I'm Fine and Neither Are You(35)

I could feel the familiar swell of tears behind my eyes. While it was a relief to know he understood my life’s load, it was overwhelming to have it recited to me. “You’re not a bum,” I said, sniffing.

“If you were me,” he said, not acknowledging my rebuttal, “would you suggest a handful of changes at once, or just one?”

My many marital failings were suddenly lit up like a series of neon signs in my head. I was a nag. I always played good cop with the kids. I failed to protect us from Lorrie’s home invasions. I broadcast my sexual disinterest with granny panties and gray bras that hadn’t been white in years. “Wait a second. How many requests do you have?”

He looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “Three.”

“Are you saying that just because I had three?”

“Does it matter? Three sounds fair. Since we’re talking terms, how long are we giving this?”

I made a face. “I don’t know. It was your idea.”

“Our idea,” he said.

“I was hoping the changes we make are permanent,” I said. But as soon as I said it, I wished I hadn’t. Because if all went well, we both had decades left to live. And if I had sex with Sanjay even twice a week, the lifetime sum of that was probably the equivalent of more than a year of extra sleep. Learning Mandarin suddenly seemed less daunting than being cheerfully intimate with my husband on a regular basis.

Whether I liked Sanjay’s request or not, I had to give him credit for being honest. Wasn’t that exactly what I had asked for?

He was about to say something when Miles, grumpy faced, appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “Hi, Mommy.”

“Hi, Daddy,” said Sanjay pointedly.

“Hi,” Miles mumbled in his direction. He walked over to me and buried his face in my shirt. Ah, he was still such a peanut that I wanted to cry. If Stevie’s behavior was any indication, he would soon have little need for me.

“Sweetheart, it’s early. Why don’t you go back to bed?” I said.

“Can I watch a show?” he asked, ignoring my suggestion. “And can I have pancakes for breakfast? Please? ”

I looked up at Sanjay. “We’ll talk about this more later?”

“Sure. But I have to ask—at what point do we take a step back and assess whether this plan is damaging our marriage or actually working?”

“Damaging? This could only be good for us.”

Sanjay was about to take another sip of coffee, but stopped short and looked at me over the rim of his mug.

“What?” I said.

“Nothing.” Still staring at me, he took a drink, then said, “I just hope that’s true.”





FOURTEEN

When Stevie and Miles were very young, I remember thinking that the segmented, highly scheduled days coupled with sleepless nights turned time to molasses. The period following Jenny’s death recalled that glacial pace; the week after her memorial service might as well have been six as I waited to hear from Matt. It was a fine line, respecting his privacy without letting Cecily drift too far. But my patience finally ran out, and I called to ask whether I could see her. Matt agreed and asked me to come by after work on Monday, two days after Sanjay and I had discussed our lists.

For all my anticipation, I stood there like Cecily was a spotlight beaming at me in the dark when she opened her front door. What did one say to a child who no longer had a mother? I had once been that child. Somehow this did not help me find the right words.

“Hi, Cess,” I finally said. “How are you doing?”

Her face was a mask, static and unreadable. “Hi, Aunt Penny. I’m okay.” She was wearing a pair of too-small cat-print leggings and a faded pink dress with a kitten wearing large sunglasses printed on the front. The outfit had been her instant favorite when Jenny had bought it for her two years earlier. That she was wearing it now said everything her expression had not.

Suddenly I did remember something. After my mother left, everyone treated me like a china doll that would shatter from the slightest jostle. All I wanted was for people to act like they used to—back before I had been left behind. This, at least, I could do for Cecily.

“It’s great to see you,” I said. “Can I come in?”

She nodded and led me to the kitchen, where Matt was pulling groceries out of a bag. He looked even more exhausted than the last time I’d seen him. When he saw me, he stopped and walked across the kitchen. He paused just before he reached me, almost like there was a force field between us. I leaned forward so he could air-kiss my cheek like he usually did.

He hesitated before taking my cue. “Hi, Penelope. Good to see you.”

I couldn’t tell if he meant it, but I couldn’t fault him for that. I was still alive, which was probably another reminder that Jenny was not. “You, too,” I said.

He turned back to the groceries and retrieved a bottle of maple syrup from a bag. “Where does this go?” he muttered, looking around with bewilderment.

Was he really so clueless, or had Jenny never let him help in the kitchen? “The fridge,” I said. “Though the cupboard is fine, too, if you plan to use the whole thing in the next couple of months.”

“Thank you. I guess I have a lot of things to learn now that . . .” He turned his attention to the groceries without finishing his sentence.