I gaped when she handed me three crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. She put up her hand, as if I would try to argue. I had no idea of the condition of my finances, but they couldn’t have been good. Still unable to make myself go into the study and figure out Greg’s system, I had paid the November bills with the checks I carried in my purse. I had no idea if they would clear or not.
For the first time in over a month, I went to my closet and pulled on one of my own shirts. It hung on me, draping over bony shoulders and sunken breasts. The diet of the grieving—the latest fad. I got out my straight iron and pulled my dark hair through the hot plates. I applied some mascara, foundation, and lip gloss. My reflection in the mirror appeared almost ordinary, like my previous self, but skinnier, sadder, with bigger eyes. I tried to will my lips into a smile, baring my teeth. The expression looked grotesque, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
I steered the van into the mall parking lot and surveyed the crowd, heavy for a Wednesday, but Christmas shoppers didn’t differentiate. I felt a dull ache under my breastbone, dreading the music and the shoppers, which would both be irritating and cheerful. I forced myself out of the car, for my kids. They needed a Christmas. For that matter, they needed a mother. They needed a father. The walk from the car to the front of the mall seemed interminably long. When I opened the large glass door, I was assaulted by the smell of soft pretzels and cinnamon, and the sounds of Christmas music and Santa. There are five fucking entrances in this mall, and seriously, I pick the Santa one?
I kept my head down and made a beeline to Toys R Us at the far end of the mall. I had no idea what to buy. I certainly hadn’t been paying attention to television commercials. I walked the aisles, pushing an empty cart, trapped by indecision. Electronics? Too old. Polly Pocket? Too overdone. We had about a hundred. Dolls? Too babyish. Disney princesses? Hannah was past that phase. I needed help. I needed Greg. Every day, I thought that at least once.
In the bike aisle, I was struck with a memory. Months ago, Hannah had asked Greg if she could have a two-wheeler for Christmas because Annie down the street got one for her birthday. Greg and I made eye contact over Hannah’s head with the same thought that we each had on a regular basis. Our baby is growing up. Our conversation later that night after the girls went to bed was one of the last times I felt us connect. We talked for an hour, about our lives, the girls growing up too fast, what we thought they would be like when they were teenagers. We laughed. We each had a glass of wine, and for once, the television remained dark.
I felt a ray of hope. A pinhole in my balloon of despair was letting in a small, yet unmistakable beam of light. If I could make Christmas extraordinary, fill our house with laughter and voices and magic, maybe we’d start the climb out of our black gorge of sorrow. I was so tired of feeling tired, of feeling helpless and hopeless. I looked around at the people in the store—mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, and grandparents—all vying for the best present, the favorite present, anything to extract the brilliant smile of a child. I could be one of them, if only for a moment.
“Can I help you?”
I turned to a young man of maybe eighteen and tried on a smile. He smiled back.
“I want a pink bicycle. Not Barbie or Dora or anything like that. Just pink and sparkly with streamers on the handlebars and a bell.”
He laughed and brought me around the aisle. He pointed at a bike in the rack that fit my description.
Pushing my luck, I continued, “What about a tricycle? Do you have anything similar?”
He showed me all the tricycles, and I spotted a pink one. No streamers, but it did have a bell. “I’ll take one of each.”
“Do you want me to ring it up?” he asked.
“No, I’m not done yet.” I felt jittery… excited. To have any emotion but despair felt alien, but wonderful. I had spent about half of the three hundred that Mom had given me. I returned to the aisles that mere moments before had seemed overwhelming.