On Grace (9 page)

“Okay, I won’t say no. What’s your brilliant idea?”

“I think you should come out to L.A. for a weekend. It will be fabulous. We can go shopping at Fred Segal, get massages at The Peninsula, and eat at fabulous restaurants. The works. Say yes, Gracie. It will be good for your soul, and it will give you some distance so you can sort out your feelings.” I hear the phone in her office ringing in the background.

“Thanks, Eva. I do appreciate the offer. I just think now isn’t a good time. But I’ll think about it. You sound busy. Go work. I’ll talk to you later. Thanks for being a good sister.”

“I’m all you’ve got, so I’ll just have to do,” she says with a tinge of sadness. “Okay, I understand. Take care, Gracie. I love you.”

I could barely say goodbye as her last few words register in my mind. Eva
is
all I’ve got in the sister department, and she has been since I was fourteen and she was seventeen. Our middle sister, Danielle, died when she was sixteen. Her boyfriend, Brad, was driving her home from a high school football game when their car was struck by a drunk driver who was going sixty in a thirty-mph zone and ran a stop sign. Brad sustained serious injuries but healed. At least his body did. He was never the same, and from what I hear from mutual friends, he still isn’t. My sister was ejected through the front window, and she died instantly when her head landed on the curb.

I can still remember the doorbell ringing late in our house that night and hearing my mom scream “Oh my God!” when she saw the two policemen at the door. The next few days are a complete blur in my memory. All I can make out in my mind are a steady stream of people, the phone constantly ringing, people coming softly into my blue-flower-wallpapered bedroom where I had retreated, and the horrific sound of my mother wailing. Up to that point, I had only heard my mother cry. Wailing is a completely different sound. Like an animal mother in the jungle who has just lost her baby to prey.

Our family was always close, but there had been alliances. My mom and Eva had that oldest-daughter thing going for them. Plus, Eva was everything my fancy boutique-owning mother could crave in a daughter: she was girly and she lived for clothes. My dad and Danielle were tight because she loved to play poker and go to the horse races with him. I had a good relationship with both of my parents, but my older sisters had them first.

I was closest with Danielle. We had long conversations, first about how we should do Barbie’s hair, then about who was our favorite on
Charlie’s Angels
, then about boys, and everything in between. And she taught me a lot, too: from how to tie my shoes when I was five to more advanced things as we got older like how to practice kissing boys with a pillow and how to hug your friend and smoke a cigarette at the same time without burning said friend’s long, 1980s, Aqua Net-saturated curly hair.

Danielle’s death severely affected everyone in my family in different ways. I just became a very sad girl. I escaped into my friendships and alienated my parents when I probably needed them the most. They were just too clingy then. Now, as a mother, I realize they were trying not to lose me. But back then, I thought they just didn’t understand me. I started smoking pot with some of my friends who were into that. But I never lost myself. I always did well in school, I kept up with my dance classes, I respected my parents’ curfews and rules. I just had this foggy outer self that I turned to now and then when I didn’t want to be safe Grace.

Everyone at school knew what had happened, and most kids were afraid to talk to me. Elise Connors, who was in all my honors classes but was more of an acquaintance, actually told me that she didn’t want to bring up my sister because she didn’t want to remind me of it. She didn’t realize that I was reminded of it every minute of every day.

When I went to Penn and started to develop new relationships, I felt the need to tell close friends about Danielle. I didn’t think people could truly know me unless they knew about her. Cameron was really supportive, asking to see photos of her, and saying all the right things when the tears and memories would start rushing in.

Now that I’m older and time has softened the acute pain, I mostly miss Danielle in times like this. Times of crisis when I know her advice would have been better than my mom’s and Eva’s. I realize I can’t really know that, because she was only a teenager when she died. But a profound relationship with a sister is like no other relationship, and we just knew each other so well. Sure, my mom and Eva know me, but they can be a little “on” for my taste sometimes.

I check the time, wash my plate, and head outside to greet the bus. Lorna calls to me as I make my way to the corner.

“Grace, I’m so glad I saw you. I feel like I haven’t seen you the last couple days. Anyhoo, how is school going for the boys so far?” she asks. I know she’s genuine, but there’s just something too damn perfect about her that drives me nuts. She’s like overly tasteful monogrammed powder room hand towels ironed just so. An impeccably matched outfit with no stains. A proper dinner party where nothing goes wrong.

“It’s been going great, thanks so much for asking. How about for the triplets?” I ask.

“Stupendo! It’s their last year in the elementary school, and they’re starting to act a little tween-y if you know what I mean,” she says, buttoning up her pale yellow cashmere cardigan. It’s eighty-one degrees outside.

I
don’t
know what she means, but I decide not to engage.

“So, Grace, as you know, I’m chairing the winter book fair this year, and I thought you would be interested in taking on a leadership role now that you have all this time on your hands.”

I didn’t. I’m not. I hopefully won’t.

“
I think you would be just perfect as the third-grade class chair! It’s not too much work, just weekly meetings, frequent communication with the third-grade parents, and then working the three full days that we have the book fair in the gym, plus setup the day before and breakdown the day after,” she says, leaning into me as if we’re on the same team.

Act with grace.

“Oh, Lorna, it’s so nice of you to think of me, but I’m so sorry. I’m not going to be able to.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’m flattered you asked, but I’m actually going back to work part time, and I just wouldn’t be able to give the book fair the time it requires or deserves. I’m so sorry.”
Victory!

“You’re working? That’s great, Grace,” she says, pinching her lips. “What do you do?”

“It’s not confirmed yet, so I’d rather not say, but it’s a writing job. I’ll let you know just as soon as it’s all straightened out,” I tell her, as I crane my neck to see if the bus is coming.

“You know, I’m a writer, too. I’ve written a darling children’s book. Someday I’m going to have it published. Harvey is friends with a fellow from one of the big publishing houses in the city, and he says it won’t be a problem at all.”

“That’s great, Lorna. Good luck with that,” I say kindly as the bus pulls up. “I’d love to read it someday.”

“Oh, that’s nice of you, Grace. But I’m keeping it secret until it’s published.”

You do that.

“Hey, boys,” I say to Henry and James, and we walk across the grass into our home.

“Hooray, woo hoo, it’s Friday!” Henry shouts. “Screens!”

“Screens!” James shouts along.

Darren and I decided that we needed to limit our kids’ screen time (computer, Nintendo DS, TV) or we’d end up with those kids they refer to on the news when they announce the latest obesity statistics and how it’s all related to kids spending more time in front of screens rather than outside in the great outdoors—where they can be abducted. So we decided that the kids can only use screens from Friday afternoon when they got home from school to Sunday evening. Yes, I let them watch TV once in a while on weekdays when I have to get dinner ready or something like that. But they know the rules and don’t push me too hard for TV time during the week. Come Friday afternoon, though, and it’s a mad rush for the screens.

Next thing I know, the two boys are sitting on the family room floor side by side, backs against the wall, staring at their screens while their little fingers move nimbly on the arrow keys. Whenever I see them in a “brotherly love pose,” as I like to call it, I get a
whoosh
in my stomach—a feeling of contentment. That I’m doing okay at this mom thing.

With the boys happily engaged in mind-numbing entertainment, I start working on dinner. As I assemble the ingredients for burgers, salad, and oven-baked potato wedges, I think about Lorna’s offer. Not from the standpoint of even considering accepting it, but more because of what it represents in the mom world.

As I chop lettuce, I fantasize about the stay-at-home moms going on strike. Picketing all the school book fairs, hospital benefits, and canned-food drives that, if it weren’t for their unpaid labor, would never happen.

“Movie night,” Darren belts out as he walks in from the garage.

“Yay!” the boys shout in unison as they drop their DSs and run to give Darren a hug.

Every Friday night after dinner, we all change into our pajamas and cuddle on the couch to watch a movie and eat popcorn. The boys love it because they get to stay up late and eat in the family room. I love it because of the safe feeling I get when every member of my family is in the exact same place. It’s comforting. And because I’ve been feeling unmoored by recent events, I’m looking forward to movie night to bring me home.

“Mom, we forgot to go to the library this week for our movie-night movie,” James reminds me.

“I know. I totally forgot. Just choose one from the video case.”

“Okay,” they say and run off to the family room.

“How was your day?” Darren asks, trying to be normal, as he washes his hands in the sink.

“Good,” I say, trying to be normal as well. If we’re going to work on this thing we have to start somewhere. Plus, I don’t want the boys to feel like anything’s off. “I spoke to my mom. You’ll be happy to hear that Nina Roseman is gung ho about us working it out.”

“You told your mom?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?” I look at him, my fist reflexively going to my hip. I guess now’s not the time to mention that I also told Cameron and my sister.

“I just thought that we would work it out without publicizing it first.”

“
Publicizing
is a bit strong, don’t you think?” I try not to sound too sarcastic and return to setting the table. “This is a pretty big deal in my life, Darren, and I need to discuss it with the people who know me best so they can help me get through it.”

“Okay, Grace. That’s fair. Do what you need to do. I guess I just don’t want everyone to know.”

“Everyone won’t know. I have no desire to advertise this. I’m just as humiliated as you are.”

He sheepishly comes near me and tries to hug me. I let him. My first instinct is not to let him touch me. But I also for a moment just want to be comforted by the person I love. It breaks my heart to think that that’s the same person who is responsible for my needing to be comforted in the first place. He pulls away, and I see tears in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Grace.”

“I know.”

The boys run back into the kitchen and Henry is trying to pull a DVD out of James’s hands while James shrieks.

“James wants to watch
Toy Story
which I’ve seen a million times, and it’s just a stupid cartoon,” Henry says emphatically.

“Hen, again with the stupid. Not in this house. And what do
you
want to watch?”

“
The Game Plan
.”

“Oooh, I love
The Game Plan
.” I never get bored of this movie that stars Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson as an NFL quarterback who is reunited with the eight-year-old daughter he never knew he had.

“I know, Mom, that’s why I chose it,” Henry says sweetly. I’m not quite sure if he really means that or if his little brain is clever enough to know that saying that might tip the scales in his favor.

“James, what do you think?” I ask, kneeling down and looking him in the eyes. “We haven’t watched
The Game Plan
in a while. Does that sound good to you?”

“Fine,” he says, crossing his arms and doing a little angry stomp that makes me laugh.

“Great. I like your cooperation. And you’ll get to choose the movie at the library next week.”

James smiles and bounds into Darren’s arms, while I give Henry a kiss and thank him for being so thoughtful. Whether he was or not, I like to give him positive reinforcement as much as I can to counter the large amount of yelling I regrettably bestow upon the poor child when I lose my patience with him.

I tell the boys to wash up for dinner, while I open a bottle of sauvignon blanc and pour a glass for myself. As everyone sits down at the table, I announce, in my best chairman-of-the-board-commencing-a-meeting voice, that I have good news.

“As you all know, the job that I was really excited about at the
Westchester Weekly
fell through,” I say lifting up my glass.

“Booo,
Westchester Weekly
!” shouts James.

“Thank you, James, for your support,” I say. “Well, today, I met a woman after my yoga class. That’s right, I said
yoga
class, and she has decided that I am clever and brilliant and may be perfectly suited for a writing job that she is interviewing me for on Monday morning!” I say excitedly. I’ve been open with the boys about my job situation. I think it’s important for them (or me?) to know that I can work and find fulfillment in a career just like Darren can.

“That’s great, Grace!” Darren says, smiling and clinking my glass.

As the boys discuss their favorite scenes from
The Game Plan
(“Fanny’s Burgers make kids fat and give them gas,” for Henry and “Thinnamon, I’m allehgic to thinnamon,” for James), Darren asks me all about the job. Listening to the boys talk kindly to one another, drinking wine, and having a civil conversation with Darren is all a little too intoxicating, in more ways than one.

As I place the boys in between Darren and me on the couch, there is a warm feeling in our family room that night as four pairs of feet rest on the coffee table, and a family seems whole once again.