The natural extension of that hypothesis is that some humans have slightly better pattern recognizers than others. Nothing blasphemous about that statement at all. I’m not saying smart people are better at putting pieces together... just that some of us are better at free-association.
The drawback is over-association. This is why I hate cable news channels and pharmaceutical advertisements. In fact, the backbone of television is about gently prodding people to over-associate. All commercials are manipulations. Those of you who don’t have as strong of pattern-recognizers may be the best equipped to tune out such nonsense.
I don’t think I am. I remember commercials. Like from five years ago. Mark doesn’t remember a damn thing. His personality is such that he needs to have the newest, shiniest, bestest iteration of every imagineable thing, so when he sees a commercial for something new, it affects him greatly.
Then he buys the item; then he forgets the commercial.
It’s really that simple for him. No filter. No worries.
If it’s new, then it’s better than what he currently has and that’s how he makes his snap value judgments.
Meanwhile, I’ve got all these past commercials weighing on me. I can remember as far back to last year when the new iPhone had the newest features and we were all going to be soooo impressed with it. I mean, my goodness, all these new things are so new they’re going to create a brand new world! Without this new phone, you’re going to fall behind!
Why does he fall for this crap? I’ll never understand. If our finances were all up to me, we’d be saving fifty percent of our income and living in a tiny home in a low-tax state. Then, once our accumulated investments were large enough to live indefinitely off the returns... then we could retire.
I mean, I’ve basically never been employed. For a few years I was, like, an employer and my company did pay me, but I still didn’t feel like a true employee. And with all my writing stuff, I’m definitely not traditionally employed.
That’s what I keep telling Mark—if we can cut our expenses and make sure we have enough investments, he and I can both ‘retire’ when Alex graduates high school. (Assuming I make it that long, but we’re thinking happy thoughts right now and not discussing my health problems.) If Mark and I could get to that point, then there’s nothing stopping us from traveling the world and living abroad. We could spend a few months in his favorite Italian cities or a few months in the Italian countryside.
We could do anything.
He just needs to find a job he can do remotely instead of being office-bound. Mark needs the stimulation of office politics. If he could just... be a little more like me, then we could do it. That’s been our dream ever since we first met. I discussed this future with him before we were even dating.
I’ve always been focused, like a laser, on reaching financial independence. I’m not so crazy that I don’t want to ‘work’ anymore, but I want to get to the point where it doesn’t matter if my most recent book is a total flop. I want to write books completely from my heart, or because I want to try a new marketing tactic, or because readers have contacted me and told me they want to hear more about so-and-so’s story.
It’s alarming that I’ve spent the last year focused solely on this memoir project at the expense of every other money-making venture. My income has dipped and I’m now even more reliant on my husband’s job. I don’t feel as though I’m pulling my weight.
If Mark ever wanted to surprise me for his birthday, he would really blow my mind if he firmly committed to reaching our financial independence goals. That would mean having a leaner budget, reducing our tax burden as much as possible and getting rid of that damn truck lease. The truck bugs me so much. Mark has always leased his vehicles. Just buy it already! And buy used.
My God, if he bought himself a used vehicle for his birthday, it’d be the best gift in the world. He already has an old sports car, but it’s more of an antique and not a day-to-day vehicle.
Just quit with the leasing and subscriptions and all this shit you don’t need. I could probably cut two hundred dollars from his monthly budget without blinking. Sure, he’d howl about how he needed both a Pandora and a Spotify and his various podcast subscriptions.
He can keep the podcasting stuff—I fully support my fellow creators.
Just get rid of the Pandora. And get rid of the gas subscription. Yes, you heard me. We’re putting in solar panels before I die! They’re cheap and efficient enough right now. And if you really want me to be happy, get me a little, used, ugly-as-all-get-out electric car that can get 100 miles per charge (in the winter).
Now that’s what I really want for my next birthday. My cousin will help me paint it. I barely drive anymore and I haven’t driven more than 100 round-trip miles in my vehicle in years. We’ve been taking Mark’s truck on our long trips because we have bikes and tents and firewood and all this other camping stuff.
Mark, if you got me a little electric car to cover the short trips, I could completely cut off my gas subscription... yes, I’ve decided. That’s the birthday gift you can get me for next year. The gift of sustainability.
And yes, I know my family will mock me for my tiny car, but they’re the suckers paying forty dollars each week to fill their gas tank. So what if I look lame? When has that ever bothered me?
Oh, that’s right... I’m not allowed to look lame anymore because it reflects poorly on you. Ugh.
“WOW,” I SAID MECHANICALLY. “I’m so surprised! What’s everyone doing here at Tim and Stacy’s?”
Mark frowned. “Don’t sound sarcastic. Keep that grumpy face, just don’t act so ironic.”
I started singing Alanis Morissette's Ironic.
Mark was not amused. “I want everyone to be happy today.”
“But it’s my birthday.”
Mark helped Alex out of the car. “Just pretend to be kind of grumpy, but also kind of secretly pleased.”
We swung Alex between us. When we walked through Tim’s garage and into the backyard, everyone was lined up and said ‘surprise’. I made sure to roll my eyes, but also smile a little.
“I knew something was up,” I said loud enough so anyone interested would know that I hadn’t been caught completely off guard.
“We got you this time,” Ryan proclaimed.
I shook hands with everyone who wanted a handshake. I made sure to smile ruefully like they had really gotten me for once. Stacy was especially pleased. I apologized to her for using her backyard, but she wouldn’t hear a word against it.
“What’s with all the alcohol?” I asked her.
“It’s an adult party. We have play stuff in the back for the kids and the adults are going to drink without me and make me jealous.” She was pregnant with her third child, which would end up being yet another girl—though they didn’t know it yet.
“I won’t rub it in,” I promised. “I’m kind of over drinking, anyway.”
“Bullshit,” she teased.
“I’m back to less than one. It served me well in college and I’m not getting hammered anymore. That’s over and done with. Got a kid now.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a fine wine. Have a drink for me.”
I declined.
The food was catered and I could eat everything on the menu (and it tasted great!). My mom was very proud of how she had picked out the food, so I made sure to get a second helping.
Marty and Claude were there. They loved Alex very much and were self-described honorary grandparents even before the adoption. Mark’s parents weren’t there, which wasn’t surprising. The rest of the party consisted of Suhail, Mel, Nick and his random plus one, Tim, Ry, Stacy, Amber, Travis and Ashleigh. So all my friends. Plus the kids.
I eyed the table of presents suspiciously, but didn’t make a comment. The table had a neat row of nearly identical gift bags... so nothing that seemed appropriate for Alex.
“Time for presents,” Ryan declared after we were done eating. I distinctly remember how Ryan was the ins
tigator, because he was fully loaded with beer at that point and was acting jolly.
“You guys didn’t need to get me anything.” I waved them off. It was strange how everyone was suddenly watching me closely.
“C’mon,” Ryan prodded. “Presents. Have Alex help you open some.”
Now that doesn’t seem suspicious at all. What am I supposed to do now? Pretend like you didn’t just give me a massive hint?
“That’s alright,” I said. “Let the kids play. What did my mom get me? Send me her bag first.”
“We didn’t get you anything,” Mom replied.
“That’s right. You got the catering. Thanks! Who next? Which bag is this?”
I started sifting through the bags and thanking the corresponding friends for their cards and small gifts. Someone got me a hand-crafted pear-shaped soap. That soap would make me feel guilty for years because I hid it in my closet and only took it out during parties. I didn’t want to ruin it! But it was just soap! I don’t know why that soap bothered me so much.
Then the gifts were almost done and Mark called Alex to the center of attention. “Help Chris open the bags,” Mark encouraged.
So Alex obediently sat next to me and helped sort through the last of the presents. He gave Stacy a hug (and a voluntary kiss) from me in thanks for her gift.
“We got something for Alex, too,” my mom said suddenly. She clapped her hands once so that everyone looked at her.
“For me?” the kid asked.
“Yes, sir. We missed your last birthday, so we thought we could throw a party for you today, too!”
I knitted my eyebrows together like this was unamusing.
She clapped her hands again, then pointed to my father, who was carrying a heavy-looking box wrapped in colorful paper.
Alex was excited. He smiled and jumped to his feet. Then he ran at my mother and hugged her legs. Mark corralled him back to the center of attention and we got ready to open his present.
“How nice,” I said. “What a surprise.” In that moment, I made eye contact with Suhail, then pointedly looked away.
Alex opened his present and it was a large k'nex set, which is an engineering toy where you can build roller coasters or trains.
“Oh wow!” Alex said. His eyes got so big and he fed off my parents’ excitement. “What is it?”
“It’s a train. Chris can help you build it to go with your blocks at home.”
“Oh wow! You can, you can, you can... you can help me too. Right, Mrs. S?”
“Sure will.”
“Give Mrs. S a big hug,” I said.
Alex obediently walked to her outstretched arms, held his head against her cheek for a moment, then planted a big kiss on her lips. Then he gave my dad a hug without a kiss.
The gifts kept coming. I was overwhelmed and they weren’t even for me, so I can’t imagine what Alex must have been thinking. Every new present made his jaw drop and he flashed me his most surprised face. After my mom’s gift, he gave his excited arm-pumping movements before the next present. Tim and Stacy’s gift was not that cool, apparently, because he just kind of looked at the clothes then handed them to me.
Such a snob.
“We don’t have any boys in the family,” Stacy confessed afterwards. “I may have gotten carried away with the shopping.”
“We love it,” I said. “He’ll wear the sweater at the next playdate. I promise.”
“If Mark will let him.”
“I think we’re finally past the dress-up phase. Mark’s letting the kid dress himself.”
“He’s like a mini-Mark,” Stacy said with a laugh. “It’s so cute.”
This coming from the woman who used to hate his guts and who used to think his oversized vanity was a sign of the Apocalypse.
The magic of the presents wore off. Melanie had gotten him a few super soakers so she was at the hose filling them up for the kids. The adults were gathered in a half-circle and nominally watching the backyard. Stacy was relaxed and pressing us to drink because she couldn’t. Amber was nearly sloshed. Stacy took the drink out of her hands to cut her off and Stacy herself finished the wine.
“It’s just wine,” she said when she saw me staring at her, aghast. “What? I have a little every day. My body is used to it.” She shrugged.
“That’s not how it works.” What originally was a calm afternoon suddenly had my blood boiling.
“You don’t know, Chris. You’ve never been pregnant. One glass won’t hurt anything. I did it with my other girls and they turned out fine. I stop in the third trimester.”
“Stacy.” I pursed my lips. Amber did not back me up on this. “If we were living out in the country, I would take you out in the woods and knock some sense into you. I really would. No one back home would do something so stupid.”
She studied the empty wine glass in her fingers. “It’s just one,” she said. “I drank before my pregnancy so it’s not like anything has changed in my body.”
I watched as Mark got attacked by the super soakers. He, of course, took off his shirt.
I dumped the rest of my wine in the grass because it soured my stomach.
My mom came up to me and said she was getting ready to leave; we were grateful for the distraction. I left Stacy and walked my mom out to the battlefield to say goodbye to Alex. We both got squirted.
“Say goodbye to Mrs. S,” I said. “Thank her for the building blocks. We’ll put them to good use.”
“Thank you for the building blocks,” Alex parroted. He dropped his squirt gun and gave her a hug.
“Say goodbye to my dad. He’s over there with Marty and Cloud.”
Alex took off for the guys, galloping enthusiastically.
“Marty and Cloud?” my mom asked. She picked up the discarded super soaker and gave me a half-hearted squirt.
“He has trouble saying ‘Claude’ so now we call him ‘Cloud’... I think some of his nephews used to do something similar.”
“It’s cute.”
We approached my father, who was listening to one of Alex’s tall tales. My mom soaked him with the remaining water in the squirt gun.
“Hey!” Alex protested. “That’s my gun.”
“It’s not a gun,” I said. “It’s a super soaker.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “That’s my super soaker gun, Mrs. S.” He snatched it from her and shook it for emphasis.
“Mel will fill it for you. Give me a hug goodbye.”
He leaned into her without relinquishing his hold on the empty super soaker. “I already gave you a goodbye hug.”
“One more never hurt,” my mom said. She gave him a kiss before he wiggled away and back to the battlefield. Mark had somehow wrestled a squirt gun from one of the kids and was chasing Evy and Char from tree to tree.
“He’s gonna be pooped in a few minutes,” my dad commented.
“The squirt guns were a big hit,” Marty said.
“They aren’t guns,” I stressed. “We don’t use that word at our house.”
“There’s nothing wrong with guns,” my dad said.
“I don’t want him growing up with that violent stuff. We don’t play shooting games or watch movies with guns. Nothing.”
“I’m surrounded by liberals,” my dad added while rolling his eyes.
“Cool it. Mark has gone skeet shooting with you and your brothers. He loves guns.”
“I’m just kidding.” But he wasn’t kidding—he was trying to yank my chain. “Happy birthday.”
“Yeah, yeah. Drive safe.” I gave him a firm handshake. My mom got a hug. Then they left.
“I like your parents,” Claude said.
“They’re alright,” I agreed.
“Very personable,” Marty said. “I see where you get it from.”
“My mom has a big heart. Selfless.”
“I like ‘em,” Claude said again. We watched the kids play for a few moments, then we gradually moved closer to the adults.
Alex ran up to me without his super soaker.
“Chris, Chris, can you help me, please?”
“S’up?”
“Mark won’t fill up my water because he’s busy.”
“Where’s Melanie?”
Alex pointed to where Mark and his sister were attacking each other with the squirt guns and the kids were throwing water balloons at the two of them.
“Why don’t you throw water balloons?”
“Chris,” he whispered. “Please help me. I need to save Mark.”
“Just wait until the two of them finish. Mark will help you.”
“Mart!” Alex yelled. “Chris said you will help me when you finish. Mart!”
Mark didn’t respond, but Marty did. “Are you yelling for me?” Marty asked.
Alex flinched, looked at him quickly and then backed away. “You aren’t Mart,” he said with a kind of fearful tone.
“I thought you said Marty?”
“No. I said Mart. Mar-k.”
Marty leaned onto his knees. “I can help you fill up your squirt gun—er, squirt soaker. If you need help.”
“Ummmm...” He thought about it. “Otay, but you have to hurry.”
“I have to hurry.”
“Yeah. I need to save Mar-k.” Alex ran for the hose. Marty was apparently too slow because the kid had to stop and encourage the older man to go faster.
“The boy is going to crash,” Claude said when we were alone.
“He’s amped up right now. It’s all these gifts. He’s in heaven.”
“He makes me smile. I think Marty’s in love.”
“You can come over any time. You’re honorary foster grandparents.”
Claude and I sat with the adults. Stacy was back to drinking ginger ale, but I hadn’t forgotten her earlier admission. I’d have to talk it over with Mark and do some research on fetal alcohol poisoning because never in my life had I heard of a woman drinking while pregnant.
Never.
If any of the women where I grew up drank in public, they would’ve been run out of town. It was... like... taboo or something. You just didn’t do it. So how could this educated, refined woman think it was fine to sip on wine?
It was eating me alive, but this party wasn’t supposed to be about negative stuff. It was all about Alex having a fun time.
The Foster Dad Page 17
