An hour or so before it was time to go, I positioned Hayden’s swing chair next to the shower and strapped him in. As soon as I was out of sight behind the shower curtain, he began fussing. Hoping to soothe him, I opened the curtain partially and sang to him. I quickly shaved my legs, nicking my ankles a few times, and used extra conditioner in my hair in hopes it would help retroactively. I could have stayed in there for hours, the cascade of warmth running down my back, if not for the escalating screaming. Reluctantly I shut off the water, dried myself quickly, and rescued Hayden from the seat. He nestled in but continued his tirade. With soaking wet hair, I sat on our bed and nursed him until he was snoozing. I lowered him onto the center of our bed and finished getting ready. Like a schoolgirl who has just been asked out by her first crush, I became jittery with anticipation of the night.
This morning, Corey had said he would be home at seven, so I had arranged for Betsy to come a little earlier to show her where things were and what Hayden needed. Though scant feelings of guilt about leaving the baby were starting to creep into my mind, I reasoned that he would cry all evening for me anyway; it didn’t matter much if he cried with someone else. As long as he was alive and safe by the time we arrived home, I would be happy. His snooze didn’t last so I dressed him in his footed pajamas and changed his diaper. I left two pumped bottles of milk out for Betsy to give him later.
When I heard the doorbell ring, I checked the mirror one last time and was fairly pleased with what I saw. My hair looked nice, smooth and sleek, and the makeup that had sat unused for months did wonders for the dark circles under my eyes. Though my body shape had definitely changed, my big contour underwear squeezed my midsection into something that was fairly acceptable.
With Hayden on the playmat, I welcomed Betsy in and showed her the evening routine.
“Hello, family,” Corey said when he came in from work. “You look pretty tonight, Molly.”
Pleasure rippled through me.
“And there’s my handsome boy!” he continued, “Did you have a good day, bud?”
I didn’t want Corey to get comfortable, lest he change his mind about going out, so I quickly picked up Hayden off the playmat and said, “Say hello, and goodbye, to Daddy, buddy!” I began to turn Hayden around to face Corey and felt a warm splash on my face. A sweet and sour smell was in my nose. Hayden had vomited all over me. It was in my hair, covering my neck, and spilling down my shoulder, arm, and front of my dress.
“Oh, Mrs. Hess, here, let me take Hayden for you,” Betsy said, rushing to help. “I’ll clean him up. There are new pajamas in his drawer, right?” She whisked him away and I just stood there, utterly defeated, arms out, frozen by vomit. I spit something chunky out of my mouth.
“Oh geez. Do you still want to go?” Corey asked. I knew he was looking for an excuse to stay in, loosening his tie and fumbling to remove his shoes.
“Stop! Yes! We are still going. Don’t take your shoes off. I’ll be right back down.”
I raced upstairs to the bathroom. My face and neck were sticky and washing off the vomit smeared my makeup. My hair was matted and wet in spots and I wiped at it with a wet wash cloth. I ran a brush through it the best I could, hiding the soiled strands behind cleaner hair. Back in my room, I searched for another outfit to wear. Settling on a brown sweater and jeans because they were clean and nearby, I checked the mirror. With a sigh, I headed downstairs.
●●●
Though I searched for topics for discussion, we rode to the restaurant in silence. I refused to talk about the baby and struggled to find another subject. I supposed Corey did too, since he sat quietly beside me, focusing intently on the road. It wasn’t a long drive, but each moment that spread out in front of us made me more uncomfortable. We used to share companionable silences, peppered by a glance and smile every so often, but this was different. We were in a dearth of things to discuss. Where had I gone? I used to be fairly interesting.
“Do you think that Hayden will be all right?” Corey asked.
“Yes, Corey. He’ll be fine. Tell me about your day.”
“But, how long has Betsy been babysitting?”
“I don’t know exactly. A few years for Liz’s kids, I suppose.”
“Does she know where the emergency numbers are?”
“Yes.”
“And she knows not to let anyone inside?”
“I’m sure she does.” My voice was shrill and I stopped myself. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. “We get so little time to ourselves,” I said more calmly. “When is the last time it was just you and me?” I took his hand closest to me and tried to save the evening with a pasted-on smile.
Corey sighed. “You’re right. Let’s try to have fun tonight. How was your day?”
“Fine, I guess. Hayden was pretty grouchy. He always is though.”
“At least you get to spend time with him,” Corey said and began talking about work and his colleagues. I looked out the window at our town. We were stopped by the train crossing and waited while the train passed. Through the blaring whistle, Corey was telling a story about some hilarious thing that happened to him and his officemates at lunch. We pulled into the restaurant parking lot and I laughed at the peak of the story just as I was supposed to.
“I think you are really going to like this place. Anne says it’s wonderful,” Corey continued.
“Who’s Anne?”
“I just told you that whole story about her and Jim… Molly, weren’t you listening? She’s the payroll manager.”
“Oh right, of course,” I quickly covered. “Sorry. What did she say about this restaurant?”
“She said it was great. Awesome oysters.”
“Well, great.”
We were seated and I drank the gin and tonic I had ordered a little too quickly, loving the way it rang all the way through to my fingertips. Corey and I used to go out drinking often. I’d work until the restaurant closed, and then we’d go to our favorite bar, staying until the bartender declared last call. Back in our apartment, we’d crank up the music and dance, nightcap in hand, before falling into bed tangled up in each other.
Now, I slurped up the ice-cold dregs of my gin and tonic. It tasted like home. With our meal we switched to wine, the tannic liquid staining our lips. Finally, Corey and I had things to talk about. The more I drank, the more I wanted to chat. I went on and on as if I hadn’t actually talked to another human in years.
“So I found this black book of recipes when I was packing up the bookshelves,” I said.
“Oh, yeah?” Corey asked, dipping his fork into our tuna tartar appetizer.
“Umm hmm,” I said, taking a bite of it myself. It was cool and luscious, with just a hint of citrus. “The book is full of old menus and recipes from Hess’s Delicatessen. Some are really strange.”
Corey furrowed his eyebrows at me. I had made the mistake of insulting Aunt Tish.
“Well, maybe not strange, just old-fashioned,” I back peddled. “When did they open the place?”
“It was her parents’ before her, so maybe the Twenties? When I was a kid, it was deli sandwiches and take-out potato salad, that kind of thing.”
“Maybe I’ll try to make one or two of the older recipes, see how they taste.”
“Sounds good. I miss your cooking. And I loved Aunt Tish’s.”
Of course he did.
Our salads arrived dressed perfectly, balanced with elements of crunch, acid, and sweetness. Next, Corey had a steak spiked with peppercorns and I savored a creamy green pea risotto. It was wonderful to be out, wonderful to be served food that I didn’t have to cook, wonderful to have the wine poured for me every time my glass dipped below a certain level.
I wanted to stay for another drink at the bar, but Corey was anxious to get home. I knew that when we left the restaurant, the shiny mood would burst. We would be back inside our lives again, in charge of an unhappy baby who I wanted so desperately to love me, and within hours, Corey would find a reason to be back a
t work. I reluctantly accepted my coat from the check station and walked to the car.
“You okay to drive?” I asked Corey as we crossed the parking lot.
He laughed. “You drank most of the wine!”
“Yum. It just tasted so good! I have three extra pumped bottles at home, so don’t worry, Hayden won’t get any of it.”
“You’re a good mom.”
I said nothing.
“You know that, right?” Corey asked, stopping before we reached the car, turning my body so that I was looking straight at him.
I shrugged, looking down at the macadam.
“You are. I know I am busier at work than you would like, and I’m sorry that you are doing it mostly on your own. I’m really glad you are there with Hayden, and I know he is too, even if he doesn’t act like it. You’ll get used to being home with him.”
I nodded, but wondered. Would I get used to it? Did I want to? The wine commingled my emotions and I fought off tears. I just nodded, not able to say anything, and turned toward the car. I heard my door unlock and I climbed into the passenger seat, buckling my seat belt. My chest prickled with the tell-tale signal of milk letdown and I felt my breasts leak, wet spots spreading through my sweater. We drove through the streets, still unfamiliar to me, and back to the house. It was a pretty house. I could admit that now.
I stumbled up the stairs, using my jacket to cover the wet circles on my chest. Corey paid Betsy. I vaguely heard her tell him that Hayden was a little fussy at bedtime, but pretty happy overall. I changed into my pajamas thinking, well, of course the baby was happy, he only hates me. I didn’t dare pop my head into the nursery to check on him. I crashed into bed and, with the wine’s help, slept.
●●●
It was still dark when Hayden roused me, his wails rising in urgency and volume as I felt my way through the hallway to his room. A quick diaper change and I carried him back to our bed. Corey still slept soundly within, his arm thrown over his head and mouth parted slightly. I propped the pillows up on my side of the bed and latched Hayden on to eat. The clock read 4:47 a.m., and though it was still earlier than Corey’s alarm was set to go off, I was pleased that Hayden slept this late.
As he nursed, I leaned my head back against the headboard and watched the sunrise out the window. Pink at first, then blazing orange, the light filled our bedroom. I had slept for five straight hours for the first time in months, and even that little extra sleep made a difference in my mood. I had a twinge of a headache from the wine, so settled back down into the covers after Hayden fell off my breast, partially sated and partially back asleep. His head dipping startled him into waking, so I sat up, switched him to the other side and nursed some more. Quiet again, I continued to watch the sunrise, enjoying the rare moment of peace, the edges of which were tinged with the beginnings of a feeling of gratefulness. Corey rolled over and woke slightly. His arms found us as he nuzzled his whole body close.
“Good morning, family,” he said in a deep, sleepy voice muffled and buried in my hip.
I smiled down at him and Hayden, noting the similar slope to their noses and the dimples in each of their cheeks.
“Your son slept through the night,” I said, softly so that I wouldn’t jinx it or wake Corey if he had drifted back off to sleep.
“Hmmm, oh yeah?” came the half-asleep murmur.
“Yup, and I feel like a new person. I slept five hours. In a row.”
“Big stuff,” he mused.
“I know!”
Corey was awake now and sat up. He leaned over and lightly kissed me on the lips, and then smoothed Hayden’s hair and kissed his forehead. “So, what do you two have planned for today while I pop into the office?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
“More unpacking, maybe, and a walk around the neighborhood. Other than that…” I trailed off, not confident that even these small things would happen. “I really liked that risotto last night; maybe I’ll try to recreate it. Or try one of the recipes from Aunt Tish’s book.” The details of our conversation last night were hazy because of the wine. “Did you say she took over the deli from her parents?” I asked.
Corey shrugged. “I actually don’t know the exact details, come to think of it. I know she lived here in this house her whole life, never married, obviously, just stuck around and helped raise my dad. I think I asked her once why she didn’t have a family of her own—you know, in that way children have of being brutally curious. I don’t really remember what she said exactly, maybe simply that we were her family. She always seemed happy when we visited, my prying questions notwithstanding. We used to spend a lot of time here. She had the space for us all, and always welcomed us on Sundays and holidays. I think my dad used to feel obligated to visit, you know, since she was alone, but I always had a great time here.
“My mom was always moaning about how difficult I was as a baby, and even as a kid. ‘Why can’t you just behave like Hank?’ she was always saying. So I was here a lot, all summer some years. Aunt Tish never seemed to mind that I was a little rowdy.”
He got up and started to get dressed but he kept his voice low. “I remember she had this candy jar, full of lots of different penny candy. Hank and I would always raid it. He liked the green and white peppermints, but I always dug around until I found the Mary Janes. Do you remember those candies?”
I nodded.
“I loved those,” he said. “They are hard to find now, too old fashioned I guess. Back then, Hank and I thought we were being sly, hiding the wrappers in our pockets to throw away when we got home so no one knew we were snacking. Over and over we would sneak to the candy jar. One day, Aunt Tish caught us. We thought we were going to be in so much trouble. Hank immediately swallowed his peppermint, the whole thing, but I couldn’t hide the Mary Jane. It was too sticky and my mouth was all gummed up. In her sternest voice, she asked us if we had been eating candy before dinner. Hank said no. She knew he was lying. Even though he had a clear mouth, his lips were all green.” Corey chuckled at the memory of it. “I confessed and told her I was sorry the best I could with my mouth all gummed up like that. She got this funny look on her face when I pulled the crumpled Mary Jane wrappers from my pocket. Instead of yelling at me like I expected, she laughed and pulled me into a tight hug. When she let go, I could see she had been crying a little, but she was smiling. From then on, those candies kind of became our thing. She set aside Mary Janes for me each time we visited, and then when I got older, I gave them to her for Christmas or Easter.”
“You’ve never told me that. What a sweet story,” I said.
“Yup, I was her favorite, the kid she never had maybe. Looking back, she was kind of a spinster, I guess. She worked in the deli and painted a lot of the paintings hanging around here, but never married or had a family. Just me. Hank too, but her and my relationship was different. Stronger.”
I nodded. “And she was the mother you never had.”
“I guess so, yeah,” he said, buttoning his shirt.
I knew now in the pit of my stomach that it would be a fight to get those dark still lifes and landscapes off the walls. They weren’t my style—our style, Corey’s and mine—but it seemed like childhood nostalgia trumped my decorating tastes. This place might never be my own. I shifted Hayden down flat on the bed and shimmied out to the bathroom. I found the Advil and took two with a big glass of water, trying to knock out the headache before it roared in further.
Even though it was Saturday, Corey left for work and the long, boring day loomed before me. Placing Hayden in his swing, I padded to the kitchen. In my fog, I stubbed my toe on an unopened box in the walkway and cursed loudly. Hobbling to the fridge, I found it full of half-eaten take-out containers. I picked at a few, standing right there with the door open. Still hungry, I rummaged through the cabinet and found the iced oatmeal cookies I had bought at the grocery store.
I opened the plastic packaging and was hit in the face with the sweet and spicy scent of the days spent with my mom before she died. The c
ancer had dulled her appetite, but she still hankered for these. I had trouble recalling her face these days, but the taste of these cookies brought her memory into focus.
I put one in my mouth and crunched a piece off. They were crisp, with a familiar sharp cinnamon tang and a muted honeyed raisin sweetness. I wished that my mom was here now to eat them with me. I imagined us sitting together, fussing and cooing over a happy Hayden, sharing cookies while she doled out advice, maybe on how to get him to sleep longer, or nurse on a better schedule. She would help me unpack all our boxes, and find a way to ease Corey in to erasing some of Aunt Tish’s overwhelming influence to make this house our own. She would encourage me to be the best mother I could be, be the best woman I could be.
“You can do more,” she had said. But I wasn’t sure that I could even do this. I felt hollow.
I ate three more cookies in rapid succession, shoving them in my mouth and nearly choking, unwilling to let her memory slip away when I swallowed. With tears streaming down my face, her companionship was present in each bite. But it wasn’t enough. Gasping for air, I spewed hard crumbs out of my mouth, ran to the tiny bathroom, and vomited. Last night’s wine burned my throat and reminded me how much things had changed.
●●●
Breathing slowly, I washed up and checked on Hayden. He had thankfully fallen asleep in the swing. Seizing the precious moments of solitude, I grabbed Aunt Tish’s black recipe book and flipped through. Hastily, I chose one of the first recipes: Stewed Chicken. It was intriguingly odd. The recipe instructed to boil a whole chicken, three strips of bacon, a teaspoon of nutmeg, and a half teaspoon of pepper in a full pot of water. It seemed simple enough to restart my culinary career.
An Imperfection in the Kitchen Floor Page 12
