Other People's Houses(33)

It reminded her of his first smile at six weeks, that moment when the beauty of nature revealed itself by producing a smile at exactly the right moment to prevent parents from taking their irritating little blob and exposing it on a hillside. Hello, parents, said the smile, look, I am an actual human being, I will make all this exhausting trouble worth it. And your heart pulled a total Grinch and expanded three sizes. Now, looking at her son doing comedy bits he’d learned from his other mother, the woman she loved so much, she thought there might come a time her ribs wouldn’t be able to hold it all.



* * *



? ? ?

Anne was sitting with Kate, later that same evening, reading to her. They were lying next to each other on Kate’s bed, Anne on her tummy, propping the book in front of her. Kate was curled up, holding a knitted bunny, lifting her head whenever Anne said there was a picture.

“She’s naughty, isn’t she?” asked Kate. They were reading Junie B. Jones.

Anne smiled. “She’s just a kid. She’s not really naughty, she’s just full of beans.”

“Would you be mad at me if I cut the dog’s hair?”

“Well, we don’t have a dog, so I would be confused rather than mad. You’d have to go get a dog and then cut its hair.”

Kate giggled. “It’s a lot of trouble.”

“Right.” Anne leaned on one elbow to free her other hand to stroke Kate’s hair. Kate gazed at her, still amused by the idea of the dog. Anne could see Charlie in Kate’s bone structure, but saw herself in her daughter’s eyes. Each child was such a blend of history, of influences forgotten generations ago, but saved in DNA to confer height or a sense of humor or green eyes. Anne suddenly thought back to the aborted conversation she’d tried to have with Richard that day. She’d called him several times, but he’d never answered, and only texted back at the very end of the day that he’d been monitoring exams and hadn’t had his phone. Did she want to meet up? Was Charlie away? He wanted her.

No, she’d texted back, we’ll talk tomorrow.

I love you, he’d said, and she’d deleted the conversation.

“I love you, Mom,” said Kate, snuggling into her shoulder. “Keep reading.”

So, Anne turned back to Junie and the unfortunate Tickle, and tried to pretend her biggest failure as a parent was not getting her kids a dog whose hair they could cut.





Fifteen.


The next morning Lucas had a fever, so Bill texted Frances not to pick him up. Thank God for cell phones. Frances frequently listened to Ava bitch about not having one, watched her classmates all sitting with their heads bowed over their devices like penguins with their eggs, and wondered if they were destroying an entire generation’s ability to have a regular conversation. But then something would happen—she’d be able to coordinate an entire carpool, or arrange last-minute babysitting, or order something from Amazon—and she would sigh at her own reliance on her shiny little oblong. She wondered if parents watching their kids picking up books back in the eighteenth century had worried that they were going to rot their minds. And then she wondered if she was too fat, and should she download a tracking app of some kind.

“I’m sorry, Anne, did you say something?” She was suddenly aware she’d been gazing at Anne as her kids clambered into the back of the car and that it was possible the other woman had said something to her.

Anne smiled, although she looked anxious and uncharacteristically messy for once. “Yeah, but it was only good morning.”

“Good morning,” replied Frances automatically.

There was an awkward pause. Fortunately, the kids helped by starting a squabble in the back over who sat where, so Frances was able to turn away from Anne to take care of it. By the time she was ready to pull away from the curb Anne had already gone back inside.

“Mommy didn’t say goodbye!” wailed Kate.

This was really A Thing. Kids who seemed mature and capable of many irritating things were thrown to the floor when their parents failed to say goodbye. To discover a parent had left the house without the correct handoff could ruin a whole day. Proof, if proof were needed, that children were masters of magical thinking. Frances knew better than to breeze through it. She started to dial Anne’s number but then just punched her seat belt and got out, jogging up Anne’s path to knock on the door.

Anne opened it, holding her phone and looking worried. “What?”

“You forgot to say goodbye,” Frances said, already turning and heading back to the car.

“Shit, sorry.” Anne followed her and there was a sweetly sentimental goodbye scene, as if she was putting her kids on the Kindertransport, rather than sending them to public school for a few hours.

Eventually it was done, everyone felt emotionally ready to face the day, and Frances was able to pull away. Ava had gone temporarily blind from excessive eye rolling, but apart from that, all was well.



* * *



? ? ?

Anne went back inside, determined to end the affair she’d been having for six months, and making a mental note to not forget to say goodbye in the future.

Charlie was still wandering around upstairs, so she took him a cup of coffee.

“Thanks, babe,” he said, pulling her close and smelling roses in her hair. “What are you doing today?”