“I’m not going.”
“Taylor—”
“I’m not going.” I reach for the beer, grab it back. “I have commitments here, Nathan. I have friends here. I never agreed to move. I never agreed to any of this.”
As I walk out, I drop the beer in the trash. It shatters in the metal garbage can, but I don’t care. The can at least has a plastic lining.
We eat dinner in different rooms and sleep apart, the first time we’ve slept apart in the same house in years. Sunday morning, Nathan wakes early and grabs his clubs and heads to the golf course. He doesn’t call, and I won’t try to phone him. After feeding the girls lunch, I let them invite friends over.
Now I sit on a lounge chair and watch the little girls play on the lawn while the older girls are in the house on the computer. I hope they’re not on MySpace. Or Facebook. Or any of those other Internet places. Too many perverts hang out there.
Friday, Raine e-mailed with the title of the new book club selection, The Memory Keeper’s Daughter, which we’ll discuss at Jen’s, although I wish Raine had picked an Amy Tan novel, since Jen is hosting. Jen’s Chinese. Her parents were both immigrants, and she’s living the immigrant dream. I’d very much like to hear more about life, particularly life in America, from someone who isn’t white.
But The Memory Keeper’s Daughter it is, and I give the opening chapter thirty minutes of undivided attention before I close my eyes. The writing’s beautiful. It’s going to be depressing.
I don’t think I can do depressing right now.
I’ll wait. I’ll read it later. I’ll just look at magazines now.
Fortunately, I’ve brought some magazines out with me, so I drop the book and leaf through the newest issue of 425, a glossy quarterly magazine devoted to the upscale lifestyle we enjoy here on Seattle’s Eastside.
There are new reviews of spas and restaurants, including a review of the Redmond location for Lori’s restaurant, Ooba’s. I’ve been there only a couple of times, but everyone raves about the chicken enchiladas, grilled salmon soft tacos, and shrimp quesadillas.
Just reading the reviews makes me even more determined to remain here. I love Bellevue. This is home. It’s everything I ever wanted in a city, too.
I’m reading a profile of a Seattle Mariner player who has chosen to live in the area in the off-season when I hear Nathan’s car. He’s back. I’m suddenly a ball of nerves again.
However, I nonchalantly continue to read my magazine for another half hour. Then Kate calls to say she’ll come pick up her daughter, who has been playing with Brooke. “I’m out in the back,” I tell her. “Come have a drink with me.”
I fix Kate our favorite drink, the good old gin and tonic, a drink she lovingly refers to as “mother’s little helper.”
Outside, we curl up on two padded lounge chairs. Kate is usually sunny and poised to tell a wicked joke. But she’s pensive today, and for a moment we just sip our cocktails and sit in companionable silence.
On the lake, a motorboat speeds by. Pretty girls laugh from the back of the boat as it hits a wake and bounces hard.
“Do you ever go out on your boat?” Kate asks, watching the sleek speedboat disappear.
“Not as much as we used to.”
She sighs. “Isn’t that the way it goes? You spend a fortune on second homes and toys, and one day you wake up to realize you’re tired of your vacations and your toys.”
“Thinking of selling one of your homes?” I ask. Kate has vacation houses scattered all over the world. Over the years, they’ve either bought or built houses in Cabo, Sun Valley, and Scottsdale, a condo in Maui, a time-share in Las Vegas, and something in Carmel or Monterey so Bill can fly in and golf for a day.
“I don’t know. It just seems like a lot of work lately. I’m tired of fielding phone calls from staff regarding the need for repairs. It gets expensive and time-consuming. Sometimes I think we’re better off just selling everything and going back to staying in resorts.”
I make a sympathetic noise even as I wish I had Kate’s problems. Her husband has a stable job. Her husband is worth millions, maybe even a billion by now. “You’d have to pack suitcases again that way, and you hate packing, remember?”
“That’s true.” She takes a long sip from her cocktail. “This is just what I needed. You know, you now make a better gin and tonic than I do. What’s your secret?”
“Lots of lime.”
Kate’s daughter spots her from the upstairs bonus room and leans out the window to shout hello. Kate waves back. After her daughter’s head disappears back into the bonus room, Kate says, “I’ve been so upset all day. My mother has invited herself, and her husband’s entire family, to Sun Valley for Christmas. Twenty more people to feed and entertain.”
I guess this isn’t the time to bring up the fact that I’d hoped we could stay with Kate and Bill in Sun Valley for the holidays, too.
“It wouldn’t be so bad,” she continues, “if my mom would even ask me. Instead she assumes I’m dying to host all of Larry’s children. They’re so ungrateful, too. Just because their dad married my mom doesn’t mean I owe them anything. We were all adults when Mom married Larry. I wasn’t looking for another father or another family.”
I nod and concentrate on listening. Sometimes we just need someone to listen to us. Men don’t seem to understand that. They think we want them to solve our problems when we just want to share.
“Don’t you have a stepfather?” Kate asks.
“Yes.”
“Is he as bad as Larry?”
I think of my mom’s husband, Ray, the trucker convict. Mom’s been married to him for fourteen years now. Almost as long as she was married to Dad. “Worse.”
“Where does your mom live?”
“All over.” I make a face. “Ray’s a truck driver,” I add delicately. “They pretty much live out of Ray’s cab.”
“That must be interesting,” she answers just as delicately.
I’ve never really talked about my mom before, and I’m not sure why I shared what I did just now. I’m sure we all have our family skeletons, but they’re safest in the family closet. “It is.” I pause, wondering how to close the topic and smooth it over. “We don’t have a lot of contact. The children haven’t seen her in years.”
“Not much in common?” Kate guesses.
I nod, and we move on to other subjects, but the shame lingers. Shame is a heavy burden, too, which is why my kids don’t see my mother.
The girls don’t really understand why not, either, as Mom sends a card with checks for the girls every birthday and Christmas, but I don’t try to explain. I deposit the checks in the girls’ savings accounts, have them write a brief thank-you, and that’s that. The girls don’t need to understand everything now. It’s enough that they know I don’t approve of her and that I don’t believe she’s someone they need in their lives.
After another drink and another half hour of chatting, Kate leaves with Elly, and I start dinner.
Dinner the next night is nearly unbearable. It’s been a terrible Monday and I’m so upset with Nathan that I can’t even look at him, can hardly tolerate being in the same room with him.
He’s not who I thought he was, and I thought I knew him well.
If it weren’t for the girls’ silly chatter about their day at school, there would be no conversation during the meal. I couldn’t talk if I tried. I feel as though I’m losing my mind. Nathan can’t be serious. He can’t be. Move? Move to Omaha?
My throat seals shut, and I battle the threat of tears. Can’t cry in front of the girls. Can’t. Can’t. Must maintain control. Must keep it together.
But later as I wash the dishes, my throat gets that horrible squeezed feeling again. I can’t go to Omaha. There’s nothing for us in Omaha. We know no one there, either. Bellevue’s home. This is where we live. This is where the kids go to school. Besides, I’m committed to co-chairing this year’s school auction, and there’s no way I can leave the auction in the
lurch. It’s the school’s biggest fund-raiser, and it’s a huge job. I couldn’t walk away now. It wouldn’t be fair.
I go to bed first tonight, and when I wake in the middle of the night to use the restroom, I discover Nathan’s sleeping in bed with me. He’s not lying close, though. He’s practically sleeping on the edge on his side.
Good. He can stay there. In fact, I hope he falls off.
In the morning, Nathan gets the girls breakfast and I dress so I can walk them to their bus stop. When it’s time for Jemma and Brooke to leave, I fill the tall red thermal cup I’ve bought from Tully’s with coffee and carry it with me as I escort the girls to their stop.
It’s chillier this morning than it has been, the late September morning a misty gray. Standing at the bus stop with the other moms, I chat about everything and nothing, and it’s comforting. They’re all as frazzled and frustrated as I am. At least, I think, I’m not alone in my mountain of worries. All women seem to worry about being good enough, doing enough, trying enough.
I kiss Brooke good-bye as she climbs on the bus. Jemma allows me to blow her a kiss. I watch the bus chug down 92nd Avenue as it heads toward school.
Back at the house, I dress Tori and then pack my workout gear in my gym bag. I’ll do the Pilates class today. God knows I need it.
Nathan sees me with my gym bag. “Where are you going?”
“Taking Tori to school and then to the Bellevue Club.”
“What about the Bekins rep that Charlotte’s arranged to come meet us today?”
I shake my head disbelievingly. “Why won’t you listen to me? I’m not moving to Omaha, and if I did move, I guarantee it wouldn’t be until you’ve been on the job at least six months. Maybe this summer I’d consider moving. Maybe once we get through this year—”
“Taylor, you’re the one not getting it. We can’t afford to live separately. Hell, we can’t even afford to live here. We have no money.”
“But what about our money?”
“What money?” He laughs.