There would always be the opportunity to go back to law school and become a lawyer, Charlotte said. Once the kids were grown and more independent, she could finally turn the focus more toward herself. But a woman’s eggs have an expiration date, and the months between one birth and the next begin to stretch and stretch. That window stays open for only so long. So she chose to follow the path she hadn’t quite seen herself on at this point in her life. And she made the most of it. And then the years rolled by, and she started to ask if she was happy, if this was what she should be doing after all, if this was even what she wanted to be doing.
And that is where Charlotte finds herself. With three children and a husband on the front burner, her career on the back, struggling to keep going strong. I’d be remiss if I said I don’t hear the desperate cry for sleep in Charlotte’s voice, or notice the way she pauses at a clothing advertisement covered in blazers and pantsuits, or catch the empty gaze as she looks out at her living room strewn with toys and mutters under her breath the double entendre, “What a mess.”
So I suppose, upon further examination, on some level Charlotte’s choice to become a mother does further cement me in mine to refrain. It’s on a grander level, though, that Charlotte’s path may very well be no different from my own. From the one I’m on with Adam. Neither Charlotte nor I was naïve enough to think that come thirty we’d have it all and want for nothing. But we both certainly thought that by thirty-four and nearly thirty-three we’d be on the path to what we wanted, that we’d have things mostly figured out. Things could always be worse, of course, but you can’t blame a woman for looking at her life—three kids before thirty . . . a pipe dream of a law degree . . . a marital separation . . . a sense of losing control, or realizing you never had it to begin with—and wondering how it came to this? How did we let ourselves lose sight of who we are and what we want out of life?
It is for all these reasons that I have delayed so long in sharing with Charlotte that I, too, am scratching my head and saying, What the hell happened? It can be a dangerous precipice, looking at your life and questioning if what you’ve done is what you should’ve done, and one I know Charlotte teeters on the edge of constantly. It’s why I choose to be very careful with how I bring up my quandary. Charlotte’s stretched thin and I don’t want to burden her. But I have to talk to my sister, because, as these things usually go, she needs me as much as I need her. Interrupted though our calls may be, I know she always values our conversations—her chance to escape the crazy.
“Oh, Halley, it’s so good you called now,” Charlotte says. A rustling sound comes over the line, then she exhales and says, “Okay. Peace at last.”
“This an okay time to talk?”
“It’s never and always an okay time to talk,” she says. “You know I’m always in need of some adult time. It’s hard to find, because the kids are constantly hanging off me like monkeys. But now’s actually a great time. I’m in the closet!” She squeals like one of her children.
“The closet?” I say with a chuckle of disbelief.
“I know. Totally a confession from a Dr. Phil mommy panel, but I’ll take the quiet where I can get it. I tried it before, the closet. But it was just so darn crammed I couldn’t even close the door, much less fit inside it. But now”—she imitates a cartoon villain’s laugh—“now it’s all cleaned and Mommy’s got herself her own secret cave.”
“Charlotte, you’re the best.” Though I don’t want to rob her of the peace in her newfound hiding spot, I can’t help but ask, “Where are the kids?”
She loudly exhales again. “Alice is at the dining table doing homework. George and Leah are glued to the TV with a movie.”
“Gotcha.”
“When I emerge, it’ll be a small wonder if everyone’s where I left them, but that’s for me to deal with in twenty. Right now it’s you, me, and”—she makes a groaning noise—“a pair of shoes I swear I gave to Goodwill. Huh. They’re actually really cute, and I’m kind of glad I didn’t give them away.” She sighs. “Who am I kidding? On what occasion would I need a pair of sparkly high heels?”
“I heard those mommy-and-me playdates can be quite the black-tie events,” I tease. “Shoes and kids aside, everything good?”
“Same-o. Marco’s busy as ever at work. It’s good, though. He needs the promotion, because the kids aren’t getting any cheaper. Oh, and Alice, by the way, is very excited to see her aunt Halley and uncle Adam at her science fair.”
Caught up in the drama of my own life, I’d completely forgotten about my niece’s upcoming science fair. It’s been on the calendar for weeks. I’m grateful for the reminder, and also peeved that I let myself get lost in me-me-me.
“Alice is so cute,” Charlotte says of her firstborn. “She’s made everyone name badges, and they’re on different planet and moon cutouts. Completely adorable. She’s such a smart kid.”
“Dad’ll be proud.” Our father, the astronomer, is delighted that his granddaughter has taken an interest in the sciences. He has not an ounce of hope for his liberal arts daughters.
“Don’t you know it,” Charlotte says. “Alice’s science teacher told me he’s really impressed with her, and that her project has a very good chance of ribboning. Lunch afterward just may be more celebratory than we think. I hope she wins.”
Even if Alice doesn’t ribbon, she has two phenomenal parents who have instilled in her the concept of gracious losing. If someone at the age of ten can identify nearly all the elements on the periodic table, I don’t doubt she has the maturity and smarts to keep her head high if she doesn’t win.
“I wouldn’t miss her fair or what just has to be a celebratory lunch for the world,” I assure Charlotte.
“And Adam?”
I bite the inside of my cheek and notice that my walking pace immediately slows at the mere mention of my husband’s name.
There’s no easy way to say this, so I just come right out and tell it to Charlotte straight.
“Adam and I are separated.”
I can’t tell if the sickly iron taste in my mouth is from biting my cheek too hard or from the foul taste of the words themselves.
“What?” Charlotte breathes out in complete shock. “Omigod, Halley! What happened?”
I waste no time in assuring my sister that Adam and I are trying to work things out, that by no means are we googling divorce attorneys. As soon as I say this, I can’t help but wonder if that really is true in Adam’s case. I certainly don’t want a divorce. I can’t imagine Adam’s already thinking of such possibilities, given how we found our ways to our separation. Neither of us ran for the door, neither of us wanted to talk about that elephant in the room, and neither of us really has any clue what we’re doing now that we’ve technically separated. I’m sure jumping to conclusions like divorce would only further complicate things at this point.
“So . . . what happened? Why are you . . . separated?” Charlotte says the word separated in a way that suggests she, too, has a nasty iron taste in her mouth.
I catch Charlotte up on everything. It’s a godsend that this is one of the rare phone conversations we are able to have uninterrupted. Even though the topic of conversation is surely not what Charlotte could have seen coming, from the way she listens intently and says, “Oh, Halley,” with deep, groaning sincerity, and from the way I’m so sorrys slip out between anecdotes, it is evident she’s pleased to be in the loop, to lend a hand where she can in this adult matter. To, thank god, have a moment of peace to take in something neither of us saw coming . . . and neither of us has a clue how to deal with.
“Why did you wait so long to tell me, Halley?” Charlotte chides once I finish recapping.
“You don’t need more stress,” I say.
“I appreciate that.” Before I can say something next, she adds, “You think I’d tell you to stop the stupid fight and just give in to Adam and consider a baby, huh?”
“Honestly?”
“That is the best policy, isn’t it?”
“Honestly, I didn’t want to drone on to you about my problems with motherhood when—”
“When it’s eating me alive?” she cuts in.
“Mmmhmm.”
“Hals, life isn’t exactly what I thought it’d be at this stage. I’ll give you that. And yours clearly isn’t, either.”
I sniff in response.
“There’s bonding in that,” she says. “Understanding.”
“Thank you, Charlotte. I suppose part of it is that by constantly talking about it, it’s that much more real.”
“I feel you.” After a short pause she asks, “You want my advice?”
“Please.”
“Don’t.”
I wrinkle my brow. “What don’t?”
“Don’t do it.” Charlotte’s voice is strong. Not a single hint of hesitation lingers behind her blunt words.
“I don’t want a . . . divorce,” I say, wincing at the thought.
“No, don’t have a baby. For Adam. For your marriage. For any reason other than if it’s what you really and truly want, in your heart.”
I don’t say anything, because Charlotte’s advice is the last I ever expected to hear from her. From Marian, yes. Nina, perhaps. But Charlotte?
“Don’t get me wrong,” Charlotte adds. “I love my children. With every bone in my body. And motherhood is a beautiful thing and it’s completely worth it. But if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that having a baby when you’re not ready . . . complicates things. And having a baby in order to save a marriage is the worst reason in the world. It’s completely selfish, and it’s not a guarantee it’ll work.”
“Charlotte.” I swallow the sudden lump in my throat and stop at a bench along the sidewalk. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything is what it is, Halley.”
“That’s a crap answer. Charlotte, what’s going on?”
“Look, Marco will be home any minute, and I haven’t even started dinner yet. God knows what the kids have destroyed by now.”
“How are you doing? Really. I’ve been going on about me and—”
“Ha! Hon, you’re the one with huge news.”
“How are you?”
Charlotte’s an expert at putting herself second, or fifth.
“Things have been better,” she says nonchalantly. “But what you’re going through is big, Halley. And that’s what we need to be talking about. You and Adam are separated.”
“We’ve already covered that news,” I mutter. “Charlotte, please tell me if you need anything. Help, advice, a girls’ night out.” I say this last part with a light laugh, and Charlotte, too, laughs some. “Don’t pull a me and keep things inside because you’re worried I can’t handle it,” I tell her.
“I won’t,” she assures me. “All I’m saying is if you want my honest opinion and you value it, do not have a child for the wrong reasons. I know you, Halley, and you’ve never wanted to be a mother. I know you love Adam fiercely, but there’s a limit to how far one can go for someone . . . for something they want in life.”
Her words stick, and long after we’ve disconnected, I can’t shake them. She’s right that having a child for the wrong reasons is selfish, even damaging. And there’s no guarantee that by having one you’ll fix your problems. In some cases you’ll just create new ones. I’m encouraged to hear from Charlotte what I obviously wanted to hear, advice that I can digest and that jibes with my own opinion. What I can’t let go of and swallow, however, is that these words of wisdom come from Charlotte. Does she say them because she wishes she could turn back the hands of time? Does she actually . . . regret her choices? Did she have her children for the wrong reasons? Has she reached that limit she mentioned, where you’ve gone as far as you can for someone? For what you want in life? If there is a limit, how can you detect it? And when do you know if you’re approaching it or if you crossed it a long time ago? What’s Charlotte’s limit? What’s mine?
Instead of continuing on my journey home, I decide to lengthen my walk, and I eventually find myself at Target. I pick up a congratulatory card for Alice, choosing one with a big smiling sun on the front and lots of colorful flowers on a green hill. It says, “You Shine, Girl!” I tamp down my cynical, or perhaps just realistic, side as I shop for my niece. This is exactly the time you tell a young girl that if she wants to make chocolates or be a world-renowned dancer, if she wants to be a kindergarten teacher, a baker, a lawyer, or even the president of the United States, she can. She can set her sights on what makes her happy and go after those dreams. She doesn’t have to know just yet that life is rough, that even when you do everything you think is right and you work hard, that even when you find your Prince Charming and you begin the novel of your grand life, at some point you will discover that there are limits. You will meet your limitations, and you will have to ask yourself, how do I overcome them? And you will learn if you have what it takes to do just that.
Right now, however, it is time to shine, so I add to Alice’s inspiring card several bags of her favorite candy, Skittles; the latest Disney Blu-ray (and I keep the receipt because most likely Charlotte’s already taken care of this purchase); and a couple of the chapter books she’s been sinking her teeth into lately. Then, for the fun of it, I swing down the party supplies aisle. I grab bags of balloons, kazoos, and blowers to add to her gift bag. Sometimes you just need to be silly. As I check out, I plunk a greedy handful of large Peppermint Patties onto the conveyor belt. Comfort food.
Upon walking through the front door I’m met with both Marian’s giggling from inside her bedroom and a pair of men’s dress shoes parked beside a pair of her heels in the entry. Immediately I can’t help but miss Adam. Then I quickly decide I will do myself no good standing in the entryway, getting lost in my thoughts of Adam, as Marian’s “Sounds of Romance” playlist rings in the background.
I settle into bed early, with my earbuds in, latest Muse album on, and Peppermint Patties at the ready, and I find my romantic fix in the novel I’ve got queued up on my Kindle. I don’t let myself get hung up on missing Adam or wondering when—even if—Adam and I will get to play our own lovemaking soundtrack.
Before lights out, I fish Alice’s cheerful card from my canvas shopping bag and write a heartfelt note about how proud I am of her. I sign the standard Love, Auntie Halley + Uncle Adam at the bottom, and as soon as I finish the cursive m in Adam’s name, I notice the habit. Had I given it some thought beforehand, I’d probably still have signed Adam’s name to the card. No need to cause unnecessary drama and have Alice asking a thousand and one prying questions. It will already be awkward if Adam doesn’t show up to her science fair, which I need to address tomorrow morning. No doubt Mom, Dad, and the whole group would then learn why Auntie Halley was solo for Alice’s big day.
I’d also probably have signed Adam’s name because there still is an Auntie Halley and Uncle Adam. There is no split. Only a little break. To accentuate the point that there isn’t anything a ten-year-old needs to have any knowledge of, I add an XoXo underneath our names. Then I draw a big heart around the word Love.
When I look at my finished project, I realize I’ve just drawn attention to our problem. Overcompensation can scream horribly loudly. Not that Alice will notice. In fact, she’ll probably think the big pink heart is creative and pretty. Charlotte will take one look at it and give me a sympathetic glance. Just the same, I slip the card into its yellow envelope, write a large cursive Alice on its front, and set it on my nightstand, to serve as a reminder to contact Adam tomorrow and find out if he plans on going to the fair.
I try to settle into sleep as I’m filled with anticipation of Adam’s possible attendance. If he comes, then I can see him, and I do miss him. But if he comes, then that means I’ll see him, and as much as I miss him, I’m upset with him. This may be our problem, but he’s the reason we’re here, the reason I’m second-guessing my greeting card signatures. The reason Charlotte and I are talking limits. I’m so incensed at the ridiculo
usness of it, I decide that as much as I miss Adam’s smile and the sound of his voice when he says my name, I don’t want him at Alice’s event.
And so it begins, I acknowledge, that even in the absence of a divorce, sides are being chosen. This is my sister’s daughter’s day, and I’m going. Since we’re separated, that means Adam shouldn’t join. It’s all so stupid, especially as soon as I consider my relationship with Nina. She’s Adam’s sister, for chrissake, but I’ll be damned if she and I can’t still share a friendship. We were friends long before Adam and I became a thing. The absurdity of the thoughts whirring about my head is a loud reminder that I’m falling into the trap of playing the role of vindictive, angry wife. I love Adam. This is our rough patch. Perhaps even our limit. I have to find a way to heal and not further dig myself into the dip in our road. If Adam wants to come to Alice’s fair, I’ll be pleasant. If he doesn’t, I’ll understand. We’re figuring things out, that’s what this is.
The bright-yellow envelope with Alice written across it, set on my nightstand, does its job the following morning. I’m reminded as soon as I awake both of my separation from Adam and that I need to reach out and ask if he plans on attending Alice’s science fair.
I’m nearly out the front door when Marian, who emerges from her bedroom, rubbing her wrists together, then touching them to the back of her neck, asks, “Hey, want to catch a ride to work with me?” She clicks her way across the hardwood floor in her nosebleed-high navy suede heels, grabbing her Louis Vuitton purse and office bag, slinging both over one shoulder.
“Thanks, but I’m going to walk.” Then I add, waving my cell phone, “Going to call Adam.”
“Honey,” Marian says as I pull open the front door, “please don’t tell me my date last night got you missing Adam and now you’re desperate dialing.”
Everything the Heart Wants Page 10
