Our New Normal (ARC)

by Colleen Faulkner

  “Ah, Daisy.” Dad switches Charlie to his left hand. Charlie, who now is barely crying. Just making little sniffly sounds. He wraps his arm around me and pulls me tight. He smells good. Like shampoo and popcorn. Like my dad. “It’s going to be all right,” he whispers, kissing the top of my head.

  “It’s not,” I say, trying to get ahold of myself. “Dad, she haaates me.”

  He laughs and I pull away from him.

  “It’s not funny,” I tell him.

  “I know, it’s not. At least not right now at—whatever time of the night it is?”

  “Two o’clock,” I tell him, wiping my snotty nose on the sleeve of Mom’s bathrobe.

  “You get any sleep at all?” Dad’s still bouncing Charlie. He takes a pacifier from the end of my bed and puts it in my daughter’s mouth.

  She takes it, the little punk.

  “Tonight?” I have to think for a minute. I grab a hunk of hair on the top of my head and pull it back. “Not yet. I had a nap this afternoon while Gran watched her. I think they watched TV together. I told her not to let her sit in her bouncy seat too close to the TV, but I was so tired, I didn’t even care.”

  Charlie is quiet now, sucking on her pacifier and making cute little baby noises.

  “How about a shower? Had one this week, Daisy?” He smiles. I know he’s trying to get me to smile.

  “A couple days ago. I feel bad leaving her when she’s awake and . . . Dad, if she sleeps for ten minutes, I’d rather sleep for ten minutes than shower.”

  He smiles the kind of smile your parents do when they think they know how you feel. When they think they know everything. “I know you don’t want to believe me when I say this, but it gets easier. How about schoolwork? Get any done today?”

  I shake my head no.

  Charlie’s eyes are closed now. She’s stopped thrashing.

  My dad runs his big hand over her tiny little red head. She has hair the same color as his. As mine. “I think maybe you need a little break.”

  “You’re right. I need a shower,” I admit.

  “Done. She and I will go downstairs and see what’s on the History Channel.”

  “You sure?” I make a face, hoping he really does mean it. “You have to go to work in the morning.”

  “I’ll give you half an hour. But what I meant is that you could use a break from here, from her. You haven’t been out with your friends since she was born. You haven’t been away from her since she was born.”

  I look at her in his arms. She looks so sweet. So quiet. “I don’t know if I can leave her,” I say, unable to take my eyes off her. She has the prettiest eyelashes. I swear, they’re longer than mine.

  “Sure you can. And you should. I’ll watch her for a couple of hours tomorrow when I get home from work. Go have some dinner with Katy. Catch up with the gossip at school.” He rests one hand on the doorknob. “What do you say, Daisy?”

  I look up at him. “I don’t think Mom will be very happy if I go out.”

  “I’ll handle your mom.” He opens the door. “Now get a move on. Chop chop. Get a shower. I’ll bring her back up in a little while. Then maybe we can all get some sleep.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I lift up on my toes to give him a kiss on the cheek and duck out of the room and down the hall toward the bathroom, pretty sure this shower is going to feel like heaven on earth.

  33

  Liv

  I carry two bags of groceries into the house. Willie Nelson greets me at the door. No one seems to be home. Oscar went to help his brother carry an old couch out of the house and bring in a new one. I think they were going to do something with a water heater, too.

  Hazel’s car is gone, so she and my mom must have gone somewhere. Probably to buy more diapers or formula. I’m a little upset that Hazel’s given up breast-feeding. She was so gung ho before Charlie was born. I don’t think she understood that every baby is different and some need a little time to figure out how to take to the breast. Hazel was so worried Charlie wasn’t getting enough food. She said she was going to try the breast pump, but she ended up using the formula samples, and the next thing I know, my mother is calling me on my way home from one of my job sites to ask me to stop for formula. And now the dishwasher is full of baby bottles.

  I go back out to my truck for the other two bags of groceries. I’m dead tired. Shingles were delivered this morning at the new site, and then I got a call from the client, Terri, saying that they were the wrong shade of brown. I drove all the way to Lincolnville, after being there yesterday, after planning to take an entire Saturday off and go with Oscar to his brother’s. Maybe even sit with my sister-in-law and have a glass of wine. I get to Lincolnville thinking I’m just going to talk Terri down because the shingles don’t look like what she thought they would look like. But she was right: The supply company sent the wrong color. On a special-order item.

  I start unloading groceries from the cloth bags. Oscar texted me a half an hour ago to say he was headed home and should he pick up takeout for dinner. I was tempted, but we’ve had takeout three times this week, guaranteeing I won’t win awards for wife, mother, or daughter of the year. And if Charlie could vote, I don’t think she’d vote for me, either, just out of principle. In light of that, I pulled a Bernice and picked up a roasted chicken at Hannaford. I plan to boil some red-skinned potatoes for garlic mashed potatoes; steam some prewashed, precut broccoli; and call it a day. A night. I’m hoping to be in my jammies, in my bed by seven thirty with my laptop, searching the Internet for a nineteenth-century porcelain farm sink to appease Terri.

  I’m just putting almond milk, soy milk, and coconut milk in the refrigerator when I hear the distinct sound of Charlie cooing. I recognize the sound in a second because she just started making noises other than crying two days ago.

  I close the refrigerator door. “Hazel? Where’s your—” Before I can ask her where her car is, I hear my mother’s voice. She’s talking to Charlie, trying to get her to talk back. I walk into the family room to find her sitting on the couch; Charlie’s in her baby seat on the coffee table. My granddaughter is waving her little hands and trying her hardest to respond to her great-grandmother.

  I break into a grin. For a baby I didn’t want, I’ve become awfully attached to her. It’s all I can do not to take her from Hazel’s arms every time Hazel struggles to get her to eat, to change her diaper, to soothe her when she’s fussy. But I told Hazel and Oscar that I would not be the baby’s parent and I have to keep reminding myself of that vow because I don’t want to be a mother to a baby again. I don’t. I love my job, even though it can be stressful at times. I love just getting up in the morning and doing what I want to do, even if it is just to work.

  “Is that you talking, Charlie?” I say in the voice adults use with infants. “Can you talk to Gigi? Can you?”

  Charlie slowly shifts her gaze from my mother to me. “There she is,” I coo. “That’s my girl. Can you tell your grandma all about it?”

  Charlie pumps her fists and lets out a string of nonsense.

  “She’s smart, this one,” my mother tells me. “You were three months old before you did this.”

  I can’t help but smile at the fact that my mother has to criticize me, or the infant version of me, to compliment her great-granddaughter. I sit down on the couch beside her and pick up a brightly colored baby toy Hazel had insisted we order for Charlie before she was even born. I found it, apparently forgotten, in a bag in the linen closet while looking for the extra crib sheets I knew I’d bought. Hazel’s been struggling to keep up with the laundry. I don’t want to start doing it for her, but also don’t want my granddaughter sleeping in spit-up.

  “You here all by yourself?” I ask my mom, holding the toy in front of Charlie’s face.

  “You think I can’t handle a baby? I feel great. I’m on the upswing. Been thinking about going to water aerobics again with the girls if I keep improving.”

  My mother has been doing well physically. She hasn’t n
eeded her wheelchair, even for a few hours, in the two-plus months she’s been living with us. But not requiring assistance to get around is not the same thing as being able to care for a newborn.

  “Hazel go to the store?”

  Mom sits back and reaches for her mug of tea. I can tell she’s stalling.

  “She’ll be home after a while,” she says.

  “Okay.” I nod. “How long’s she been gone?”

  She shrugs. “A few hours.”

  “A few hours?” I echo.

  Mom slurps her tea. “Four or five. That roast chicken I smell?”

  “Five hours?” I repeat. “Hazel’s been gone since I left this morning?”

  “She got invited to go shopping. Prom dresses.”

  I lower the baby toy to my lap. “She’s not going to the prom.”

  “She went with friends who are going, I guess.” Mom gives a dismissive wave. “A group of girls went shopping. It’s what teenage girls do.”

  But is it what teenage girls do with a baby that’s only five weeks old? “Is Hazel going to the prom at her school?” I ask. “She’s not even a student there anymore.”

  “I don’t know anything about that.” My mother takes another slurp of berry tea. I can smell it.

  I stand back up, setting Charlie’s toy on the couch. She’s animated this afternoon. Her eyes are bright, and she seems to be watching everything. She starts cooing again, and I have the urge to pick her up. But I have cold things to put away still. And I have potatoes to wash, and I need to start a load of towels, or Oscar won’t have one to shower with when he gets home. If I start playing with Charlie now, no one will eat until eight tonight.

  “I think I should call Hazel.” I take my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans.

  “No, no. Let her have some fun,” my mother insists. She’s waving me away with her hand again.

  “Mom, you watched Charlie yesterday. Hazel went for diapers at one, and she still wasn’t home when I got home from work.” I think for a minute. “And didn’t she go to Katy’s Wednesday night to help her with her math? You went to bed and Oscar was in the sitting room asleep with the TV on with Charlie asleep in her chair.” After my father died, my mother suggested we could all sit together in the family room at night, that Oscar didn’t have to be exiled to the smaller sitting room, but he declared he liked the room and he liked the bigger TV.

  “The child’s worn out with this baby.” She points at Charlie.

  I close my eyes, shaking my head. Which is why children shouldn’t have children, I want to say. But then I feel terrible because now that Charlie is here, she’s indisputably loved. I love her more than I thought possible.

  “Let her have a little fun, Liv,” Mom says, gentling her tone. “I don’t mind a few hours here and there. It gives me something to do. Something to think about besides the fact that your father is gone.”

  I sigh and slide my phone back into my pocket. “Roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli, and baking powder biscuits if I get motivated. Oscar is on his way home. We’ll eat at six thirty.”

  “Excellent.” Mom reaches for the remote control to the TV. “Charlie and I are going to watch an episode of Poirot. Unless you need our help in the kitchen.” She leans forward and joggles Charlie’s seat. “Because we’ll help if Gigi needs us, won’t we?” she coos.

  As upset as I am that I think Hazel is taking advantage of her grandmother, as I walk out of the family room I can’t help but smile at the joy Charlie has brought to my mother. To all of us.

  34

  Hazel

  “So . . . tomorrow night,” Jack says to me as we walk hand in hand across some guy’s lawn.

  We each have a beer in our hands. It’s Friday night, and we’re teenagers; teenagers have a beer once in a while, I tell myself. And I’m not breast-feeding anymore, so it’s not like it’s going to hurt Charlie. It might even help her if I actually get some sleep tonight. Maybe I won’t be so cranky with her then.

  We both stop to sip our beers. It’s cold as crap outside, even though it’s the first weekend of May. At least all of the snow has finally melted. We both shift from one boot to the other, trying to stay warm.

  “You think you can go to the movie?” he asks me.

  I chew on my lower lip. For days, I’ve been thinking Jack’s going to ask me to prom. He’s a senior. He has to go to prom, and it’s in two weeks. I can’t believe he hasn’t asked me. I know he wants to. The other night he even started telling me who was having parties afterward and stuff.

  Katy thinks he’s afraid to ask because he thinks I’ll say no because that would pretty much mean we’re going out. Like, boyfriend and girlfriend going out, and she thinks he thinks I think I can’t date right now. Because of Charlie. Because I’m a mother. But that doesn’t make any sense because anytime he asks me out, I go. Gran’s been babysitting for me so I can do some stuff and if I’m going to be out late, Dad’s been putting Charlie to bed. Mom’s been complaining about it, but what does she care as long as it’s not her putting Charlie to bed?

  Charlie doesn’t need me. My milk’s all dried up now. She likes the formula better anyway. And Dad is better at putting her to bed than I am. He can lay her in her crib on her back awake, give her her Binky, and she’ll go to sleep. I have to rock her and walk her and beg her to go to sleep. I’ve gotten better at it, but some nights Dad still walks her for me. A couple of nights ago, Charlie was a little stuffy and Mom even walked her because Dad had to be at work earlier than usual the next morning. Mom used this bulb thing they gave me at the birthing center to suck snot out of Charlie’s nose. It looked gross, but it worked, and my daughter slept four and a half hours before she woke up wanting a bottle. Four and a half hours is the most extended block I’ve gotten of sleep since she was born two months ago.

  “You said you wanted to see the movie.” He catches a piece of my hair that’s fallen forward on my face. It took me half an hour at Katy’s house to get my hair just right with my wool beanie. He smiles at me. Plays with my hair.

  “I . . .” I twist my mouth one way and then the other, thinking. That will be four nights in a row I’ve been out. Not at parties, but stuff: at Katy’s, at an end-of-the-year school concert, at Amanda Peterson’s. She invited me over to her house for taco night with her family. She and I have kind of become friends since she dumped Tyler. We talk smack about him and make fun of his truck. He’s dating her friend Christina now. I knew he liked Christina back when we were still together. He liked Amanda and Christina.

  “If you can’t go,” Jack says, letting go of my hair and sipping his beer, “I understand. I know you can’t leave Charlie with your parents every night. Maybe we can—”

  “Yeah, I can go.” I look up at him. He’s so cute. And so nice. He graduates in a month and he’s going to UMass to study engineering. That was where I wanted to go. Not to Mom and Dad’s alma mater, but to UMass to study premed. Or maybe biology. Back when I was researching colleges when I was getting ready to apply, I read some things that said medical schools were looking for more diverse students. That you didn’t have to follow a strict premed program, not as long as you took all the required classes to get into med school. “What time is the movie tomorrow night? Seven? I can meet you there.”

  “Ayuh,” he says.

  “Ayuh,” I repeat.

  And we both laugh because we talk about the fact that we’re both Mainers and that’s one of the reasons we get along so well. We just get each other.

  Jack leans toward me and when he touches his lips to mine, I close my eyes. This feels so different than when Tyler and I were dating. When we kissed. Jack’s definitely a better kisser. He’s—

  “Hey, that your phone?” Jack whispers in my ear. “I think whoever is texting you wants you to respond. That was three texts right in a row.”

  “What?” I laugh and slip my hand into the pocket of my winter coat that now fits me again. Yay. I’m also in my own jeans again. Not my
skinny ones. And I had to lie down on the bed to zip these up over my squishy belly. But I look like myself again. I almost feel like myself. At least I do when I’m out of the house.

  I fumble with my phone because I’m wearing gloves.

  It’s my mother. I groan, closing my eyes for a second. Then I read her text.

  Where are you?

  You need to call me

  Now!

  I glance at Jack and text back, Something wrong?

  Call me now

  I exhale, annoyed. I’ll be home soon, I respond, my fingers flying over the keyboard. I want to add a mean emoji face, but I don’t.

  Now! she texts back.

  I’m standing there debating if I should get Jack to take me back to my car that’s parked at his house and go home. But before I can decide what to do, my phone rings. Of course I know who it is. And I can’t even stick my phone in my pocket and pretend she’s not calling because Jack is looking right at my phone.

  “Yeah?” I answer.

  “Where are you, Hazel?” my mother says. I can tell she’s pissed.

  I turn my back to Jack, letting him block the wind. And hopefully keep him from hearing what I’m saying. I don’t want him to think I’m a bad mom or anything. I taste his ChapStick on my lips. “Is Charlie okay?”

  “Charlie is fine, except that it’s nine thirty at night and she should be in bed.”

  “Dad can—”

  “No, Hazel,” my mother interrupts. She’s almost shouting at me. “We talked about this last week when you were out late.”

  She’s been so bitchy to me for weeks. Just because I want to get out of the house a couple of times a week. Dad was the one who said I needed a break from Charlie.

  “It’s not late. It’s nine thirty,” I say, being just as bitchy back.

  “Your father needs to go to bed. He’s not getting enough sleep. He’s almost fifty years old. He needs his sleep. Otherwise, he’s going to make a mistake at work. You want to be responsible for that? And she’s not his baby,” she adds.