The Things We Cannot Say(95)

“So, some mix-up, then?”

“Yes, definitely,” I say. “Zofia seemed to think Emilia was assuming I was after her inheritance or something and trying to protect her family but...” I pause, then admit reluctantly, “My gut says that’s not it, to be honest.”

“Well, sometimes you have to trust your gut,” Mom says quietly. “And, Alice, given you’re in Poland despite my...subtle disapproval...” I snort, and I hear a smile in her voice when she continues. “I do suspect you already know this but I’m going to remind you anyway. You must always remember that sometimes knocking on doors just isn’t enough.”

“What else is there in a case like this?”

“Sometimes, if you want something badly enough, you have to smash the damn door down.”

“If I was going to make a Julita Slaski-Davis motivational poster, that’s exactly what the tagline would be.” I smile to myself. Mom laughs.

“Damn straight, daughter. I’m at the hospital so I’m going to go now. We’ll talk tomorrow?”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Even after Mom and I say our goodbyes, I’m thinking about her advice. At home, I automatically apply my mom’s level of determination to accessing help and support for Eddie, but when it comes to connecting with the man I share a bed with, it’s a whole other story. Why haven’t I forced the tension with Wade to a head in the last few years? I was definitely raised to address things straight-on, so I’m not quite sure how I managed to find myself in a situation where so many things remain unspoken in my own home.

I run a bath, buying some time to think before I place a call back to Wade. When I’m there at home, in the day-to-day grind, I never have the space and time to try to be an impartial observer of the dynamics of our family, but now, I start to reflect on the patterns we’ve fallen into. I think about the resentment I feel toward Wade—that awful feeling that’s muddled up with guilt and confusion because I’m in this role where I’m somehow the domestic kingpin of our family, but not at all the equal financial provider I always assumed I’d be—somehow both a reluctant dependent and the family chief operations officer. I think about the way I’ve let that tension fester for so long. I’m not at all a timid woman, so why haven’t I been more assertive at home? Why haven’t I forced the issue of Wade’s disconnect with Eddie? Why haven’t I demanded an equal partner in the parenting that needs to be done?

I’m terrified of what I might lose if I do.

Maybe I cling too tightly to the things I can control—the routine I put in place for Eddie—the tasks around the house I like to be done just so—because deeper and broader and wider than all of that run the things in my life I can’t control. I run myself ragged trying to control the world that exists around him, because I can’t change him at all.

I can’t fix Eddie, because Eddie is not broken. He is simply different, and he is going to be like this forever because this is who he is. This is what my life is always going to look like—probably into old age, because Callie will grow up and leave home, but Eddie will never live independently.

I haven’t grieved the life I thought I’d live, and I sure as Hell haven’t grieved the son I thought I’d get. I got right on with accepting the son I did get, which is exactly the opposing coping mechanism to the one my husband has applied to the situation.

I sink a little deeper into the bath, tears filling my eyes as I’m struck by a wave of longing so intense that it’s all I can do to stay where I am. I want to run to the airport and fly home right now and take Wade and the kids into my arms and hold them all so close that they can never slip away. Even Wade—maybe especially Wade. He and I actually need each other to achieve some kind of balance.

I can’t wait to hear Wade’s voice and to resolve the lingering tension before I go to bed. It’s 10:00 p.m. in Krakow now—that means 4:00 p.m. back home, and because it’s Wednesday, he and Eddie should be in the viewing room at ballet, watching Callie’s class. I slip quickly out of the bath, pull on the hotel robe and call, but when the call connects, it’s immediately obvious to me that they are not in the viewing room at ballet.

“Wade?” I call, surprised.

“Eddie, I love you,” Eddie echoes, surprise and delight in his tone. The phone shifts a little and his face fills the screen. He stares into the phone, bringing it too close.

Eddie looks blissfully happy—his big green eyes are positively brimming with joy. Eddie looks as if he’s just been given some kind of deliriously magical gift. Eddie looks as if my call is icing on an already pretty exceptional cake. As I digest all this, I suddenly recognize the brick wall behind him.

“Hello, baby,” I say softly. “Daddy has taken you to the train station, huh?”

“Hello, Alice,” Wade says, from offscreen. “Yes, we figured there was not much point watching Pascale at ballet so we went for a walk. Once we got onto the block near the station Eddie went on autopilot and all but dragged me in here, so I’m guessing you do this too sometimes.”

I would never take Eddie for a spontaneous walk like that. I’d never risk it. What if we ran into a situation where he had a meltdown? What if he ran off? I plan my outings with Eddie like teachers plan their excursions—I schedule things, I put them onto his visual timetable, I consider the risks, I make contingency plans.