over Skype. She says any day now...” She felt her eyes tearing up.
“Oh, honey, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Cricket said, pulling a packet of tissues from her purse.
“No, it’s not even that,” Jen said, taking a tissue and dabbing at her eyes. “It’s...just, things are kind of a mess right now.”
“Is it Ted’s job search?” Cricket asked sympathetically.
Jen hesitated. She hadn’t told Cricket about Sid’s death, or about Sarah’s note. She didn’t like to make her problems public, even to her best friends. “Yes, I guess,” she said, settling for a partial truth.
Cricket nodded sympathetically. “When Brad was laid off a few years ago he was unbearable. I finally made him rent office space to get out of the house. We pretended he was ‘consulting.’” She smiled as she made air quotes. “Luckily it was only for a few months or we’d be divorced.”
“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Jen had heard rumors that Brad was seeing a woman he’d met on one of his accounts while he was supposed to be at that rented office. “Just a blip, that’s all.”
As Jen watched Cricket drive away, she had the strange sensation that she could be watching herself. Sometimes it felt like she and her friends were all the same, well-preserved Calumet housewives in expensive sunglasses and recent-model SUVs.
Jen closed the door and wondered how many other secrets they kept from each other.
* * *
Thursday afternoon, Jen decided to bundle Teddy into the car and pick Livvy up from school so she wouldn’t have to take the bus. Livvy had been hostile and distant all week, and the gesture was meant to be conciliatory, to let her daughter know she was trying.
As she inched forward in the car-pool line, she caught sight of Livvy with her cluster of friends. Standing a few feet away was a gangly boy with shaggy black hair and a threadbare backpack repaired with duct tape. Sean—Livvy’s first boyfriend, the one who had broken her heart over the Christmas holidays. He was talking to a girl in pink UGG boots and a pink knit cap, his hands jammed in his pockets, and Jen had a momentary urge to get out of the car and shake him, to demand to know who he thought he was to hurt her daughter’s feelings, an unspectacular boy with a dusting of acne on his forehead and gauge earrings he was surely going to regret in a few years.
Livvy got into the car without sparing Sean a glance. She said hi to Teddy and lapsed into sullen silence.
“How was your day?” Jen tried. “Anything interesting happen?”
“My day was like every other day of my life,” Livvy muttered. “So no, I would say that nothing interesting happened.”
“Well, mine was fascinating. After I worked at your school, I did your laundry and made you a dentist appointment and picked up your sweaters from the cleaners.”
“Good for you.”
Jen tightened her grip on the steering wheel and pressed her lips together. They rode the rest of the way in silence. When she turned onto Crabapple Court, she realized she’d been holding her breath. She exhaled with relief as the garage door glided up, and she saw Ted’s BMW parked in his side of the garage. So he’d come home from wherever he’d been all day.
Jen had barely turned off the car when Livvy opened her door and bolted into the house. Teddy started whimpering to get out of his car seat, shoving at the restraints, and Jen hurried out of the car to help him. But even as she worked at the tangled strap, his protestations turned to frustrated tears.
Even though Jen could swear she was doing everything right—even though she was trying just as hard as she knew how—the more she strove to connect with her family, the further she seemed to drive them away.
* * *
Jen set her purse on the hall table and headed for the kitchen. She could hear Livvy’s footsteps racing up the stairs, and she winced, waiting for the slam of her daughter’s bedroom door.
Jen filled a plastic cup with snack crackers and got Teddy settled in front of the TV, his tears forgotten. She felt guilty using Dinosaur Train as a babysitter, but she just needed a few minutes to change into yoga pants and put her hair in a ponytail before she started dinner.
Jen went upstairs to her bedroom, steeling herself for whatever Ted had done to the room now. There he was, on his knees by the wall under the windows. It wasn’t really all that bad. He had put a drop cloth on the bed and the nightstand, and the lengths of baseboard that he’d pried away from the wall were stacked neatly. But there were several gouges and scrapes in the plaster. And there was a long, thin scratch in the finish on the walnut-stained floor.
Jen pushed her hair behind her ears as she looked around the room. It’s fine, it’s fine.
Ted set down his pry bar and got to his feet. “Hey, hon,” he said, a note of guilt in his voice. “I had to go to the lumber store to order a few trim pieces. Thought I’d get these baseboards taken care of.”
“Uh-huh. Listen, I was wondering, maybe you could watch Teddy while I get changed and start dinner.”
“Jen...” Ted ran his hand through his hair. “All I’m doing is trying to get this thing finished. I know you’re tired of the mess. I got that message, loud and clear, and I’m just trying to get it put back together.”
Frustration mixed with fatigue in his voice, and Jen tried not to rise to the bait. “I appreciate that you’re trying to get some work done up here. I just wonder if you could have done it while Teddy was at preschool instead of going...wherever you went.”
“I just told you, I was at the lumberyard. And a couple of errands.” Ted’s face darkened with anger. “Look, I don’t think it’s the end of the world if our kid watches half an hour of PBS. I guess that makes me a crappy parent on top of everything else, but I wish you’d stop and think once in a while that maybe your way isn’t the only way to raise a kid.”
“Could you keep your voice down?”
“Why? A little disagreement’s normal, Jen. It’s not going to break us. It’s good for the kids to hear it once in a while, instead of growing up thinking everything has to be perfect all the time.”
Jen flinched. “If you really want to go there, I’m not going to have our daughter listening,” she said, hurrying to shut the bedroom door.
“Look,” Ted said carefully, waiting until she came back. “I’m sorry if that came out wrong. But there’s no need to get hysterical about every little thing.”
Hysterical, Jen repeated in her mind. Was that how her husband saw her? She was trying to think of how to respond without sounding defensive when there was a knock at the bedroom door.
She and Ted both froze. Ted wiped his hand across his forehead, muttering softly.
“I’ll get it,” Jen said.
As she crossed the room, she thought about how the smallest reminder of one’s children could make a person feel guilty even when there was no rational reason. The air, charged with tension seconds earlier, was now weighted with wistful failure.
Jen
