I'm Fine and Neither Are You(59)

That evening, Stevie and Miles were cooling off in the living room watching Planet Earth .

“Is there room for one more?” I asked, plopping down between them on the sofa.

“Mommy!” said Miles, not taking his eyes off the screen.

Stevie was slightly more attentive. “Are you okay?” she asked, patting my leg.

“Yes, sweetie,” I told her. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you and Matt weren’t getting along,” she said.

The child didn’t miss a thing. Matt had returned exactly when he said he would. Though he acted as though our conversation had never happened, Cecily howled in protest over having to leave early, which in turn left me in tears. He and I exchanged chilly goodbyes without making promises or plans to get together again. As I watched them drive off, I had to shake off the thought that I might not see Cecily again anytime soon.

“I guess we’re not,” I admitted. “But it will blow over.”

She looked doubtful. “Really?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I hope so,” I said. I put my arm around her. “Which episode are you guys watching?”

“The one about mountains,” said Stevie.

“Ooh, I haven’t seen that one.” I settled back into the sofa cushions. On the television, two snow leopards were traipsing across a mountainside. The narrator introduced them as a mother and her nearly grown cub. The pair wrestled playfully, and then the mother began to groom her daughter. Though the cub was nearly as large as her mother, said the narrator, she had more to learn before going off on her own.

The kids and I watched, rapt, as the older leopard protected her child from two male leopards during mating season. While successful, she was wounded in the process, and as she limped into a cave with her daughter behind her, the narrator speculated it was possible neither would survive; the cub still needed her guidance to navigate mountain life.

As Stevie gripped my arm, I found myself blinking back fresh tears.

Then the mother snow leopard appeared again. The video had been taken several months after her injury and, no longer wounded, she was crossing a cliffside with ease. In later footage, her daughter—healthy, alive, and now navigating the mountain alone—followed her mother’s trail. Separated by just a few miles, the two would live parallel lives, said the narrator, but it was likely they would never see each other again.

“Mommy, why are you crying?” asked Miles as the credits began to roll.

“I’m not. I’m . . .” I sniffed. “Okay, I’m crying. Mommy’s a little sad.”

“Because of Auntie Jenny?” said Stevie.

“Yes,” I said. Because of Jenny, and Matt and Cecily, and my father, and my marriage and—well, almost everything, I realized as the tears continued to fall.

Stevie and Miles were suddenly climbing on top of me, hugging me with their little arms.

“It’s okay, Mommy,” said Miles, wiping my face with his hand.

“Cecily still has her dad,” said Stevie.

Funny how memories can come flying out of nowhere; I found myself thinking about the time in elementary school that Nick had beaten up an older student. The kid had been bullying him, along with practically everyone else. The principal called me to his office to get Nick because the school couldn’t reach our father, and Nick had insisted he needed me.

I didn’t remember what I’d said to the principal, but I must have made a convincing provisional parent because Nick hadn’t been suspended. Our father never did find out about that day. We were relieved at the time. In hindsight, it seemed like less of a lucky break.

“You’re right, peanut,” I said to Stevie. “Cecily does still have her dad.” And I still had mine.

If only that were enough.





TWENTY-THREE

I was putting the finishing touches on a report—which is to say I was combing through Christina’s social media feeds, trying to deduce whether her selfies were a tiny bit sad now that she and Sanjay were no longer in contact—when Russ came barreling through my door.

I looked up from my computer. “Russell, I would greatly appreciate it if you would knock before barging in.”

“Whew! Someone needs a drink. Lucky for you, happy hour started five minutes ago.” He was referring to the outing our colleagues had planned. Monday was the new Friday, they said. Even if that was true, I didn’t want to spend a fake Friday with my coworkers. I liked them just fine, but I would have liked them better if I didn’t see them more often than my own family.

“Two drinks, then,” said Russ, who had mistaken my silence for a refusal.

“You know how I feel about that stupid hot wings place,” I said weakly. Yolanda’s comment about face time was still fresh in my mind, and I already knew I would go. As she had pointed out, I needed to prove I was a team player—one tiny, flame-orange chicken wing at a time.

Russ lowered his voice. “You do know we’re up for review next month. No one’s forcing you to organize the white elephant party, but seriously, whether you go to these things makes a difference.”

Netting millions in donations made more of a difference. Or at least it was supposed to. “I know, Russell. I’ll go for a drink, but only one,” I said, even though I hadn’t cleared it with Sanjay. “Give me a minute.”