“Love has to mean something,” Fran said quietly.
“What about the kids?” I protested. “It’s a huge lifestyle change you have to admit! You can’t just say, ‘Oh, I love her, so I’m willing to live a life I don’t want.’ I’d end up resenting her, and the whole thing would end in disaster.”
“No offense,” Ariel began. “But you like to poo-poo any good thing that ever happens to you. It’s like you don’t want to be happy.” She blinked innocently after dropping that bomb and excused herself to go “tinkle.”
I stood there, dumbfounded, shocked at my friends’ reactions. Morgan and Fran never wanted kids, either. What if one of them had kids? Would they be happy?
The party had begun to clear out.
“It’s her decision,” Fran argued.
“Damn right,” Ruth agreed.
“Shut up, Fran.” Morgan shook her head.
“I don’t think it’s everybody’s business,” Fran insisted.
“We’re her friends,” Ruth told them. “She knows we care.” Ruth patted Fran on the back, said something about it being nice to meet them, and she left.
A few candles had burned down to the wick. Penny had fallen asleep in a chair in a turkey coma, and Morgan and Fran were lingering in the living room. I think they were afraid to leave me alone, and Fran was getting drunker by the minute.
“I’ll be driving.” Morgan snapped up the keys. Then she looked at me. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I nodded too enthusiastically. “I will be.”
“Morgan, tell her what you said to me? When we first met?” Fran bumped her arm repeatedly. “You know the thing…”
“I don’t remember.”
“Yeah, you do!” Fran sat up, then seemed to forget what she was talking about. “Don’t feel bad, Syd. It’s not natural to meet women. Nobody just goes up to someone and says, ‘I’ll show you yours if you show me mine.’”
“It’s ‘You show me yours, and I’ll show you…” Morgan was exasperated. “Never mind.”
“Whatever.” Fran’s face turned red, then she scrambled for her dignity.
I could still hear them fighting on the front porch when they left.
“Why do you always act like I’m an idiot?” Fran said.
“I don’t act like you’re…you know what? Never mind!”
Their voices faded as they got to their car.
I already missed them. They were the kind of friends I might not call for months, but when we did talk, nothing had changed. Now Vermont seemed so far away. I considered paying them a visit, until I remembered the rising cost of gas.
Cookie finally crawled out from behind the couch, checking to see if the coast was clear. She didn’t like loud voices; that’s why she hated me especially during football season. But seriously, I wasn’t going to whisper “touchdown” just because the little fur ball was one giant nerve ending.
I refused to check my computer that night. Instead, I went to bed, clutching Cookie like she was a life preserver. I’d see my therapist soon. She always told me I had the answers within me already. What a great job—just tell everyone they already know why they came to you because you don’t know. They finally make a decision, and thank you for having the wisdom to know that they knew what they thought they didn’t know. Not a bad career, if you can stand to listen to people complaining all day.
* * *
Connecticut in November…it looks a lot like England with a white, sunless sky and the wind whipping dead, brown leaves around the yard. My assignment was to go to a local school and ask any kids I could find about their holiday food drive.
I found a young boy who had created a tower of cans of baked beans so big it could blow up my colon just looking at it. His mother, who looked ten years older than she really was, grabbed him by the collar.
“No, Braden!” Her voice was hoarse. “We don’t play with the food.” It was too late. He’d already turned long boxes of pasta into missiles that tore down the tower. I imagined what their house must look like.
His mother looked at me apologetically, noticing that her son had opened a juice box that had splattered on both of them. Most mothers I saw looked tired—not a normal tired, but a please-shoot-me kind of tired. So why would I ever want kids?
“Excuse me?” I called. “I’m with the Danbury Gazette.”
“No comment,” the mother snapped, yanking her son by his sticky hand and trying to wipe up the mess with a tissue.
“We’d like to feature your son in the paper,” I added quickly.
That always got parents’ attention.
“Oh,” she said.
I bent down to be at eye level with him. “What’s your name?”
“Braden Lester.” He got instantly shy, but he stopped throwing things, at least.
I took some notes. Joe, the photographer, snapped a toothless grin. But we weren’t done yet.
Not being good with ages, I couldn’t tell who would be best to talk to. I roamed the school gymnasium where most of the canned food was being collected. But what I saw were adults more excited about the holiday than the kids.
A teenager said, “Uh, I don’t remember what we brought.”
“Really?” I was sure the kid was at least fourteen or fifteen.
“My mom brought stuff we don’t eat.” Not a quote I could use. “I think it’s pretty lame.” The teen wandered off.
It took about two hours to piece together some kind of heartwarming food drive story. Joe looked so bored he wanted to cry or have a stiff drink.
So, older kids thought everything was stupid, and the really small kids screamed and put things in their mouth they really shouldn’t. We annoyed the big kids and frightened the little ones. This day was further proof that I was not, nor ever would be, good with kids.
As we started back for the van, one little girl ran up to me. She’d been watching us a while and shyly said, “I brought corn because that’s my favorite, even though Mom says you can’t digest it.” She looked so innocent and clueless, desperately wanting to share this information with me. Her tiny hand tugged at my shirt, as if to say, “notice me.”
“That’s great,” I said awkwardly, getting her name and a photo.
“Mellanie with two l’s,” she announced proudly.
Her big brown eyes were so bright and her little body so animated, she reminded me of myself at her age—minus the princess dress and pink shoes.
I smiled at her. When I got back in the van, I wondered if I might not have another side to myself I hadn’t yet explored. But even if I did, I decided, being an aunt was better because it wasn’t full-time. After all, how could anybody spend a whole day with a child covered in sticky juice or a teen who doesn’t want to talk to you? No thanks.
Chapter Seventeen
“And a Partridge in a Pear Tree”
It was a cold December day. The windows were foggy, the ground covered in snow and more flakes fell in weird surges; the sky was constipated. I had the Sunday blues, imagining having to go to work the next day, because no doubt the bulldozers would plow the roads soon. Those overachieving bastards.
“I miss snow days in Tennessee,” Penny said dreamily, staring out the kitchen window. “They didn’t have plow trucks like y’all do up here. So we’d get an inch and be out of school.”
I glanced at her, but my mind was spinning in a funnel cloud of crazy thoughts. All at once I knew what I had to do.
* * *
It was the most impulsive, strange, out-of-character thing I’d ever done. But there I was, passing the “Massachusetts Welcomes You” sign, then suddenly at some elementary school I’d Googled. I managed to get directions when I saw that there was a big event today.
In the school cafeteria, there was a stage where third, fourth and fifth graders were butchering “Jingle Bells.” Since there were so many doors to the building, I had no idea which one was the front door. Of course I chose the door that led to the cafeteria stage. In front of a room full of pa
rents snapping photos, I appeared in the background among the children. I lowered my body to appear shorter and moaned my way through part of the song. Some kids laughed at me. Some parents laughed. When I finally saw some steps on the side, it was my salvation. I ran into the audience, down the side aisle. Though it was dark, I searched for her face. I knew she’d be there.
And she was. With a big zoom lens on her camera that looked like she was with the press, Ellie was shooting the proud mom moment in a seat a few rows back from the stage—that is, until she saw me. She seemed shocked and confused, as I shuffled through the seats, disrupting other proud parents. I even had the audacity to ask another mother to switch with me so that I could sit beside Ellie.
I plopped down, breathless. “You have too many doors at this school,” I said. “Which one’s yours?”
“Third row, second one from the left.”
Her son was belting out the song with great enthusiasm. He was cute, with light brown hair, freshly cut bangs and a dimple in his chin. He looked harmless enough, not the monster of my nightmares.
“What are you doing here?” Her eyes were intense. She was suddenly so close again.
“I missed you.” I wished I’d rehearsed this. “You’re the first woman I can laugh with, have deep conversations with, and…you’re pretty. You’re the total package.”
“I’m your UPS.”
I laughed out loud. Some annoyed parents thought I was laughing at their children.
We applauded the end of the song. I applauded because I was grateful that it was over. Shortly after, though, there was a band on stage, ruining “Frosty the Snowman.” I didn’t think trumpets belonged in “Frosty the Snowman.”
Then I noticed another woman sitting on the other side of Ellie.
“Unless I’m too late.” I swallowed hard.
“She’s the science teacher,” Ellie whispered.
“She has a lazy eye,” I continued like an ass. “Not that there’s anything wrong with a lazy eye, unless you’re into freaks.” I seemed to be more hostile whenever I was nervous.
“Am I supposed to be happy to see you?” Ellie asked.
“Are you?”
“You really hurt me. You ran away just like that. You didn’t give me a chance to explain.”
“I know. I was an ass. And the stuff I said about kids ruining your life, I’m sorry. I want to give it a try.” It didn’t come out nearly as eloquently as I’d hoped.
“What?” She leaned in. The music was getting louder, if that was possible.
“I was an ass!”
But everyone started clapping, and she still didn’t hear me.
“I was an ass!” I shouted into the now quiet auditorium. The word “ass” seemed to echo all the way down to Connecticut. That was a moment I’d never forget. Ever. It was right up there with falling off the stage during my first school play.
Crowds poured into the halls as parents tried to find their kids.
“I think you should go,” Ellie said.
I lowered my head. I deserved it. She was obviously the mature one, and I had some growing up to do, I suppose. “Good decision,” I said, turning away.
“You’re not going to run away again?” she asked.
A ray of hope.
I shook my head.
“Good,” she said. “But you should still go. I’m not ready to introduce you yet.”
I nodded like an excited puppy. “Good motherly instincts there.” I fumbled with my gloves. “They always make the fingers so hard to find,” I said, tripping over my own feet. This major embarrassment of a day more than made up for my hasty departure in Vermont, I’d decided. It was worth every mile on the highway.
Chapter Eighteen
“Mini-Putt Poo-Poo”
Understandably, Ellie was in no rush to introduce me to her kids. I think she wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to flake out first. And I too was putting it off as long as possible, getting used to thinking of her kids as vague concepts rather than actual people with thoughts and feelings. It was better that way.
We’d meet occasionally on weekends, always in neutral places. Weekdays were the hardest. I’d sit in meetings to decide which stories should make the front page—a disgusting hot dog eating contest or a mysterious animal in some granny’s backyard. When I came home to Penny’s place, I’d find Cookie scratching the couch. I’d get so angry and clap my hands loudly. More and more, that black and white ball of fuzz represented something that I wanted to forget. I’d see those nails ripping the couch, the curtains, even my leather briefcase to shreds, and I’d remember how Văldemort didn’t want her declawed. At the time I understood. But now I resented every clump of hair in the corners of the small apartment or the light sounds of licking, which meant barf sounds were soon to follow, along with a hairball for me to clean up. I felt guilty at how every little thing about her had begun to irritate me. Then my OCD took over, and I couldn’t let her sleep with me anymore. I’d worry that she’d scratch my face off in my sleep or leave fur balls in the sheets. We still had our moments, when she’d climb into my lap and I’d be too tired to push her off. So we’d sit together and watch TV, Cookie softly purring as she shredded my pants.
When the drama at home wasn’t going on, my thoughts drifted up to Massachusetts. Summer came, and the day I’d been putting off finally arrived. Ellie and I decided to go to the Cape, to the more kid-friendly area of Yarmouth. There was mini-putt golf off the main road that Ellie thought her kids might like. We pulled up to Pirate’s Landing at the same time. I got out of my car, and she got out of hers. Then she prodded her kids to come out.
First came Megan, who was fifteen, hiding behind her long, blond hair and portable video game. She thought everything was lame, Ellie had informed me, so I’d have to win her over by hiding my lameness. The ten-year-old, Matthew, was more interested in what we were doing and, more specifically, in meeting me.
“This is Sydney Gray,” Ellie said proudly. “The woman I was telling you about.”
“Hey,” Megan said, squinting and putting on her sunglasses. She was a smart-looking, attractive girl, but you couldn’t really tell behind the long hair that was falling over one eye.
“I’m Matthew,” the youngest said shyly and extended his hand to me. He was so cute, with Ellie’s blue eyes, two plump cheeks and freckles over a wide smile. He belonged in a hamburger commercial. I shook his hand and caught Ellie watching us.
Ellie’s eyes were twinkling in the sunlight, relishing the moment. Yet something inside of me didn’t want her to get too excited. It was a Gray family trait—don’t ever get too excited during happy moments or someone will get hit by a bus.
We went to an information area shaped like a pirate ship to get our clubs and balls. Ellie picked up each club and made a face.
“They’re not the right height!” she shouted. “This one is crooked! How am I supposed to hit a ball in a hole with a crooked club!”
Megan went to her mother. “Chill out,” she whispered. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“I’m your mother. I’m supposed to embarrass you.” Ellie examined each club carefully.
I had seen hints of Ellie’s temper before and today it was off the rails.
“Okay,” Megan said. “Is this all because you’re worried we won’t like her?”
I tried not to listen, but the pirate ship wasn’t that big.
Ellie’s face softened; her daughter obviously was more perceptive than she realized.
“Maybe,” Ellie said.
“Well, chill. She’s fine,” Megan assured her.
Matthew began telling me all the subjects he’d be taking next year in school, so it looked like things were going well with him too.
* * *
The next Sunday, I went up to Ellie’s house for the day. Luckily, she lived just over the Massachusetts–Connecticut state line, so I didn’t mind the drive.
At long last she gave me a tour of her house—the quaint cottage on a hill ne
ar a lake. I was relieved to see that she was not a hoarder. Her furniture was an eclectic mix of rustic and Pottery Barn, which I loved. Wood floors, cappuccino leather couch, walls painted in earth tones instead of neon colors from the seventies—her house was as warm and inviting as she was in her soft, flannel shirt. Today’s flannel had more of a blue pattern than the last one I’d seen. I figured she must have had several of those shirts. As she was showing me the kids’ rooms, we sort of bumped into each other in the hall, and warm flutters engulfed my whole body. Everything was going a little too well. It made me nervous. After seeing that there wasn’t even any mildew in the bathroom, I got even more nervous. Everyone had to have just a little mold, after all. In the kitchen, I saw photos of Megan and Matthew at different ages stuck all over the refrigerator. School pictures. Then family outings with a man I didn’t know. It must have been her ex. Seeing me staring closely at those photos, she said, “Their father. I didn’t want to erase him from the house.”
“Oh, yeah. I get it.” Yikes.
We talked for a while in the kitchen, while the kids stayed locked away in their rooms. When dinner was ready, Ellie shouted, “Come help me set the table!”
“I can help,” I offered.
“No, it’s their job,” she insisted, getting more annoyed by the minute.
It wasn’t long before she stomped back to the hallway, a door creaked open, and the muffled sounds of yelling ensued.
“Well, if you didn’t wear that freaking headset all the time, you might’ve heard me!” Ellie sounded like a very experienced mother.
I looked around the house, trying to keep an open mind about kids, families…but the more I heard, the more I wanted to run in the opposite direction.
“Don’t use that tone with me!” Ellie hollered. “You know the silverware is your job.”
So reluctantly, the kids wandered out of their caves and set the table. Matthew was a bit more eager to acknowledge my presence.
At the dinner table, both of them sat with solemn faces.
“What did I do?” I whispered to Ellie.
The Comfortable Shoe Diaries Page 12
