Other People's Houses(45)

“I help.”

“When? When was the last time you did a load of laundry?”

“The other day, before my trip to San Francisco.”

Frances snorted. “Yeah, you went through and picked out a basket of your own clothes and washed them. You didn’t do anyone else’s, you just took care of your own shit.”

The fourth glass was nearly gone. The dogs were backing out of the room. Other men might have raised their voices, but Frances’s husband lowered his. “At least I take care of my own shit. You put everyone else first so you don’t have to look at your own life. You’re way too busy to go to the gym, or get a part-time job, or even get a fucking haircut. We haven’t had sex for nearly six months, we haven’t gone out to dinner, we haven’t had a conversation that wasn’t about the kids, we haven’t done anything that wasn’t to do with the mundane quotidian details of existence. It’s so fucking boring, Frank, it’s all so fucking boring.” He tipped the bottle but it was empty. “At least Anne Porter generated a little heat and light while she burned her fucking house to the ground.”

Frances turned and walked out before she said something she would regret, and her husband almost certainly wouldn’t remember.



* * *



? ? ?

Despite her deep irritation with Michael, Frances still had things to do. She pushed the argument to the back of her mind, where it wedged itself in a mental closet full of such things, and went to give Lally a bath. Ava was sulking in the bedroom to her right, Michael was sulking in the kitchen downstairs, and she was going to hide in the bathroom and form her daughter’s hair into soapy devil horns. Fuck them.

Lally, who was completely unaware that anything was going on with her mother at all, said, “So, will Anne still be Kate and Theo’s mom?”

Frances nodded. “Yes, you can never not be someone’s mom, once you’ve started.” That wasn’t the best way to put it, but it was what she had at that moment. “Once your baby is born you’re its mom, and that’s forever.”

Lally had contrary information. “But what about babies who are adopted? They get new moms.”

Frances sighed inwardly; she should have seen this coming. Fuck Michael, he was putting her off her game. Her knees hurt from kneeling next to the bath, so she shifted to her butt. Much better, although now she could feel soapy water seeping through her pants. “Yes, but the lady who was pregnant with them is still their mother, she just isn’t the person who’s going to be their everyday mom. And the person who adopts them is going to be their mom or dad just as much as if they had been pregnant with them, right?”

Lally wrinkled her nose and looked up from under her horns. “Two moms? Like Wyatt?”

“No,” said Frances, running the sprayer water, making it the right temperature. “Turn around, baby, and tip your head back.” She started rinsing the little head, shielding Lally’s eyes as best she could with her left hand. The sprayer was broken and one clogged hole directed water down her sleeve while another generously watered her left nipple. She ignored them both. “Wyatt has two mommies at the same time. Adopted children have an original mommy, who they often don’t know very well, but sometimes they do,” this was getting confusing, “and another mom or dad, who adopted them and is their everyday mom or dad.”

“Soap! Soap!” Lally jerked her head forward and stuck her hand back for a towel, which Frances handed her. Once she’d dealt with that, Lally tipped her head back again, trustingly.

“So even if someone has two dads, like Molly”—a kid at school—“they still have a mommy somewhere.”

“Exactly.” Frances wondered if she could just leave it there. Had she given enough information to satisfy, and not too much? She felt herself guilty of over-information all the time, explaining too much, going into too much detail. Michael was better at this. When a younger Ava had asked where she came from, and Frances had opened her mouth to start explaining the intricacies of sexual reproduction, Michael had said, “New York,” and Ava had nodded and walked away.

“It was like the joke, right?” Michael had said, reacting to Frances’s laughter. “You know, the kid who asks his parents where he’s from, and they go into all the details about sex and pregnancy, and then he says, ‘Oh . . . Billy’s from Chicago.’” Frances had just shaken her head and leaned over to kiss him. She wished he were in the bathroom to handle this line of questioning, and not downstairs being a self-pitying dick.

As Lally climbed out of the tub, and was wrapped in a hooded towel that made her look like a dinosaur, she said, “But if Kate and Theo’s mom and dad get divorced, then she won’t be their mom anymore, right?” She thought for a second. “Or will their dad not be their dad?” She looked suddenly worried. “Or do they have no mom and dad at all?”

Frances picked her up, which was getting harder, but Frances wasn’t ready to stop. She carried her down the hall, holding her tight, and sat down with her on their big bed.

“OK, here’s how this works.” She paused. “Do you want chocolate milk?” Lally shook her head, not ready for cocoa yet. “Do you need pajamas?” Lally shook her head. “OK, so, you know that Daddy is my husband, right?” A nod. “And I am his wife, right?” Currently, she thought, assuming I don’t stab him in the throat later. Another nod. “OK, so a husband and a wife can get divorced, but if they have kids and are also a mommy and a daddy to someone, that is forever.”