Because You're the Love of My Life

by Sarah Kleck

  “But you did.”

  Holden took a deep breath. “I didn’t want you to get upset. I’m sorry,” he apologized again. “Darling, come. You must eat something now.”

  Grace had brought a huge amount of food. She had dropped by every day. It was nicely packed in Tupperware and filled the fridge, but it was all untouched.

  “I think this is chicken soup,” Holden said as he pulled out a container and gave me a questioning look.

  When I nodded, he took a pot from the cabinet, dumped the contents of the container in it, and turned on the stove. Soon the warm aroma of chicken, vegetables, and noodles spread through the kitchen. We ate silently. Later, he put on The Little Mermaid and we snuggled together, wrapped in a wool blanket on the couch.

  A warm bath, Disney, and chicken soup—the universal cure for worries of any sort. But, in this case, it took a little more.

  Three weeks later I went back to work. As usual, I first went to my office—where Piper Tellon sat at my desk on my phone as if she had been born to it.

  “No. Listen . . . I . . . no, I’m expecting the evaluation on my desk today, is that understood? I don’t care about your excuses . . . Are you even listening? How you do it is your problem . . . No. Today.” She hung up. Then she saw me standing in the door.

  “Annie.” She jumped up from her chair. My chair. “You’re back? How are you? I . . . Paul told me what happened. I . . . I’m so sorry, Annie.”

  “Paul?” I said, raising my eyebrows. Three weeks ago, she addressed my boss as Mr. Parker.

  “If I’d known you were coming today, I’d have—”

  “Who were you just talking to?” I interrupted her stammering.

  “That . . . um . . . was Levinston. From the testing lab.”

  I frowned. “That’s how you’re talking to Dr. Howard Levinston?” I asked in disbelief. “He’s been working here for over twenty years.” I was practically speechless. Who did this brat think she was to talk like that to one of the most experienced and reliable employees in the company?

  A jolt shot through Piper’s whole body. She looked at me, crossed her arms, and pushed out her chin. “I still need the results from the Oxitoflu human trial today.”

  Well, well, look at that. She’d overcome the fright from my sudden appearance rather quickly. And, unless I was mistaken, she was challenging me.

  I smiled leniently. “Howard checks every test result as often and as thoroughly as he needs to be sure that there is no measurement error or other irregularity,” I explained calmly. “No person has ever been harmed by one of our drugs in any of his human trials. Which cannot be said of everyone in the testing department.”

  “He also needs a third more time than the others for that,” Piper burst out.

  I had to smile again. But condescendingly this time. “I’m back again. I’ll look after it. You can return to your desk, Piper.”

  “Maybe you should talk to Paul first,” she replied snootily and spread her arms. “Because this is my desk now.”

  I was enraged as I stormed into Parker’s office. Betty didn’t stand a chance of stopping me.

  “Annie.” He got up, came toward me, and exuberantly shook my hand. “How are you? I’m so sorry about what happened! Good to have you back.”

  “Thank you,” I answered. “I’m happy to be back as well. Did you know Piper Tellon has moved into my office? She said she discussed it with you.”

  “Yesss,” he answered in a drawn-out way, scratching his head. “That’s true.”

  “Didn’t we agree that I’d remain head of the division?”

  “As long as you’d be on maternity leave, yes. But we had to improvise when the circumstances . . . changed.”

  “The circumstances?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. Did he know what I’d been through?!

  “Annie.” Suddenly he sounded businesslike, even authoritarian. “You were gone for three weeks. It was a week before your husband called and told us what had . . . happened. But at that point, we had no idea when or even if you were coming back.”

  “I lost my child,” I said, feeling my eyes burn. “I don’t think three weeks of absence are out of line, all things considered.”

  “Yes, of course, you needed time. But the Oxitoflu deadline was approaching. You know the timeline. That’s why Piper took over for you.” He looked at me earnestly. “She’s handled it well. Without being instructed by you. You need to know that.”

  I clenched my teeth. Should I tell him how much time I had spent preparing the interim presentation, scheduled for the day before yesterday, and that the devious little bitch probably just submitted my work? Considering how enthusiastic he seemed about her, he probably wouldn’t believe me.

  “So, how shall we move forward in your opinion?” I asked, trying to keep my tone calm and objective.

  “Do you feel capable of fully returning to the job?”

  “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

  “Do you feel confident you can take over the division again?”

  “Yes,” I answered, trying not to lose my patience. “I mourned my child. Now I’m back. So, how shall we continue?”

  Parker shrugged slightly. “Maybe you and Piper can share the office?”

  “Share?” I had to be careful not to become abrasive. Or sock him.

  “The company drew up a contract with Ms. Tellon,” he said, suddenly becoming formal.

  Ms. Tellon? What had become of Piper and Paul?

  “That awards her half of the division’s management. That was her condition.”

  “You’re letting me go?”

  I’d always been very professional at my job. Never got into gossip, quarrels, or shenanigans. Never discussed private matters. Strict separation of work and home—that was one of my fundamentals. But at this moment, I was personally so pissed off that I was about to lose my professionalism and bitch-slap my boss.

  He immediately raised his hands. “No. Of course not. We kept the other half of the position open for you. We were hoping you’d be back soon.”

  “Oh. How nice of you.” My voice was dripping with sarcasm.

  Parker’s eyes narrowed. OK, I’d gone too far. The boss part was about to emerge.

  “You will have to share the job with Ms. Tellon,” he said in a commanding tone. “Fifty percent management, fifty percent lab work. That applies to both of you.”

  For a moment I considered dropping everything, telling Parker to kiss my ass, calling Piper an ungrateful bitch, driving home, and crawling under my covers. But I loved my job too much for that. Also, everything at home reminded me of what I’d lost. The unfinished nursery, the crib that had been Holden’s as baby and which he freshly painted for our baby, the pregnancy and parenting books . . . Work was a good distraction. And I wouldn’t give up that easily.

  Watch your step, college girl!

  “We need to talk about dividing duties,” I said when I was back in my, oh, pardon me, I mean, our office.

  “Obviously, as I was able to determine this morning, you lack any talent for interfacing with other divisions. I will exclusively handle those discussions.”

  “You are no longer my superior,” Piper snapped back.

  I took a step toward her, straightened myself, and told her with a serious expression. “I hired you. Do not forget that.”

  Some convincing, and some outright intimidation, was required before we had divided duties between us. We split the technical area. I claimed employee supervision and interfacing for myself—I just couldn’t have her turning off everybody and destroying my carefully curated contacts. But Piper hogged presentations to the executive and any other potentially prestigious task. I could live with that even though it was a blow to my self-esteem. The most difficult item was where I’d sit in future. In three weeks, Piper had made herself so at home in my office it was as if it had always been hers. In the end, I gave in and occupied the small intern’s desk in the corner. In return, she spared Howard her abuse.

&nb
sp; My first official act was to circulate a memo in which I asked all my colleagues not to talk to me about what had happened. Most respected that. But the pitying looks I met everywhere were almost unbearable.

  Because I hadn’t been in the lab for some time and, more importantly, because I didn’t want to let Piper totally outrank me, I usually worked late into the night. Holden was in the same boat. Several things had gone wrong at his office during his absence, so he had to straighten them out. We hardly ever saw each other. I even had my supper delivered to the office, grabbed a bite at some fast-food drive-through, or skipped eating altogether.

  By June, weeks had passed during which we said little more than “Good morning” or “Good night” to each other. Sometimes there wasn’t even time for a proper kiss. To top it all off, on our first free Saturday in an eternity my mother-in-law, of all people, stood outside our door. At eight thirty in the morning!

  “Good morning, Angela,” I greeted her drowsily. “Come in, we just got up.” We, or at least I, hadn’t heard from her since losing the baby. She had probably lain in wait until everything looked normal again from the outside, so she’d be able to fully reclaim her son. I wondered what she would be on about this time. A defective headlight? A letter from the IRS she didn’t understand? Or did she just need to complain again to someone about aging?

  “Good morning, Anna-Marie.” No one other than Angela regularly called me by my full name. Even my mother—who had picked it, after all—only very rarely used it. She eyed my sleepwear: an old pair of Holden’s boxers and an oversized T-shirt with the caption Beer made this gorgeous body. That got me the first sideways look when she walked past me into the kitchen.

  “Hi, Mom.” As always, Holden kissed his mother on the cheek, which she received by extending her chin. Then, she turned to the dishwasher, which he was starting to empty.

  “My, you’re being busy,” she snarled disapprovingly. Things then took their inevitable course. “This would have been unthinkable in the past,” she said.

  I had heard this damned line so often from her scarlet trap I could have lip-synced it.

  “What would have been?” I asked after taking a deep breath—I knew exactly what she was alluding to. From there, things unwound as they had to.

  “That a man would do housework,” she intoned gravely. “That used to be women’s work.”

  I felt like laughing out loud. This from a woman who had abandoned her husband and child.

  He was only six years old, you self-absorbed piece of shit!

  Holden caught my eyes, pleading with me not to get sucked in. But I couldn’t help it. I felt it would suffocate me if I didn’t let it out.

  “I’m not the maid, Angela,” I started out calmly. “I work. Full time. I’ve got a Harvard degree and am running a lab with thirteen employees. I’ve just finished a sixty-hour week. Surely, it’s not asking too much to share the housework, is it?”

  She glanced sharply back and forth between Holden and me. He kissed her on the cheek again and changed the topic. I was fuming with rage.

  “Why don’t you say something to her?” I asked as soon as she was gone.

  He shrugged. “What am I supposed to say?”

  “No idea,” I said. I was riled up. “Just something. Anything. She’s your mother, not mine.”

  “What do you expect? She’s sixty-five, just a few years away from seventy.”

  “Well thank you for this demonstration of your math prowess.”

  He sighed. He seemed to consider the issue a nuisance. “I was just trying to say that she’s too old to change. I really don’t get why you always let her wind you up. Just ignore her.”

  “Ignore her? Are you serious? She comes in here and the first thing she does—after not seeing us for weeks, mind you—is tell me what a rotten wife I am. Nothing about the baby, no I’m sorry about what happened, no Is there anything I can do to help. Just nothing.”

  “She was here,” he objected, “when you . . . slept.” With which he meant my three-day waking coma after coming home from the hospital. “She asked about you, wanted to know how you were.”

  “I guess that’s better than nothing,” I mumbled. “But she hasn’t been back since. Didn’t ask how either of us were doing. Not a word about the baby.”

  “She’s not very good at handling that kind of thing,” he excused her behavior.

  “She’s your mother, damn it! And that was . . . her grandchild.” My voice cracked with the last two words and I teared up.

  “Oh Annie,” he came toward me and put his arms around me.

  “How can she understand? She doesn’t know what maternal love is,” I bitterly pronounced. “No mother who loves her child will leave it behind.”

  Holden looked at me as if to say: Does this have to be now? I didn’t intend to hurt him, but I was in turmoil inside. I couldn’t stop myself. Even at the risk of hurting him.

  “Why aren’t you mad at her?" I burst out, incapable of understanding.

  “Because she’s my mother,” he replied. Calmly but firmly.

  “But—she left you when you were six! She abandoned you. And now she only drops by when she wants you to do something for her. That’s all you’re good for. Repair her car, put up her curtains, check her insurance policy. That woman only takes—and gives nothing back.”

  Holden clenched his teeth. His mood darkened.

  “Do you really think you have to tell me that?” He let go of me. “Do you honestly believe I can’t figure it out myself?” A mature yet sober sadness resonated in his words.

  “Then why aren’t you mad at her?” I repeated my question, still incapable of understanding.

  “She’s my mother,” he said loudly, giving me to understand that the subject was finished as far as he was concerned. But it wasn’t for me by a long shot.

  “She’s a horrible mother!” I shouted.

  “She’s the only mother I have!” he shouted back.

  My stomach contracted at his words. I didn’t want to hurt him, but this had to be settled.

  “You’re right—Angela is the only mother you have. You have no choice but to deal with what you were dealt. But that doesn’t mean she can just waltz in here whenever it suits her and cut me down at every opportunity. I’m your wife, damn it! Do something about her!”

  “She means no harm. Just don’t listen to her.”

  “But I can’t just not listen to her. Will you finally get that? It’s not OK for her to talk to me like that in my own home. And on top of that, you do nothing whatsoever about it.”

  “What can I do about it?”

  By then we were shouting so loudly I was starting to worry the neighbors were going to call the cops.

  “Fucking think of something!”

  “For shit’s sake, don’t be so touchy!” he yelled. Then he grabbed his running shoes and walked out, leaving me standing there.

  It could have been admirable that he was able to love his mother even after everything she’d done to him. It really could have been if he were so lenient and compassionate toward all fellow human beings. But he wasn’t. Holden had two sets of standards.

  We didn’t say a word to each other for three days. I went to the lab extra early, so our paths wouldn’t cross in the morning. I stayed even later at night because I just didn’t want to go home.

  It was already eight on Wednesday night when the last colleague finally went home. I grabbed myself a coffee and sat down at my desk to finish writing a protocol. When I was finally done, I opened the browser and logged on to Facebook—which I rarely did at work. I scanned over the news absentmindedly, laughed at a cat video, and left a short birthday message on a former fellow student’s page. Then I saw the small 1 over the “Friend Requests” icon, and my heart skipped a beat.

  Seth Yellen has accepted your friendship request.

  The sentence flashed at me like a neon light. Why now? It must have been years since I sent the request. Yes, shortly after his sister’s death.
For a while, I checked regularly to see if he’d accepted or answered my message. I had deleted the request and resent it. But even then, nothing happened. Then I forgot—forgot him. So why did he confirm now? I took another sip from my cup, noticing my hands were trembling. Suddenly, I had the sneaking feeling of doing something forbidden. I furtively looked around. Turned my head to the left and the right. Nobody was to be seen. I gulped and clicked on Seth’s profile.

  Wow! He’d gotten around. Except for his profile photo, he hadn’t posted any pictures. But he was tagged in more than a hundred. I moved closer to the screen as I clicked through one after another. In many he appeared with friends; in some he held a girl in his arms—different girls. Though, the most recent pictures showed him with the same one—a dark-haired beauty with luscious lips and big eyes. I felt a sting in my chest. Jealousy? I quickly clicked through the pictures. Seth’s travels had taken him across Europe. London, Rome, Paris, Berlin, Brussels, Prague, Munich for Octoberfest—it seemed as if there wasn’t a place in Europe he hadn’t been. The sting in my chest faded and turned into something else. Something oppressive. Envy? Yes, probably. What had I seen of the world? I could only dream of Europe. I’d never left this continent. Other than Lakewood and Boston, I only knew the mountain cabin in Canada, where we’d gone for holidays when I was little. Holden wasn’t into traveling. It took weeks of convincing before we went anywhere. Even so, we only got as far as Nova Scotia and Long Island in our seven years together.

  The small green dot next to Seth’s name pulled me out of my travel envy.

  He’s online. Now. At this very moment.

  I felt hot. Caught in the act. As if he knew I was in the process of obsessively riffling through his profile. I stared at the dot asking myself where he was just then. What computer? In which city, which country? Was it early in the morning or late at night? Was he alone? The mouse moved over the Messenger icon as if my fingers had a mind of their own, my pointer clicked on it and before I came to my senses, I’d typed in Hi and pressed “Enter.” I couldn’t stop staring at the screen. I’d moved so close that my nose almost touched the monitor. My eyes widened as I was trying to conjure up the words Seth Yellen is writing. As if I could get him to answer me by telepathy. Then, suddenly, the green dot disappeared. My shoulders sank. Seth was gone.