Our New Normal (ARC)

by Colleen Faulkner

  I groan. “Can’t you just get Gran to—”

  “Come home now,” she repeats, saying each word slowly.

  “Fine.”

  I hang up on her.

  “Everything okay?” Jack asks me.

  I turn around and smile up at him. “Yup.”

  “Need to go home?”

  I think for a minute. I weigh the good against the bad. Mom’s going to be pissed when I get home no matter what I do. If I go home or stay here. If I stay here with Jack for another hour or so, he might ask me to the prom.

  “Nope. Everything’s fine.” I step closer to him, and then I get really brave, or maybe it’s because I’m a little drunk. And I kiss him on the lips.

  35

  Liv

  I glance in the rearview mirror at the car approaching fast. The headlights are still on high beam. It’s late. Later than I like to be out because of idiots like this. There’s a high rate of alcohol-related accidents at this time of night.

  I almost laugh out loud. A caustic laugh. I sound like Hazel.

  Keeping my eye on the car behind me, I grip the steering wheel of my truck, trying not to cry. The whole evening started off nice enough. Even if Hazel wasn’t there. Even if my mother was watching the baby again. This time because Hazel had to go to a “friend’s” to do something for graduation, I think my mom said. Last week, every night was about prom, because it turned out, she was going to prom. With her new boyfriend, Jack. Who she tells me right to my face isn’t her boyfriend. How does a seventeen-year-old girl get a boyfriend when she’s got a ten-week-old baby? By a different boy? It boggles my mind.

  I kept the peace over dinner tonight. Oscar and Mom and I talked about the summer internship Sean landed in Portland. He was so excited when he called just before dinner that he had me put him on speakerphone. Working so close to home this summer, he said he’d be able to come up to the cottage on weekends.

  During our meal, we also talked about redoing Mom’s bathroom. Because over the last couple of weeks, we all came to a conclusion, separately and then together, that Mom would be staying with us here at our house. Ironic, considering the turn of events following dinner.

  When dinner was over, Mom took Charlie into the family room to change her and feed her. Instead of carrying her everywhere, Mom has been pushing her around in her stroller, which is actually quite ingenious. Of course, I made the point to Oscar, when he said it was resourceful while handing me a dirty plate for the dishwasher, that my mother shouldn’t have to figure out how to move the baby around, Hazel should be here to do it.

  That was how we got into the discussion. That’s how I ended up in my truck with two bags, my computer, my iPad, and a photo of Charlie that I took off my dresser as I walked out of our bedroom.

  “Liv, really?” Oscar handed me another plate. He was rinsing, I was loading. We’ve gotten into the habit of doing the dishes together because it’s a good way to spend a few minutes together alone, without my mom, or Hazel, or the baby.

  “She’s a teenage girl,” he defends. “Teenage girls like to hang out with their friends.”

  “I understand that,” I say, trying to keep my tone civil. “But she’s a teenager with a baby. She should be taking her baby with her when she goes to a friend’s house.”

  He walks back to the table and grabs the three water glasses. “It’s almost Charlie’s bedtime. She’ll be fussy if she’s out late.”

  “Which means her mother should come home.” I take the glasses from him, one at a time, and load them in the top shelf of the dishwasher. “You know how many nights she’s been out this week?”

  “Liv.”

  “Do you know how many?” I repeat. “It’s Thursday night. Do you know how many nights she’s been out? Let’s see. Saturday and Sunday—”

  “Saturday night was prom. You encouraged her to go. You bought her a prom gown, for Pete’s sake. A hundred-and-forty-dollar prom gown.”

  “You’re right, I did,” I agreed. “Because she’s seventeen and seventeen-year-olds should get to go to the prom if they’re asked. One night was perfectly reasonable. But then she was gone all day Sunday, then Monday night.” I dropped one dirty utensil after another into the basket in the dishwasher as I ticked off the days. “She was home Tuesday all day, but mostly because Mom had appointments. And I don’t know when she left yesterday because she wasn’t here when I got home. And she wasn’t here when I got home tonight.”

  Oscar was standing at the sink, scrubbing a pot with more vigor than necessary. I could tell he was getting angry with me, but I felt like the conversation had been coming for weeks. The tension had been building between the two of us for weeks, and we’ve both been just trying to get by, trying not to fight. Hoping the situation would improve.

  The car with the bright headlights finally passes me and I speed up a little. I’ll be at the cottage in ten minutes. I just hope I can get the pilot light lit because if I can’t, it’s going to be a chilly night.

  I remember taking the pot that Oscar had rinsed three times and began to dry it. “Hon, this isn’t working.”

  He found a wooden spoon to scrub.

  “Hazel,” I said. “The baby. She’s neglecting Charlie.”

  “Charlie’s not neglected,” he insisted. “Someone is practically holding her every minute of the day.”

  “That’s true, but it’s my mother during the day and you or I at night. Charlie is sleeping through the night now. Hazel can’t use the excuse that she needs to get away because the baby is keeping her up all night. Your daughter is getting more sleep than you are, Oscar. Because after you and I leave for work, Hazel goes back to bed. My mother is watching Charlie until noon when Hazel gets up. Then while she takes a shower. And plays on the computer. The only time Mom is not watching Charlie when she’s not asleep is when your daughter is dressing her and posing her for photographs.”

  “Hazel loves Charlie,” Oscar said, emotion filling his voice.

  “I don’t disagree.” I took the spoon from him, the last item in the sink, shut off the water, and left the spoon in the dish rack. I crossed my arms over my chest, facing my husband. “She loves her, but she’s not taking care of her. She doesn’t want to take care of her.”

  We were both quiet for a moment. He just stood there, leaning against the sink, looking out over my shoulder. Not looking at me.

  “Oscar, I know you don’t want to consider this. . . .” I took a breath. Tears clouded my eyes because I didn’t want to say it. But I had to say it. Not because I don’t love Charlie, but because I love her so much. Not because I don’t love my daughter, but because I do.

  I reached out and rested my hand on his arm. I looked at him. I made him meet my gaze. “We need to talk to Hazel about putting Charlie up for adoption.”

  Tears filled his eyes at once and he pulled away from me. “We could adopt her.”

  I hesitated because that thought had crossed my mind. The person I am today, I could be a better mother in some ways to Charlie than I was to Sean and Hazel. But I also know myself. I’ve learned a lot about myself in the last ten months. And I know that if I agree to take Charlie, I’ll regret it later. I’ll care for her, I’ll love her as my own, but I’ll regret it. Because grandparents shouldn’t raise babies.

  “I told you, Oscar, I’m not agreeing to that. I’m not adopting her.” I was quiet for a moment and then I repeated, “I told you, we were not adopting her.”

  I saw the pain on his face. “I thought you’d change your mind. I thought you’d fall in love with her.”

  I pressed my lips together, trying not to start crying because that would delay the conversation. It wouldn’t solve it. “I do love her.” I shook my head. “But I’m not adopting her. Because that’s not what’s best for Charlie. It’s not what’s best for you or me. It’s not even what’s best for Hazel. Because if we adopt her, she’ll be ours. We’ll become her parents and Hazel will see the mistake every time she sees you and me or Charlie for the r
est of her life.”

  That’s when Oscar’s pain turned to anger. Not anger at the situation or at Hazel for getting pregnant, or that little shit Tyler for not taking responsibility for his child. That’s when he got angry with me. The lines on his face deepened, and when he met my gaze, his blue eyes were filled with rage. Directed at me. It had been building for months. I saw it at that moment.

  “You won’t take your granddaughter, even if your daughter can’t take care of her?”

  I noted at once that he didn’t argue that Hazel was capable of caring for Charlie, or even that she genuinely wanted to. And I agree because while I think Hazel truly does love her daughter, I don’t think she’s equipped to care for her. And I think she knows it. I think that’s why she’s hiding from Charlie, from all of us.

  “We can’t do it, Oscar.” I wrapped my arms around my waist, feeling as distant as I had felt from my husband in a very long time. “I won’t do it.”

  Oscar looked at me as if I disgusted him. “Who are you, Liv? Who are you that you would give away Charlie?”

  “That’s not fair. I’m a child who was adopted. I, of all people, know what it means. It wouldn’t be giving her away. It would be giving her the best life we could give her.” Tears slipped down my cheeks.

  He took a step away from me. “I don’t even know you anymore.” He shook his head. “I’m not even sure I want to be married to you anymore.”

  That was the worst thing Oscar had ever said to me, in all the years we had been together. In all the disagreements, the all-out fights. Never once had he suggested he wanted a divorce.

  I don’t know what kept me from crumpling to the floor right there in the kitchen. His words cut me so deeply, so . . . permanently.

  I backed away from him. Without looking at him, I said, “I’m going to pack some stuff and go to the cottage.”

  He didn’t ask for how long. He didn’t ask me to stay. And when I came downstairs and told my mother, bawling by then that I needed to get away and think for a few days, Oscar didn’t come into the family room.

  I lifted a sleeping Charlie from her bouncy seat and hugged her warm, sweet little body to mine. She smells so much like my babies that I had to choke back tears.

  And I almost gave in at that moment.

  I almost committed to make her mine. But I knew . . . I knew it wasn’t the right thing for Charlie.

  I returned her to her baby seat and told my mother that she was welcome to come with me to the cottage. She looked as tired as the rest of us. She declined. I told her I would call her in the morning and then I left. Oscar never came to speak to me and he didn’t call on the ride here.

  I put on my signal and turn into the cottage driveway. The motion detector light comes on at the back door. I don’t miss the irony in the fact that I would run away from my husband, from my marriage, to my husband’s family home.

  In the driveway, I check my cell phone, which has a photo of Charlie as my wallpaper. I update it every couple of days because she’s changing so quickly right now.

  No message from Oscar. No texts.

  What if he doesn’t call? I wonder. What if he actually does want a divorce? What if this is the end of our marriage? What will that look like? Mom living with me? We’ll have to get a place. Hazel and Charlie will live with Oscar.

  A part of me is devastated by the thought that my marriage might be over. But things have been so hard these last months, with the pregnancy, with my new job, with losing Dad, who I miss so, so much. A part of me wonders if I’d be happier alone. At this moment, I can’t honestly say how I feel. Our lives have gotten so off track that I agree with Oscar. I don’t know who I am anymore, either.

  36

  Hazel

  “Monkey bread? I can’t believe you made me garlic monkey bread, Mom.” I stand up to grab the basket of warm bread before Aunt Beth gets it. I’m on my third piece. I’m cutting myself off after this. I’m almost back to the weight I was BC. Before Charlie. BTTN. Before the Tyler Nightmare. That’s what Katy and I call last year. She says I should just pretend Tyler was a bad dream.

  We’re all sitting around the kitchen table at the cottage. The Cosset girls, Gran calls us: Gran, Mom, Aunt Beth, me, and Charlie. Charlie is sitting in her bouncy seat on the floor near Mom so Mom can see her. Mom says she’s grown a bunch in the last week and a half. That’s how long Mom’s been gone. It seems like it’s been longer. The house is weird without her. And I think Charlie misses her, if that’s possible. I don’t know how much babies this young know about what’s going on, but she looks at me sometimes and I think she wants to know where her Gigi is.

  I know Mom leaving is my fault, even though neither Mom nor Dad will come out and say so. It’s about Dad helping me too much. Mom not helping enough. It’s about me keeping Charlie. Mom saying I wouldn’t be able to handle taking care of a baby and her being pretty close to being right. I’m not going to admit that to anyone, of course. I can barely admit it to myself. I keep thinking if I try harder, I’ll get better at this mom thing. I just have to try harder.

  I feel bad. I feel bad because I caused the fight between Mom and Dad. I feel bad because now she’s moved out and Charlie misses her. I also feel bad because Gran misses her.

  “There’s still sauce on the back of the stove if anyone wants more,” Mom says, leaning down to put Charlie’s pacifier in her mouth.

  Charlie smiles at Mom and I’m so proud because she’s so smart. I use my phone to take a pic of her. I try to take at least one picture of her every day because she’s so beautiful and so perfect and I don’t ever want to forget what she looked like yesterday. Today.

  Secretly I’m glad Charlie’s on the other end of the table with Mom. The kid stresses me out. I’ve been trying hard to spend more time with her, to be home more with her, but it’s hard. It’s so much work to take care of her. So much to do and I never know what she wants and I feel like a loser every time she cries. Also, I’m busy. I’m finishing up my schoolwork for the year. And there’s a lot going on at school that I’m allowed to participate in, even if I’m not officially attending. I haven’t said anything to Mom or Dad or Gran yet, but I’ve been talking to my guidance counselor about going back to school next year for my senior year. I really miss school and I think, academically, I’m better off going there than being homeschooled. I figure I can find a babysitter to watch Charlie.

  Dad’s started saying I need to stay home more, which is getting on my nerves. Jack is getting ready to graduate so there are lots of parties. And we’re officially boyfriend and girlfriend, which I can’t believe because I never thought a guy would like me again. And Charlie is fine. Anyone who looks at her can tell she’s fine. She likes hanging out with Dad and Gran. And she and I always sleep together every night. Except for a couple of nights ago when Jack came over to visit, and we fell asleep on the couch in the family room watching TV. Dad had already taken Charlie upstairs and put her to bed in her crib. After Jack left, I was going to go upstairs, but the next thing I knew it was morning and Dad was waking me up. He was kind of cranky because it was only five.

  “Feed her,” he grumbled, handing a squawking Charlie over to me, and then he went back upstairs to bed.

  I take a bite of Mom’s spaghetti with spicy marinara sauce. Aunt Beth is telling us all about Paris. I don’t know what this guy she’s dating does for a living, but he seems to have the bucks. He took her to Mexico when they first started dating. Then to Paris last weekend and they’re making plans for some kind of river cruise in Europe. I wonder if he is in the Mafia or something because he apparently doesn’t have a nine-to-five job. So either he’s in the Mafia or he’s like Aunt Beth and calls out sick a lot. Of course, how could he afford the trips if he doesn’t work? And I don’t know if there’s such a thing as the Mafia in Maine.

  “The Louvre was better than you see on TV,” Aunt Beth is telling Gran. “And you can get right up to the paintings. And the restaurant we went to”—she puts a big forkful of
salad into her mouth—“was a five-star restaurant, even though they called it a café.” She shrugs. “Or would be one here.”

  As Aunt Beth is talking, I keep glancing at Mom. She looks good. She’s gotten a little bit of sun on her face. I guess from working outside and because spring has finally, finally come to Maine. I also think she looks skinnier.

  Dad, on the other hand, looks terrible. We’ve been eating mostly takeout. He’d been losing weight, but I think he’s gaining again. Last weekend he just lay around all weekend and watched TV. We never did watch that documentary series about Vietnam together. The one we’d planned to watch after Charlie was born. I offered to stay home from bowling and watch an episode or two with him. But he didn’t want to. He just wanted to eat Doritos and change channels. I ended up taking Charlie to Katy’s. Then Jack invited us all for pizza and I ran Charlie home and Gran put her to bed. Gran can’t climb the stairs well, but I got a Pack ‘n Play and Charlie sleeps in that in the family room sometimes, now. Not just for naps, but at night, if I come home late. I always hear her when she wakes up. Or Gran just yells up the stairs to me.

  Charlie starts fussing. I ignore her. Aunt Beth is still going on. Now she’s telling us about Nutella crepes she had from a street vendor, which makes me sad because I remember the morning Granddad wanted me to make him crepes. Now I kind of wish I had Googled a recipe and tried it. It wasn’t like he asked me to do a lot of things for him.

  Charlie is still squawking and Mom tries to put her pacifier in her mouth again. “She hungry?” Mom asks me.

  I keep eating. “She can’t be. She ate when we got here.”

  “Maybe she’s wet.” Mom takes a sip of wine. “You want to change her?”

  “Not while I’m eating.” I reach for another piece of bread. They’re small but this is definitely my last piece. “Where’s this river cruise?”

  “The Rhine,” Aunt Beth tells me.