Our New Normal (ARC)

by Colleen Faulkner

  My phone beeps. I check the screen; it’s my client Terri. “Oscar, I have to go. A client is calling me. They commit to a couple of hundred thousand dollars and they expect me to pick up the phone every time they call, day or night,” I joke.

  He chuckles. “Could I maybe call you later? Just to talk?”

  That makes me smile. I almost feel as if he is wooing me. Like back in the days of dorm living. “Sure.” I say good-bye and answer the incoming call. I spend the next hour on the phone with Terri. They’re rethinking the choices they made in their kitchen cabinetry. While she talks and I mostly listen. I take my book inside, pour a glass of wine, and make some dinner.

  I’m surprised when I hear a car pull into the driveway. Most of our neighbors are only here in the summer. It’s still a lonely street in May. Dumping half a bag of sugar snap peas into my stir-fry, I peek out the window. It’s Oscar.

  I open the back door when he comes up the steps. “What are you doing here?”

  “I own the place.” He holds up a bottle of wine. “I brought your favorite. Take notice that I spared no expense; it’s in a bottle and not a box.”

  I can’t resist a smile. I hold open the door to let him pass. “I just made shrimp stir-fry. You eat yet?”

  “Nope.”

  I follow him into the kitchen.

  “You want a glass now?” He holds up the bottle. I can tell he’s showered and shaved and put on clean jeans and a collared shirt. For me. “I don’t know if it goes with stir-fry.”

  I smile at him, taking two shallow bowls from the cabinet. “Malbec goes with everything. Yes, I’ll have a glass.”

  We end up carrying our dinner out onto the deck and even after it gets chilly enough that we need sweatshirts, we stay outside. We drink the bottle of wine Oscar brought and then we start on my box of wine. I’m a little tipsy when he puts out his hand to me. “How about a walk on the beach?” he asks.

  I can’t remember the last time we went for a walk on the beach alone at night. It occurs to me that he should head home. He has work in the morning. But I’m not sure how many glasses of wine he’s had. He’s a lot bigger than I am, but I know he’d never drive impaired. I know there’s no way I’m going anywhere tonight behind the wheel of a car.

  I accept his hand and he pulls me out of my chair. We stand nose to nose for a minute and then my husband kisses me. He kisses me the way he used to. The kind of kiss that makes your heart skip a beat. The kind that makes you tingly to your toes. Then, before I can say anything, he leads me across the lawn toward the edge of the bluff.

  “You going to be okay to drive home?” I ask him.

  “Nope,” he says. He slips his arm around me. “Luckily I brought my scrubs and a clean pair of undies.”

  I laugh. Hazel used to call her father’s underwear undies and no matter how many times I told her that the word undies describes female underwear, she insisted on using the term. “Brought clean undies, did you? Were you hoping to get lucky?”

  “Maybe.”

  We laugh and he pulls me tighter to him and we walk arm in arm. The half-moon is rising in the east and it’s big and bright.

  “Liv, we’ve talked about a lot of things tonight, but we haven’t talked about our fundamental disagreement about Charlie. About Hazel . . . you know, us adopting Charlie when she was born.”

  I stop and turn to him. There’s enough light from the moon for me to see his face but not his eyes. “Actually, what we argued about was that I thought it was time Hazel consider putting Charlie up for adoption. And you got angry about me wanting to give her away.”

  He looks down and then back up at me. I hear the loon still calling to her mate. She’s still out fishing.

  “If Hazel can’t do this, I think we should consider taking the baby. Because, honestly, I don’t think I could stand to see her go to strangers. If we took her, Liv, I could have a do-over.”

  “A do-over?”

  He puts his arms around my waist. I slide my hands over his shoulders and look up at him.

  “I had this idea that if we took Charlie . . . our grandchild and . . . made her our own, it would be like a second chance for me. Third, I suppose. Technically. Liv, I made a lot of mistakes being Sean and Hazel’s dad. I wasn’t home enough and, when I was, I didn’t take enough responsibility.” His voice is filled with emotion. “What we were talking about earlier, about you staying home with kids? I wanted it that way. It made things easy for me. You made things easy for me. But if I could do it again, I wouldn’t take the easy route. I’d change diapers and clean up puke and . . . and lie on the floor and play with DUPLOs. I’d do all the things I missed with Sean and Hazel.”

  I smooth his cheek with my hand. His beard is close-trimmed, the way I like it. The fact that he’s had a haircut in the last few days doesn’t go unnoticed, either. I wonder if he’d been planning all week to come here. And had finally gotten the nerve tonight.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

  “For what?” I ask, feeling sober now.

  “For everything. For not being a better father. For not being a better husband.”

  “You’ve worked hard. Your hours were always so long at the hospital.”

  He shakes his head, looking down at me. “True. But work is an easy excuse. Work kept me from going to concerts and soccer games and robotic competitions. It gave me a good excuse to do what I wanted to do on weekends with my coworkers, friends, instead of being here with you.”

  “Oscar, you weren’t a terrible dad. Sean and Hazel love you. And you’re the fun parent.” I shrug. “I’m the one who made them eat their vegetables and do their homework. It was my role. You got to buy video games and let them eat dessert before dinner.”

  He pulls me against him and I rest my head on his shoulder. “Will you come home?” he asks me. “I’ll do whatever you want. Counseling. Getting down on my knees and begging you. Whatever it takes.”

  “I don’t know if I’m ready yet,” I say carefully. “I still need time to think. You and I need to talk more. Minus a bottle of wine each.”

  “Okay.” He kisses my temple. “Can I stay over?” he says softly in my ear.

  “You own the house,” I whisper.

  He strokes my back. “You know what I mean, Liv.”

  I lift my head from his shoulder and smile up at him. “If you’re asking me if you can seduce me, I think that would be a good idea.”

  My husband leans over and kisses me, mouth open, the kiss of a lover, not of a twenty-year marriage. I kiss him back and I wonder if maybe we really can save our marriage. Because there are so many good things between us. This being one of them.

  Then I think of Hazel. Of my sweet grandbaby. And the trajectory they’re headed in. Because no matter what Hazel says, she’s not as committed to being a teen parent as she was when Charlie was born. The question becomes, What do we do as her parents to help her? Where do we go from here and what are Oscar and I willing to sacrifice for her?

  38

  Liv

  Monday morning when my phone rings, I almost don’t pick it up, thinking I’ll check to see who called once I’m in the truck. I’m running late because Oscar ended up staying Thursday night, then met me back here at the cottage Friday night. Our one-night assignation turned out to be a weekend of walking on the beach, talking, and making love. When he left this morning, I hadn’t agreed to move home yet, but I was considering it. Because I do love Oscar and I’m not ready to give up on him or me or us.

  I’ve got a meeting this morning with the company that bought an old house on the edge of Judith and wants to turn it into a high-end shop that sells women’s clothing and handbags in the house portion and a café in the attached barn. The exciting thing about the project is: (A) it would be my first commercial job, B) it would be right in Judith so no long drive to work, and (C) it’s a big job that would probably take a year to complete. Timing-wise, it would be perfect. About the time the job in Lincolnville should be done, this new pro
ject would begin. The house the company purchased is a dump, but structurally it’s sound. I could bring it back to life again, I know I could.

  I pull my T-shirt over my head and reach for my phone, just to see who’s calling. When I see my mom’s name, I pick up at once. “Good morning.”

  “It is not,” she says, definitely miffed.

  “Okay . . .” I sort of sing the word. I duck into the bathroom to throw on some makeup. I don’t usually wear it when I’m working, but because this is a meeting and I’m trying to put my best foot forward, I’m amping up my game. “What’s up?” I gaze into the mirror, scrutinizing the fine lines around my mouth.

  “You’re going to have to come home.”

  I step back from the mirror. “What’s wrong? I have that meeting this morning. To put in my bid for the store in Judith.”

  “Maybe you could postpone.”

  “Mom, I can’t—”

  “Hazel never came home last night,” she interrupts stiffly.

  I go to the side of my bed and sit down to pull on my work boots. After the meeting, I’m headed to Lincolnville to oversee the installation of the barn doors that will serve as garage doors. “Hazel didn’t come home? Where’s Charlie?”

  On cue, I hear the baby cry. “With me,” Mom says into the phone. “I kept her all night, thinking your daughter would come home. She didn’t. I have mah-jongg at nine, and the ladies are expecting me. You’ll just have to come home and watch your grandchild. I’m not doing this, Liv. I went through this with your sister. Not coming home at night. Not knowing where she is. If she’s safe. Even alive.”

  I grab my utility jacket and head for the stairs. “Did you call her?”

  “Of course I called her. What’s all this fussing? Take this Binky and shush. I’m not in the mood.”

  I gather my mother’s last comments were not for me. “Hazel isn’t picking up?”

  “I also texted her. In all capital letters. She hates that. No, she didn’t pick up. Or respond to my texts. That’s what teenagers do when they don’t come home. They don’t answer the phone. I bought your sister a cell phone. They were very expensive in those days. She used it to call her friends and run up my bill because there was no such thing as unlimited data in those days. She called friends, all right. But didn’t answer when her parents called. I was thinking about giving her some rice cereal. I bought it last week.”

  I’m struggling to switch gears. She’s talking about the baby now. Downstairs, I grab my bag and keys, checking to make sure my proposal is inside as well as my wallet. “Hazel doesn’t want her having solid foods yet.”

  “Well, Hazel’s not here, is she?” my mother says indignantly. “Baby’s hungry.” I hear Charlie fussing in the background. “I’m giving it to her. Just a tablespoon or two.”

  “I’m on my way,” I tell her, going out the door.

  My mother hangs up.

  I call Hazel. It goes straight to voice mail. For a moment, I’m concerned for her safety, but I push that to the back of my mind because odds are, she’s just fine. Odds are, she’s with the new boyfriend. Next, I call Katy.

  “Miss Liv? Is everything okay?” She’s whispering.

  “Katy, do you know where Hazel is? She didn’t come home last night.”

  There’s a beat of silence before the teen says, “I . . . I didn’t see her last night.”

  “Is she with Jack? What’s his last name?” I go through a yellow light. “Wait, he’s a senior. Is he at school today?”

  “Senior skip day,” she says in a small voice.

  “I didn’t even think kids did that anymore.” I shake my head. “Maybe he had enough sense not to skip on skip day?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have classes with him.”

  “Katy, I’m on my way home to pick up Charlie because Hazel isn’t there.”

  “Charlie’s alone?”

  “No, Katy, of course she’s not alone. She’s with my mother, but my mother can’t watch her. I’m driving from the cottage to our house, picking up Charlie, and taking her to a business meeting.” I’m on a roll now. I’m angry and I’m scared for what the future is going to look like for this baby. But mostly I’m angry at my daughter right now for creating this mess.

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry. I don’t know where Hazel is.”

  “Fine. This is what I want you to do, Katy. I want you to call Hazel and I want you to tell her to get her ass home.” I hang up Bernice-style. It’s getting to be a habit with me.

  My last call is to Oscar. I know he won’t pick up this time of the morning. It’s always a madhouse at the beginning of his shift, but he’ll check his phone at some point. I ask him to call me. I don’t tell him why.

  On the ride home from the cottage, I start trying to think through how this would work. If Oscar and I take Charlie. It would have to be an adoption. Hazel would have to give full custody to us. That’s the only way I will agree to it. I’m not going to take her for my own daughter, make her my own, and then ten years from now give her back. Hazel can go to Judith High School next year and graduate, but then a college far enough away that she wouldn’t be coming home often would be best. For her. For Charlie. For all of us. By the time Hazel goes to college, Charlie will be eighteen months old. She might miss Hazel at first, but at that age, I think with some distance from her mother, Charlie will come to accept me as her mother. I decide here and now, while trying not to drive more than ten miles over the speed limit, that I’m not going to negotiate with Hazel. I’m not going to accept tears and apologies. We’re not going to give her another chance because we don’t have time to do that. The adults have all seen the writing on the wall for weeks. I think Hazel, in her heart of hearts, sees it, too. She can’t care for a child. And I don’t blame her a bit. Because, in a lot of ways, she’s still a child. But we have to do what’s best for Charlie.

  Driving, I imagine what it will be like to be the mother of a baby again. I think about what Oscar said about a do-over. Could Charlie be my do-over? At our age, with everything we’ve learned, sometimes the hard way, will Oscar and I be able to be better parents to our granddaughter than we were to our children?

  When I arrive at home, my mother has her coat on. She’s all dolled up and walking with the aid of a cane. “I’m sorry about this, Liv.” She’s standing in the kitchen, putting on lipstick. “But you need to get control of her.” She waggles her finger at me. “Before you’ve got a second baby to take care of. It happens, you know, with teenaged girls. They have one baby and the next thing you know, they’re pregnant again.”

  I sigh. A part of me wishes my mother could have met me at the door with a hug and commiserated with me about how poorly this is working out with Hazel caring for her baby. It would have been nice for her to tell me I was right and she was wrong. When Hazel got pregnant, I said she couldn’t handle caring for a newborn, but Mom thought she could. But my mother says no such thing, and honestly, were our roles reversed, I don’t know that I would have behaved any differently.

  “She’s in the family room. Fed. Changed. Diaper bag is packed. Car seat’s on the dining room table.” She points. “The base thing is in the garage on the shelving next to the door. Having lunch afterward, so I don’t know when I’ll be home.” She gives me a quick wave as she heads for the garage. “Good luck.”

  She gets all the way out the door and comes back in. “By the way, she liked the rice cereal. Mixed it with formula.” Then she’s gone again.

  I stand there in the kitchen for a moment, imagining what life is going to become again: diapers, night feeds, loads of wash. And I’ll have to find day care for Charlie because I’m not giving up my job. Of course, if we adopt Charlie, Oscar and I will not be getting divorced. Oscar was talking about a do-over. Maybe he wants to become a stay-at-home dad, which would be fine with me. It’s not going to be me, not this time. We’ll figure it out. I already love Charlie like she’s my own and Oscar does, too. We’ll make it work.

  My thoughts
then drift to the joy another child will bring me. The joy my children have brought me, the joy Charlie already brings me now. The slobbery kisses, the laughter at bath time, the little sticky hands that will hold mine. Standing in the middle of my kitchen, I clench my fists. I can do this, I tell myself. I can do this.

  I can’t do this. I can’t do this, I’m telling myself an hour later.

  I’m pacing a downtown parking lot, Charlie on my shoulder. Charlie is screaming bloody murder. She’s been crying for half an hour. In my meeting. I took her in to meet John and Luke Morris, the brothers who are opening the store. They already have one in Portland and one in Rockland. I apologized profusely for having to bring my granddaughter, giving no explanation because I refuse to lie for my daughter. I also don’t want them to think there’s going to be drama if they hire me.

  I start to cry, my tears matching anything Charlie has to offer. First, it’s just a trickle down one cheek, but then I start to cry in earnest. Afraid John and Luke might see me, I walk to my truck. I don’t want them to see me like this. Not that I have a chance of getting the bid now. I decide to go looking for Hazel. Find her car.

  I’m still crying as I buckle Charlie into her car seat because I know Hazel can’t take care of her. I cry even harder because I realize I can’t, either.

  39

  Hazel

  My phone dings, startling me, and I sit up on the couch. Jack and I didn’t mean to fall asleep. We didn’t mean to stay all night at his friend Arden’s house. Arden’s parents are in Aruba, and his older sister was supposed to be supervising, but she spent the weekend at her boyfriend’s house. The sister said Arden could have some friends over for tacos. Friends like Jack who wouldn’t wreck their place. The sister did not say we could spend the night.

  I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I can tell it’s late morning by the sun coming through the windows. I can’t believe we slept in this late. I look around, wondering where Jack is. Today is senior skip day, so he and Arden are skipping school. So is Arden’s girlfriend, Molly, who’s only a junior and goes to another school. Plus, another guy who’s friends with them, Turtle. I don’t know what his real name is, but he seems nice. His girlfriend, Liza, was here last night, but she went home at eleven, just as we were starting the second Star Wars movie. She said her parents would kill her if she was out past curfew.