I'm Fine and Neither Are You

Then Matt came back inside. I wanted to remind him that I had finished the post for Jenny’s website, but the way he was approaching me said he had something else on his mind.

Sure enough. “Penny, if you or Sanjay do end up watching the kids the last week of August, do you think you could take Cecily, too? I haven’t been able to line up a sitter. I was going to send her to my parents in Maine, but she doesn’t want to go.”

“I can,” I said slowly. “But don’t you think it would be more fun to take that week off and do something together? I bet she’d love to go to Maine if you went with her.”

He glared at me. “Can we have one conversation where you don’t tell me how I’m the worst father in the universe?”

“I’m pretty sure you know that wasn’t my intention.”

“And yet.” He set the beer bottle, which was half full, on the counter. “I’m going to head out. I’ll be back for Cecily in an hour.”

Our plan had been for her to stay through dinner. There was no way he had forgotten that. I stared at him, wondering if he was really so hurt—or cruel—that he would cut Cecily’s visit short just because he felt I had insulted him.

But he was right. He was Cecily’s parent. Her only parent now. Like everything else regarding his daughter, when she left my house was ultimately his decision to make.

“We’ll see you then,” I said.

That evening, Stevie and Miles were cooling off in the living room watching Planet Earth .

“Is there room for one more?” I asked, plopping down between them on the sofa.

“Mommy!” said Miles, not taking his eyes off the screen.

Stevie was slightly more attentive. “Are you okay?” she asked, patting my leg.

“Yes, sweetie,” I told her. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you and Matt weren’t getting along,” she said.

The child didn’t miss a thing. Matt had returned exactly when he said he would. Though he acted as though our conversation had never happened, Cecily howled in protest over having to leave early, which in turn left me in tears. He and I exchanged chilly goodbyes without making promises or plans to get together again. As I watched them drive off, I had to shake off the thought that I might not see Cecily again anytime soon.

“I guess we’re not,” I admitted. “But it will blow over.”

She looked doubtful. “Really?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I hope so,” I said. I put my arm around her. “Which episode are you guys watching?”

“The one about mountains,” said Stevie.

“Ooh, I haven’t seen that one.” I settled back into the sofa cushions. On the television, two snow leopards were traipsing across a mountainside. The narrator introduced them as a mother and her nearly grown cub. The pair wrestled playfully, and then the mother began to groom her daughter. Though the cub was nearly as large as her mother, said the narrator, she had more to learn before going off on her own.

The kids and I watched, rapt, as the older leopard protected her child from two male leopards during mating season. While successful, she was wounded in the process, and as she limped into a cave with her daughter behind her, the narrator speculated it was possible neither would survive; the cub still needed her guidance to navigate mountain life.

As Stevie gripped my arm, I found myself blinking back fresh tears.

Then the mother snow leopard appeared again. The video had been taken several months after her injury and, no longer wounded, she was crossing a cliffside with ease. In later footage, her daughter—healthy, alive, and now navigating the mountain alone—followed her mother’s trail. Separated by just a few miles, the two would live parallel lives, said the narrator, but it was likely they would never see each other again.

“Mommy, why are you crying?” asked Miles as the credits began to roll.

“I’m not. I’m . . .” I sniffed. “Okay, I’m crying. Mommy’s a little sad.”

“Because of Auntie Jenny?” said Stevie.

“Yes,” I said. Because of Jenny, and Matt and Cecily, and my father, and my marriage and—well, almost everything, I realized as the tears continued to fall.

Stevie and Miles were suddenly climbing on top of me, hugging me with their little arms.

“It’s okay, Mommy,” said Miles, wiping my face with his hand.

“Cecily still has her dad,” said Stevie.

Funny how memories can come flying out of nowhere; I found myself thinking about the time in elementary school that Nick had beaten up an older student. The kid had been bullying him, along with practically everyone else. The principal called me to his office to get Nick because the school couldn’t reach our father, and Nick had insisted he needed me.

I didn’t remember what I’d said to the principal, but I must have made a convincing provisional parent because Nick hadn’t been suspended. Our father never did find out about that day. We were relieved at the time. In hindsight, it seemed like less of a lucky break.

“You’re right, peanut,” I said to Stevie. “Cecily does still have her dad.” And I still had mine.

If only that were enough.

TWENTY-THREE

I was putting the finishing touches on a report—which is to say I was combing through Christina’s social media feeds, trying to deduce whether her selfies were a tiny bit sad now that she and Sanjay were no longer in contact—when Russ came barreling through my door.

I looked up from my computer. “Russell, I would greatly appreciate it if you would knock before barging in.”

“Whew! Someone needs a drink. Lucky for you, happy hour started five minutes ago.” He was referring to the outing our colleagues had planned. Monday was the new Friday, they said. Even if that was true, I didn’t want to spend a fake Friday with my coworkers. I liked them just fine, but I would have liked them better if I didn’t see them more often than my own family.

“Two drinks, then,” said Russ, who had mistaken my silence for a refusal.

“You know how I feel about that stupid hot wings place,” I said weakly. Yolanda’s comment about face time was still fresh in my mind, and I already knew I would go. As she had pointed out, I needed to prove I was a team player—one tiny, flame-orange chicken wing at a time.

Russ lowered his voice. “You do know we’re up for review next month. No one’s forcing you to organize the white elephant party, but seriously, whether you go to these things makes a difference.”

Netting millions in donations made more of a difference. Or at least it was supposed to. “I know, Russell. I’ll go for a drink, but only one,” I said, even though I hadn’t cleared it with Sanjay. “Give me a minute.”

Russ didn’t budge from his perch on my desk, so I waved him away with my hand.

“I’m not a dog, Penny,” he said as he exited my office. “You can’t shoo me.” Then he barked outside my door.

As much as I didn’t want to encourage him, I couldn’t help but laugh. I had just composed myself when Sanjay picked up the phone. “It’s me,” I said. “A bunch of my colleagues are going out for drinks at the wings place, and I need to be demonstrating that I’m a team player. Would you mind if I went out for an hour? I know we’d talked about prepping for your second interview.”

“Of course not,” he said. “I have two more days to get ready. I’ll be fine.”

“Great, thank you.”

“Have fun. And Penny?”

“Yeah?”

He paused. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I said.

And I did. I just wished that things between us didn’t feel so strained. I wished that I had figured out a subtle way of improving our marriage rather than asking him to commit to honesty.

Because as I closed my browser—which had been open to a photo of Christina, grinning seductively while sitting at a piano—I was pretty sure I couldn’t handle one more truth.

I was thinking about Sanjay when Russ sidled up next to me at the bar. He raised his arm, and the bartender, whom I’d been trying to flag down for five minutes, sauntered over. “What can I get for you?” he asked Russ.

“I’m going to defer to the lady here, since she’s been waiting,” said Russ. “Penny? What can this fine fellow bring you?”

I wasn’t in the mood to be rescued. However, I was in need of a drink. “Vodka tonic with lime, please,” I said.

“And the IPA you have on tap,” added Russ, handing the bartender his credit card. “Can you open a tab and put both on this?”

“Sure thing,” said the bartender.

“Thanks,” I said to Russ. “You didn’t have to. By which I mean you shouldn’t have.”

He flashed me a broad white smile. “I’d say it’s the least I can do for dragging you to this armpit of an establishment, but it’s a business expense.”

“Gee, thanks,” I droned. As soon as I realized I was smiling, I pushed my lips back into a straight line. There had been tension between us for weeks now. On the one hand, he did things like undermine me in front of my boss and a major donor. On the other, he had come through for me several times since the day Jenny died. He bought me perfect flowers and talked to me about Jenny—and I liked it.

Did that make me as guilty as Sanjay?

The bartender returned with our drinks. Russ took a swig of his, then wiped his mouth with his hand. “How are you doing about your friend?” he asked. His eyes were searching my face, which felt too intimate, even in the middle of a crowded sports bar.

I looked up at the television. Beefy men in suits moved their mouths as footage of two baseball teams I could not identify played behind them. “I’m managing to get through the days.” Then I took a long sip of my drink. So long that when I put it down, half of the glass was empty.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I bet this is even tougher than you’re letting on, huh?”