Being Anti-Social

by Leigh K. Cunningham

  “But that’s my house. I bought it and I pay the mortgage every month out of my salary.” He thumped the table. “And if I get a divorce I’ll have to give her half of everything. That’s not fair—she hasn’t worked a day in six years since we married.”

  “What’s more important, the house, money or freedom?”

  “Fairness; she doesn’t deserve a cent.”

  “Well, I guess, when freedom is more important to you, you’ll be able to leave. It’ll be harder if there’s a baby involved.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. You know what I’m planning to do?”

  I shook my head, sculled and munched on the cashews from the mini bar.

  “Have a vasectomy and not tell her.” He laughed.

  “What if you meet someone else and want to have a baby then?”

  “It’s reversible,” he said. “And I don’t want to think about anything else, but teaching her a lesson.” He sipped on his scotch savoring his own words. “What about you, Mace? You seeing anyone at the moment.”

  “My mother has cancer. She’s dying,” I replied.

  He sipped some more and looked pensive. “I’m sorry, Mace. I didn’t realize you were going through that.”

  He moved his chair closer and put his arm around my shoulders then moved in for a kiss.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  WE FOLLOWED our Christmas Day traditions to the letter even though mother was clearly slipping away from us. She had grayed—her skin was gray as were her eyes and her hair. She was without color, but dressed vibrantly to make up for it.

  I slept over on Christmas Eve to be sure I was there for the usual 7AM start—I did not want to miss a minute of mother’s last Christmas. There were many more presents than usual, partly because there were three additional children: Oscar, Amelie and Jessie, and partly because we were overcompensating and hoping Christmas wishes might come true. Gabby and I were the only ones being practical though, with gifts for mother. I gave her a mega box of Godiva chocolates, books and CDs—all for relaxation. Gabby and David gave her a voucher for a day at the spa for pampering, which would lift her spirits. Shannon bought her a summer dress and a scarf, and it caused a poignant moment reminding us, as if we needed it, that we would have to pack them away one day soon, as new.

  We gathered up the remnants of the Christmas paper for recycling then sat down at the breakfast table for ham and eggs. No one rushed off mid-morning for their in-laws as was usual, and Kimba, Kenneth and Violet came by, and Amber with Jake. Everyone was subdued though, as if it was wrong to be overly cheerful or perhaps because we weren’t. Shannon was a mess, crying not so quietly in a back bedroom any chance she could get. At least there would be no songs that day.

  But as drinks flowed with lunch on approach, the dour morning morphed into a more comfortable afternoon as stories of happier days naturally emerged.

  “Remember that time Jason had a yabbie latched onto his—”

  “Tossil!” Christian yelled from below the deck.

  “Wille!” Anderson added giggling.

  “What are you two doing down there?” Shannon yelled. “Go and play with the other kids. You shouldn’t be listening into adult conversations.”

  “We were sitting on the riverbank fishing,” David continued. “I could see it crawling towards his shorts then it disappeared up one leg. I don’t know how he didn’t feel it crawling up there until it was too late.”

  “You might have said something,” Jason replied.

  “Then he jumped up and started swinging his hips around like he had a hula hoop,” Shannon said, with a smile at last.

  “He wouldn’t drop his pants so he could remove the yabby,” I said. “That’s mistaken pride for you.”

  “He was walking around with a cowboy stagger for days,” mother chimed in, laughing. She turned to Stephanie. “He wouldn’t let me look at it even though it really was no laughing matter—it could have been infected.”

  “The yabby?” I asked.

  “No,” mother replied. “Not the yabby, his…willie,” she whispered.

  “And what about you, David?” Jason said looking for a diversion. “What about that time you kicked the football through the kitchen window then ran off leaving me standing there in the yard to take the blame. I ended up grounded for a month because no one would believe it was you and I had to pay for the window out of my pocket money.”

  “I reimbursed you,” David said, laughing.

  “Everyone always thought of you as the good child, David,” I said. “But you were just the clever one who knew how to get away with everything. What about that time you told me to eat the chilies—they were lollies you said—but I was the one in trouble for being stupid and grounded for throwing up all over the back deck.”

  “Then Mace tried it on me,” Lauren added.

  “Yeah, and then I was grounded twice,” I said.

  “You were always being grounded,” Lauren said, laughing.

  “Tell me about it. My childhood was so unfair.”

  Mother reached over and tapped my knee with a sympathetic smile.

  “What about that time Mace rode her bike into the mango tree?” said Jason.

  “I still don’t know how she did that,” Shannon added. “One minute she was riding along with that boy she had a crush on, and the next minute she was hanging upside down in a tree with mango flowers in her hair and he rode off into the sunset.”

  “That was the end of that romance,” said David. “It’s a bit hard to recover from that kind of embarrassment when you’re twelve.”

  “What about that time Lauren almost drowned when we were at the beach?” I said, trying Jason’s diversionary tactic.

  “Dad kept telling her to come in out of the water away from the sand shelf,” said Shannon, “but no, she kept bobbing up and down in defiance until she disappeared over the edge, just as dad said she would.”

  “And after dad saved her life, she threw sand at him,” I said.

  “That’s gratitude for you,” said David.

  “What about that time we were holidaying in the caravan at Wilsons Promontory,” said Shannon. “She was supposed to make sure all the cupboards were locked properly before dad drove off.”

  “Lauren always had the easiest jobs and still didn’t do anything properly,” I said.

  Lauren smiled at Patrick. “Take no notice of them, Patty. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

  “I remember that very well,” said mother. “There was sauce and salt and plates and cups everywhere.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “And where was Lauren during the clean-up? Off playing with some imaginary friend—probably the one who didn’t lock the cupboard doors.”

  “But the best story of all,” said Jason “was when Mace fainted inside the tree trunk on stage during Hansel and Gretel.”

  “It was pandemonium,” said Shannon laughing hysterically. “She made all the other trees fall like dominoes then Gretel ran off crying.”

  “How come you only managed to get the part of a log?” Lauren asked.

  “I was a tree,” I said. “Not a log.”

  “You looked like a log when you were laying on the stage with your feet sticking out the bottom of the trunk,” Jason added.

  “And she was wearing those wooly striped socks that mum told her not to wear.”

  I sighed. “That really was one of my more humiliating moments. I didn’t even want to be in that stupid play; mum made me.”

  “I just wanted you to get involved with other children,” mother said. “You were always on your own, wanting to play by yourself.”

  “She’s always been that way,” Shannon added.

  “And what’s wrong with that?” I asked. “I’m happy on my own. I don’t need to be around people.”

  “It’s anti-social,” said Shannon.

  “Shannon,” I began with a huff before glancing over at mother. “It doesn’t matter,” I whispered. It was not the time or plac
e to confront Shannon.

  Mother leaned over to tap gently on my knee once more. “Just be yourself,” she said. “Be happy with who you are. That’s all I want, for all of you.”

  Thanks to Shannon, the mood turned somber again for mother’s words were like a final request. I was annoyed. Shannon ruins everything.

  “When are we going to meet this new boyfriend of yours?” Lauren asked. “Zach isn’t it?”

  “I’d like to meet him,” mother said, wheezing as she reclined in her chair to rest her head on the padding. She was a trooper pushing her life beyond Christmas day for our sake, but there was no point introducing Zach—I did not need to see a look of scandal in her eyes, and know she died believing I was a lost cause.

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ll bring him over one day soon.”

  Jason saved me then from making a specific commitment by announcing that his divorce was imminent. He and Stephanie planned to marry in March at a simple ceremony in the backyard with just family and a few close friends.

  Champagne corks flew through the gardenia-scented dusk to celebrate the good news and mother’s weariness could not dampen her sheer joy. And so the day, our final Christmas as the Evans family complete with mother and father, ended on a high as the summer sun set around ten. I did not want the hours to fade as midnight would herald what we would always remember as that last Christmas with mother.

  Chapter Forty

  ON THAT first day back at work after the Christmas hiatus, Rachel, my super-efficient, all-knowing and understanding secretary had printed a copy of my annual list of New Year resolutions and placed it centre of my desk for review.

  It was already three months into daylight savings and still I had not resumed my summertime gym regime. I was deep into the spread that comes with middle-age. It brought some fear, but nothing could be done about it for another year, not while hours at the gym would take me away from mother. And with just four months to my forty-first birthday, my greater fear was that I might actually need the assistance of Cam the PT come October and the return of daylight savings.

  I glanced down at my annual resolution list ready to cross off successful achievements.

  One: Exercise in non-daylight savings months, March-October

  Two: Do not get cable TV

  Three: Drop-in to see mother and dad without reason or notice

  Four: Appreciate my friends – they mean well

  Five: Stay away from men – they are all cads

  Six: Compliment and commend Rachel

  Seven: Write books x 2

  I crossed a line through number two, and wavered for a while over number three trying to imagine home with dad alone, and drop-ins on mother, at the cemetery.

  The dynamics in our group of friends had also changed in the past year, particularly after Sophie and Adam separated. They still do not plan to divorce because ironically, the separation gave them the clarity they needed to settle every aspect of their lives, including co-parenting, with no drama. I am miffed that no one recalls that I was the instigator of this separate/together arrangement (although admittedly my solution was separate/divorce).

  Sophie was not a walking cloud of doom and gloom anymore so spending one-on-one time with her no longer left me contemplating death—this I now did of my own accord. More disturbingly, the fireworks we expect and enjoy between Sophie and Erin had turned into a fizzle. I hoped it was not permanent as our friend time was inordinately dull without it.

  Amber had also undergone a metamorphosis arising from the Jake-effect. I do not know how he managed such a feat, but Amber was considerably more amiable and also a tad more boring as well. The same could be said of me I suppose—boring that is, not so amiable. In fact, I was not sure who I was anymore. Confusion ruled my thoughts.

  Kimba had not changed except like all of us, she was quieted and overwhelmed by what was happening to mother.

  I had enjoyed moderate success with resolution number five—Zach was not technically a cad, although he did lie to me about his age. We broke up for the second time a couple of days before Christmas so I did not have to meet his family, and I hoped mother would not remember that I had promised to bring him home to meet her.

  There was however yet another foolish company retreat fling with Thomas although it was just the one night. It was as exciting and rewarding as prior encounters, which is what made it all the more foolish. Perhaps I should become a teacher because as Oscar says, “Everyone who is incapable of learning has taken to teaching,” and clearly, I have learned nothing.

  Rachel had highlighted resolution number six with neon yellow so I sent her an email saying, “Rachel, thank you for being the best secretary ever and you look very nice today. I like your new skirt.”

  “Thank you, Mace,” she replied. “And thank you for noticing. Shame you did not notice the rock on my left finger.”

  “Congratulations,” I replied. “Marcus?”

  “Yes, Marcus of course—who else would it be? What’s going on with you and Thomas?”

  “Nothing, why?”

  “Rumors.”

  “What?”

  “You hooked up at the annual retreat?”

  “How would anyone know that?!”

  “So it’s true?”

  “Just one night. I regret it of course.”

  “That explains his good mood, but he seems to be walking funny.”

  Oh, oh, I thought. “I think he might have had a little operation. Never mind. Tell everyone it is not true and I did not sleep with Thomas because I have a boyfriend who is twenty-seven years old.”

  “You want people to know that now? It was a big secret before Christmas, and didn’t you break up with him?”

  “It’s definitely over this time—I have come to my mature senses. But a Zach rumor is better than people thinking I slept with Thomas and if you need to kill an inauspicious rumor you must replace it with something more complimentary and shocking.”

  “I’m on it,” Rachel replied.

  I returned to my resolution list and number seven. I had made little headway on my two books. In fact I had not started either and an entire year had since passed. I ran a green highlighter pen through it—if nothing else in the year ahead, this, I had to achieve for the sake of humankind; with so many weddings on the horizon (Jason, Rachel and Amber) there was a dire need for my ‘anti-wedding ritual’ book. The matchmaking book was second priority since I was the only single I knew and a dying breed it seemed.

  I added a new resolution at number eight—learn Spanish, even without Zach because it seemed commendable to be able to say I was bilingual. It would also assist with my plan to become multi-dimensional. This brought me to contemplate my recent adoption of the Richmond Tigers AFL team. They had won just eight games out of twenty-two, but this was no reason to abandon them. The question was more whether I should persist with following football at all since AFL sportscasters slipped in way too many ‘at the end of the day’ mentions for my comfort. I decided to give it another season (it was pleasant enough to watch) and added this as resolution number nine.

  I thought more about what Shannon had said on Christmas Day—that I was anti-social, which had no counter-argument. For mother’s sake, and for the last months of her life, I could surely be more sociable—it would not be that difficult. I could sit down at the table with her friends when they dropped by, and not roll my eyes whenever Shannon spoke. I could even offer a commentary on supermarket specials, recipes, napkin folding techniques or Anderson’s most recent misdemeanor, the latter being of genuine interest as it shows the kid has some spirit, unlike his mother.

  These were mere plans however because at some time in the new year, mother would pass away, and there was no way to know what would happen after that. There was much to say to mother before then so I planned to write a letter to tell her everything I could not verbalize, like apologies for the disappointments, without specifically mentioning Ben.

  Chapter Forty-one

  MOTH
ER made it twenty days into January then died. She had used her remaining life force keeping strong until Christmas, but as soon as the day passed, she let go and deteriorated at an alarming rate.

  It had never been true that she would make it through most of the year—that was a fiction. I was angry that she had not told us the truth, but David said I only heard what I wanted to hear and in fact, she had said she only had a few months, six, maybe more. I had heard “six, maybe more” and had concluded that “maybe more” was upwards to twelve months or longer. It is true—that is what I wanted to hear and so I thought there was still time. My anger gave way eventually to shock then sheer devastation because I had not written my letter, which would have said, “I am sorry for the disappointments I caused. You have been a good mother, the best kind. I love you. I will miss you.” It would eat away at me for decades to come that I could not find a moment to write the letter; I had missed a once-only chance to say goodbye with no one but myself to blame.

  I had lost my husband, my only true love, and now my mother. There seemed no point to life. I wanted to quit my job, sell the townhouse and live in a shack by the ocean in North Queensland eating mangoes and fresh prawns, never talking, no phone, no computers, no people, with just a sheer strip of cotton cloth separating me from the Neanderthals. I am not exaggerating—this is how I want to live the rest of my life.

  Mother had found time to write letters, despite her weakened state and uncontrollable pain. Dad handed them out to each of us on the morning of her funeral, which was more like a flower show as if I needed reminding of the vital role she had played in lives of so many.

  My dearest Mace,

  Always know that I love you. I have always loved you. I know that at times you did not believe this was true, but I died happy, believing that this much had changed.

  I loved being a mother – that was my life and I have cherished every minute. Your father and I have been overwhelmed with pride for all of you. You are each so very different and that made it all so interesting, challenging and rewarding. I remember when Lauren was born, being completely amazed that each of you had such distinct personalities. I have thanked God endlessly for blessing me in such a way.