiful. Superficially, it’s not as beautiful as the old vase but all in all, it’s much a better package. And I’m taking my new vase, wrapping it in bubble wrap and rather than letting the removal guys load it onto the back of the removal truck, I’m putting it in the car with me.
ME
Time to go.
PATRICK
Come on family, let’s move it on out.
I reach out and touch Patrick’s hand.
ME
I love you.
The words hang in the air between us.
PATRICK
Thank God for that.
He squeezes my hand and winks.
PATRICK
Come on, little mate. Let’s get you in the car.
I throw our fish and chips paper in the bin, give the removalists their final instructions, and we set off on our exciting new adventure.
My sparkly new vase is safely strapped into the front seat and doesn’t budge as I reverse out the drive of my old home to embark on the fifty minute drive southwest to our new home in the country. I take a moment to reflect that as a member of Gen X, I was led to believe I could have it all. Well, I don’t know if I’ve managed to achieve that, but I do know that I’ve got myself, Jack, Wriggle kicking the daylights out of my belly, my lovely sparkly vase, of course, all my worldly possessions in the removal van, a message from my new agent saying I have a meeting with a theatre company about a commission for a new play, a gorgeous diamond ring on my finger, and Patrick is following in his beat-up Toyota Corolla. Life is good.
Fade to black.
