Our Little Secret(42)

That was the thing about Saskia: she loved gossip. I took a swig of my lager, denting the can’s Australian flag with my thumb. “You know,” I began, “most people get married because they can’t think of anything else to do.”

HP stopped whittling the stick he had in his lap and looked up at me.

“I guess my mom only just figured that out.”

“They weren’t soul mates, she and your dad?” Saskia put her hand to her chest, sighing with an empathy I doubt she actually felt.

“There’s no such thing.”

HP laughed and shook his head.

“What, you don’t believe in true love?” Saskia looked crestfallen.

“I believe most people get together because it’s easier to fight off desolation in pairs. There’s no end to the drivel you can talk about if you have someone to bounce words off. Marriage is the easiest way in the world to stay distracted—you can literally waste hours on the couch while one of you channel-surfs on behalf of the other.”

“That’s sad,” said Saskia. “That’s a heaps dark perspective.”

“I call bullshit.” HP wagged his knife at me. “As if you don’t believe in soul mates. You talked of nothing else in high school.”

I glared at him from the padded swing seat and pushed it back suddenly. Saskia jerked forwards. “Sorry,” I said to her. Then I walked away, into the house.

HP knew what I was thinking: if soul mates are real, how can it be that Saskia and I both have the same one?

There was only one answer: one of us was lying.

Saskia disappeared between five forty-five and six forty-five every night, scurrying inside to cook for and feed and bathe and clothe and rock and soothe and sing to and settle her five-year-old. She called it the “witching hour,” Saskia’s term for Olive’s ability to turn into a purple screaming monster, although in my opinion the witching hour referred to Saskia herself, because at that time every day she was worn out. Neither I nor HP could ask her a question without having our sentence snapped short by terseness.

“Do you need any help with the . . .” I’d begin, or, “Where did you put the . . .” only to have Saskia wheel around on me with a half-chopped banana and a face on fire. After some time I caught on to the rhythms of her mood schedule and knew, like HP, that the best way to get through witching hour was to stay away. Often HP joined me.

“I thought she loved being a mom,” I muttered one evening as HP and I watched her slam clothes into the washing machine.

“She does. But it’s not easy. Everyone has their moments.”

“Every day?”

We both laughed, the way people do when they’re not saying what they really think. More and more, I realized that HP was describing their life together in terms other than perfection and paradise. One night, as I read late in the spare room, I could hear Saskia crying softly at the bottom of the stairs. HP was down there, too. I tiptoed to the landing and stood in the shadows near the top step.

“Quit stressing so much,” HP was saying. I could see the crown of his head as he crouched near Saskia’s knees. “We’ve got a lifetime of this ahead of us; it’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

“I’m never present enough. I keep losing things. I left Olive’s stuffy at the mall.”

“Again?” he said.

“Yes. We went back for it.” She sniffed. “I just can’t be all things to all people.”

“You’re doing fine. You’re an amazing mom.” He reached out and lifted her chin. “Olive’s happy and thriving. She’s doing great.”

“You’re so happy-go-lucky. I wish I was like that.”

Just as they paused in their whispering, the cell in my back pocket started to ring and I flew back into the spare room, swearing under my breath.

“Hello?”

“Darling? What’s the matter? You sound flustered.” My mother was pouring herself a drink. I could hear the flap of liquid in the background.

“It’s kind of late, Mom. What is it that you want?”

“Want?” She sipped and spoke through a wash of liquor. I could picture her lips containing the tide. “Can’t I call my only daughter for a chat? Goodness. I’m calling to tell you you’re welcome to move back here, darling, whenever you like. I’d love some company.”

My mind raced. I wasn’t ready to leave.

“Honestly, I can’t believe you sleep a wink in that house with a married couple and a child. You’ve given me a nice break, but maybe it’s time to come home.”

A break? What was that supposed to mean? I didn’t want to go back. I was fine where I was. “I don’t know, Mom.”

“If there’s some tension over there, HP and Saskia probably need some space. Because let me tell you something I’ve learned: nobody’s happy. You mark my words—nobody.”

“Have you heard from Dad?”

She didn’t answer. I could just hear her breath and the ice in her glass clinking.

“Or don’t you have any friends you could invite over for a few days?” I asked. “What happened to all the ladies from harp class?”

“It’s not . . . I don’t need company, darling. That’s not it. I just think this is the right place for you right now.”