My Life as a Doormat (in Three Acts) (24 page)

“I know Cinco from a class I attend.” I redirected her back to her own problems. “Look, Elisabeth, the children have never stayed with me. I'm not sure they'd be comfortable here.”

“It's just for one night. Kids adapt. Besides, I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate.”

Cinco stood and walked to the door. “Leah, I'd better get going. It was great talking with you. I'll see you at class.”

I didn't want him to leave. I felt the urge to reach out and grab him, but instead I just nodded and let him go.

Anger crept to the surface, but I stifled it, not without some difficulty. Elisabeth held up a sack. “Everything they need is here.”

“But . . . what do I feed them?”

“They're fed. In the morning, whatever you have is fine. I'll pick them up by ten, okay?” She bent down and hugged each of them, then left. The door shut, and six cranky-looking eyes stared up at me.

I clapped my hands together. “All right. A sleepover at Auntie Leah's!” Cedric belched, Danny rolled his eyes, and Amelia started crying. I wanted to do the same.

It was 2:00 a.m. and the apartment was finally quiet. But not dark. I'd had to leave the hallway light on for the boys, who I put in my bed. They insisted the three of them could sleep together, but I wasn't sure what was appropriate, and after Cedric gave his sister the third wedgie, I figured she would be thankful for the opportunity to sleep away from the boys. But at age three, sleeping on the couch was like a death sentence. She kept insisting she would roll off, and I kept insisting the two-foot drop wouldn't kill her. Finally I made a bed for her on the floor near the couch. (It was only after this that I realized I would've been without a place to sleep if she'd taken the couch.) Then she wanted her stuffed animal that her mother had apparently forgotten to pack. The only thing that I had remotely resembling a stuffed animal was my overly padded bra. She cuddled it in her arms and fell asleep immediately. I just prayed she wouldn't get too attached and want to take it home.

I laid on the couch. My eyes were shut, but my mind was jumping like a live wire. After absorbing the shock that I had three small children sleeping over because my best friend had apparently been caught having an affair, my mind settled into a review of my evening with Cinco.

Every word that poured out of the man's mouth was like the best wine I'd ever tasted. I felt myself be more real with him than anyone I'd ever known. He drew it out of me. He wouldn't sit by and let me be passive. He dug deeper, wanted to know more.

We'd talked a lot about what made him tick. He described what he called the spiritual awakening of his twenties and how it made him fiercely loyal to the causes of Christ. And that, he shared, was where his passion came from, as well as his fervent drive to help people know the truth about God. He made sure I understood that this passion was what made him a magnet for controversy. I sat and listened and, with each word, realized how different we were in so many aspects of our lives.

I sat remembering my own spiritual awakening. Church had been a private matter for my parents. Church didn't really come home with us, and saying grace before dinner was the extent of our religious activities there. But one day the words I heard in church stopped being boring and started taking on meaning. They tantalized me with something more. I sensed it was something that could change my life. When I chose to believe in Jesus, my family smothered the budding flame by dismissing my enthusiasm as a fanatical phase—one that would soon pass. When Dad compared me to Kate one evening, I decided to keep that side of my life to myself.

So what made someone like Cinco declare it to the world and someone like me keep it concealed so as not to rock anyone's boat? I mean, my dad still didn't know I'd become a Republican. I was too scared to tell him, yet my political values had never lined up with his. I could remember as early as eight disagreeing with him about the environment.

I rose to go check on the boys. Their arms and legs were tangled with each other and the covers, but they were sleeping soundly. Amelia hadn't moved an inch. My eyes were burning like two matches, and the last thing I remembered was climbing back onto the couch, rolling over, and thinking more about Cinco.

I jumped off the couch, my heart thumping against the wall of my chest. I tripped over the pillows on the floor and yelped. Amelia wasn't there! And then I realized what woke me was the phone ringing. I lurched to my desk to check the caller ID. It was Elisabeth.

“H-hello?” I choked, racing into the bedroom. The boys were just waking up. No Amelia.

“It's me,” Elisabeth said with a tired voice.

“Hi. Uh, how are you?”

“The kids okay?”

“Fine,” I said, running back into the kitchen. Amelia wasn't there either. I glanced at the lock on the front door, and it was bolted. I looked at the windows in the living room, and they were still locked. She had to be here somewhere.

“They sleep okay?”

“Yes.” I ran to the bathroom, but the lights were off and it was empty. I wanted to collapse, but amazing myself, I kept the chipper ring in my voice. “So, how are you?”

“I need you to keep the kids a little longer, if you could.”

I stopped in my hallway. “Longer? How much longer?” “I don't know. Things are bad here, though.”

“How bad?”

“Bad.”

I closed my eyes. I had so much work to do on my play. How was I going to work with three kids here?

“Elisabeth, it's just that—”

“Henry has left. He packed a suitcase last night.”

My eyes flew open. Amelia. Where was she? I checked the coat closet. “I'm sorry, Elisabeth.”

“I just need to sort through some things, okay? I can't do that with the kids. They're going to ask where their dad is, and I need to just . . . I just need some time.”

I sighed. Should I break it to her now or later that I'd lost her daughter? “Okay, sure. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you!” Elisabeth said.

I leaned against the wall. This was going to be great.

Just great.

“I'll call you later,” she said, “to check on how everything is going. Oh, and Leah?”

“Yeah?”

“Just FYI, Amelia has a tendency to hide under beds, so if you think you've lost her, look under there.”

I laughed as if that were the most absurd thought imaginable. “Okay. I'll talk to you later.” I hung up the phone and rushed to the bedroom, dropping to my knees like a soldier at boot camp. I lifted up the covers and there, peering back at me, were two big brown eyes. I rolled to my back and tried to catch my breath. When I looked up, another set of brown eyes hung over the top of my bed, looking at me. It was Cedric, and he simply declared, “I'm hungry.”

After futile attempts to feed them oatmeal, biscuits, and eggs, I finally gave them each a Snickers bar and was done with it. I turned on cartoons and ate cold pizza, chewing through the tough crust like it represented every problem I had in life.

Today was Friday. Tomorrow I would have lunch with Edward. I couldn't believe I was even thinking it, but I was. I was thinking of breaking up with him. The thought had never entered my mind once in the past two years. We never fought. I was never unhappy. He was never unhappy. Life was predictably good.

And then something happened, and I still couldn't identify exactly what it was. But I could definitely blame flaming pancakes.

In all honesty, though, I couldn't imagine saying the words. How could I sit there and explain to him that I needed more flaming pancakes in our relationship when he was agreeing to have lunch on a Saturday?

My thoughts were interrupted by Danny bellowing from the living room, “I'm bored!”

I had not one clue what to do. I loved children. The concept of children. I supported children being born, and I never stared at one throwing a fit at the supermarket. My parents never let me babysit when I was growing up, because Mother feared I'd gossip about family secrets.

I honestly didn't know what to do with them. And I hadn't been one for praying about trivial problems in my life. My theory was that if I had time to pray about trivial problems, I wasn't doing enough to help God. Though that philosophy appealed to me, it somehow didn't seem healthy. I hadn't taken the time to find out for sure.

And I didn't have time now, either, because there was a knock at my door. The kids jumped up, yelling, “Mommy!” and Danny opened the door before I could get there. The “mommy” chant stopped, and their jaws hung open. I didn't do much better with my jaw.

There, standing in my doorway, was Cinco. Holding two huge sacks of toys.

“Hey guys,” he said, looking down at the kids. “Leah asked me to pick up a few things for you.” He walked in and set the sacks in the middle of the living room. The kids scrambled to their knees. I laughed out of sheer astonishment and gratitude.

“I can't . . . I can't even speak!” I said.

“It sounded like you were caught off guard last night. I thought these might come in handy.”

“You went to the toy store?”

“Nope. Grocery store. Those sacks are filled with all those toys they have on the cereal aisle. Don't you remember begging your mother for those stupid two-dollar toys? She'd never let you have 'em, and yeah, they're stupid toys, but we always want what we can't have.”

I glanced over at the kids, who were holding up Slinkys, plastic baby dolls, cars, toy guns, and more.

“You have literally just saved my life. How can I ever repay you?”

“Coffee would be nice.”

“For you and me both,” I said. He followed me into the kitchen. I switched on the coffeepot and then turned to face him. I couldn't stop smiling at him, and he couldn't stop smiling at me.

This went on for the next hour.

Chapter 20

[She gasps.]

I
t was Saturday morning and I wanted to cry. Not just whimper. And a simple weeping would understate the problem. I wanted to cry that kind of cry that comes from deep in the throat and makes you sound like the girl from
The Exorcist.

The Slinky had ended up tangled in Amelia's hair. The car lost three out of its four wheels. The baby doll lost its head, which made Amelia freak out and the boys die with laughter. And all the other toys were now being used for things toys aren't supposed to be used for.

Yesterday I'd agreed to another day. I didn't know why. I was going absolutely bonkers as it was. But Elisabeth had sounded so desperate. In the midst of it all, Edward had called. “Let's meet at Billy's.”

“Billy's? I've never heard of it before.”

“It's at Twelfth and Darcy.”

I was trying to keep the kids hushed so I wouldn't have to explain myself. There was no time for protest. Billy's it was.

I managed to trick the kids into distraction by claiming they couldn't touch a bowl of junk I had on the kitchen counter. Danny insisted he would be careful, and pretty soon all the kids were curious about the bowl. I took advantage of the situation and decided to give them a speech about trust. Before I knew it, they were on the floor digging through the bowl of odds and ends that I would have never thought could come in so handy. The junk gave me an hour of peace.

So I took the hour to write. J. R.'s words continued to torment me, and I decided once and for all I would write in a conflict scene. A
big
conflict scene. How corny was it to believe that my plays had some strange prophetic power. I'd been writing my own demise by believing in that nonsense. Did I really think I could write a play without conflict? Sure, it was a little daunting since the play was more personal than my other plays, but once and for all I decided it was time I got over this ridiculous omen and wrote a good old-fashioned conflict scene.

That precious hour passed and I had built up to the conflict. The kids were getting restless, but luckily it was almost time to go drop them off with Elisabeth and meet Edward.

Elisabeth had called and agreed to make the exchange at Sixteenth and Darcy, since it was about halfway between our residences. While trying to get the kids ready and make sure that Amelia didn't have an “accident” (Danny had explained one to me in vivid detail), my mind continued to ricochet between thoughts of Edward and thoughts of Cinco. I tried to think as logically as I could through every implication. For instance, how exactly would I bring home to my senator father a man that had to be introduced by a Spanish numeral? Then again, how exactly could I go on for the rest of my life in such a predictable state? My mind bounced from one question to the next, and I zoned out long enough for the kids to “redo” my hair in a way that would've guaranteed me a makeover on any morning show.

When it was time to leave, I wiped their dirty mouths and hands, put on a little makeup, and then managed to get them to the subway station. The ride took fifteen minutes, and those kids took every second they had to cause some kind of strife. They fiddled and bickered and rubbed everyone the wrong way. I had people give me the evil eye, as if they were my own children and I'd done them a horrible disservice by being their mother.

Finally we got off the T and walked two blocks to Sixteenth and Darcy. I bought the kids each a large sucker and waited near the convenience store for Elisabeth, hoping I wouldn't accidentally run into Edward. He wasn't fond of Elisabeth, and I knew that if he found out I had kept her kids for two days because of her indiscretions, I wouldn't hear the end of it.

As I leaned against the building, waiting, I watched their three tiny faces become stickier and stickier. Did they have any idea why they'd been passed off to Auntie Leah for two days? Did they understand their lives would never be the same? That Daddy was probably never going to come home and live with them again? It broke my heart, and I had to hold back the tears.