Mother of All Secrets(9)
Chapter Four
Friday, October 2
“’Cause, like, God forbid he empty a freaking dishwasher!” Kira lifted a finger into the air to hold her place in the conversation while she took a healthy slug of wine. “I am literally one handed at all times while holding Caleb, so it takes me like forty-five minutes to empty the damn thing. Not to mention the fact that I’ve seen him use a fork, put it in the dishwasher, and then three and a half minutes later take out another fork. So he is producing more than his fair share of dirty dishes. How does he think the clean dishes make their way back into the cupboards? Magic?”
We’d only been at the Viand, an upscale diner on Eighty-Fifth and Columbus, for about fifteen minutes, but we were already on our second glass, and by some miracle, all three babies were sleeping in their strollers. We’d chosen the Viand (the same Viand of the epic brownies) because we figured it would be relatively quiet at this time and there was a little alcove perfect for the strollers by the bar. Also, they had a generous pour and a very respectable wine selection.
“I swear, when I was working,” Kira went on, “Jack was actually way better about making an effort to divide household labor. Now that I’m on maternity leave, he thinks that I have all this time to pick up his dry cleaning or whatever. He actually referred to me being ‘off work’ the other day. Um, not quite! If this is supposed to feel like a vacation, I want my money back.” Kira worked in book publishing, in the kind of job that had her not only reading hundreds of manuscripts a year, but also constantly entertaining booksellers, going out to dinners with authors, and attending book launch events. She’d confided in me that, though she absolutely loved her job, she couldn’t imagine doing it now that she had a baby, and wasn’t sure when—or if—she would return.
Selena took a sip of her Chablis. “It sure as hell isn’t vacation. Cameron really does ‘try’ to pitch in, but he’s always like, ‘What can I do to help?’ and I’m like, ugh, why do I have to be task manager? Look around, dude! Do you see something that’s messy? That’d be a good place to start! But at the same time, I don’t want to be too snarky when he asks, because I do want him to help. So basically, I treat him like a child and explain things ever so patiently. And this”—she held up her glass with a smile—“is why I drink.”
I nodded with genuine understanding. Both of their grievances sounded way too familiar. “Tim is convinced that Clara doesn’t like him, which is of course ridiculous, and his solution is to basically just politely give her space until she changes her mind. But this strategy doesn’t exactly help me when I want to do stuff like, I don’t know—shower?” I was nearly done with my second glass. I knew I needed to slow it down, as Clara would need to feed again before too long. But I suddenly felt so much better, so energized.
“Jack does a lot of that, too,” Kira said. “He’s like, ‘You’re just better at this stuff than I am.’ And I guess I am. Maybe women are in general. Just more equipped to care for these tiny humans.” She shrugged and glanced down at Caleb, who was still sleeping, sucking his paci rhythmically.
“We’re not, though,” Selena said, suddenly serious. “Or, if we are, it’s only because we don’t have a safety net. The doctor puts the baby into our arms when it’s born, and from that moment on, we’re the first line. We rise to it because we have to. Not because it’s intrinsically easier for us. I hate this idea that we’re in charge and the dads are just the assistants. Oh my God, the other day in the park, Cameron was holding Miles in the baby carrier, and I swear, every person we passed was giving him congratulatory ‘What a great dad’ looks. Like, it’s his kid, too! Of course he should be holding him! No one hands me a freaking medal when I tote him around all day, that’s for sure.”
Kira and I both nodded quietly. Selena’s words sat heavy for me. Every day for the last three months, I had heard this little voice in my head saying, You’re responsible for this human, so don’t screw it up. Also, you chose this, and it’s a freaking blessing, so stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’re a woman—you’re supposed to be good at this. This is your job. Your job. Your job. It wasn’t a kind voice. But I didn’t know how to make her shut up.
“Okay, I have another one.” Kira broke the brief, weighty silence, then paused to drain her glass with gusto. “Anyone else’s husband so damn loud? How did I never notice this before? He stomps around the apartment like he’s auditioning for freaking Riverdance!” Selena and I both burst out laughing. “Honestly,” she said, “I’m shocked the neighbors have never complained.”
“So true,” I said. “Even the way Tim turns on a light switch is enough to wake the baby. He literally slams it with his fist. Like it’s a jukebox and he’s John Travolta in Grease. It drives me crazy! I never even noticed it before we had Clara.” But as I joked, a blaze of guilt lit up my stomach, because I knew that, for all my husband’s noisy light switch usage, or the fact that he’d been a bit slow to warm up to his new role as a father, he was a much better person than me. Much. For reasons I tried hard not to let myself think about.
In the midst of our laughter, all three of our phones buzzed with a text from Vanessa to our group chain. The text read simply Hey all, but there were three little dots to indicate that she was still typing.