“Whatever,” he muttered, starting to turn, Pippa moving with him.
“Not whatever,” I called and did it firmly, getting their attention again. “I mean that, kids. I want you home tomorrow night for dinner.”
“We gotta, we’ll be here,” Auden snapped.
It wasn’t much, but I’d take it.
I looked to Pippa.
“Sweets?” I asked.
“Gotta do it, I’ll do it,” she mumbled.
That was the same, I’d still take it.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
Pippa looked to her brother and rolled her eyes.
Auden looked to his sister and shook his head.
They both then delayed no further and disappeared down the hall.
Not long after, they reappeared.
But only so they could leave.
*
The next night, I made dinner, one of their favorites, prime roast of beef with my fresh-made horseradish sauce, scalloped potatoes, haricots verts and homemade rolls. I topped all this with one of Olympia’s favorites, my decadently moist carrot cake with its thick cream cheese frosting.
I had plenty of time to do this considering both my children left very early for a teenage Saturday and didn’t reappear until they arrived, precisely timed, thus meticulously planned, so neither of them had to be with me alone, at six o’clock.
Since I hadn’t yet replaced the dining room table, we ate off my new dishes, sitting on the sectional.
Conversation was stilted, mostly muttered complaints that our dining room table was gone as was an end table so they had to lean to the floor to grab their drinks.
They still sat with me and I took that, telling myself it was progress, minor progress but at least it was something.
After, when I’d hoped they’d lounge on the sectional with me and watch a movie on our new, huge, expensive, all-the-bells-and-whistles TV, they in unison took their plates to the sink and began to head to their rooms.
“Kids,” I called, slowing their progress but not stopping it entirely. “I cooked,” I carried on. “I think it’s fair you clean.”
“We’ll do it later,” Auden replied before being swallowed by the darkness of the hall.
Pippa said nothing, just disappeared.
I fought the urge to refill my wineglass.
Instead, I got a book and didn’t read. I just sat on my sectional, the book held open in front of me, and waited for them to come out and again leave the house.
They didn’t.
This surprised me.
Surprised me and made me hope.
If they were going to stay, maybe I could convince them to do it with me while watching a movie. I’d take surly and I’d endure it, telling myself it wouldn’t be hard since I’d take it while all our attention was diverted with a movie.
In order to make this attempt, I put my book aside, climbed the stairs from the sunken living room and headed down the hall.
Their doors were open. Their lights were on.
And I wasn’t even at the door to Pippa’s room before I heard her talking.
At her tone, which was snide, I stopped and listened.
“…have to wear sunglasses, this comforter is so bright and so butt ugly. I cannot imagine why she dumped my other stuff and got me this. I hate it. She’s so incredibly crazy.”
My feet moving for me, taking me in the opposite direction to where I wanted to go, they positioned me in the frame of her door.
My beautiful little girl, growing into a big one, noticed the movement there, her head jerked my way, and her eyes, my eyes, came right to me.
They rounded in horror.
They melted in dismay.
Then they instantly hardened in ire.
“Listen much?” she snapped.
“Don’t forget the dishes, baby,” I whispered.
She glared.
I reached in, caught the handle, and closed the door.
My innards tattered and dripping, my feet moved me to my son’s room and he, too, was talking.
I didn’t bother to eavesdrop. I leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and watched him pace his room. His back and alternately side my way, he didn’t notice me.
“…everything, Dad, she sold everything. Our whole house, she sold all of it. Says she did it for charity. Totally crawling up the butts of everybody in town. Probably because she wants the town not to think she’s a complete whackjob. But she did it selling our whole house for some freaking junior boxing league. Like she gives a crap about junior boxing. She doesn’t give a crap about anything, and obviously not our home because she got rid of everything.”
He jumped when he caught my movement in his peripheral vision as I leaned forward and grabbed his door handle.
His eyes came to me, his face paled and went slack, and I held his gaze, mine watery, as I closed his door.
I went directly to my room and closed mine.
Then I went right to my fabulous daybed that sat on its thick pebbled rug by my gorgeous freestanding fireplace and I sat on it, back to the side, knees to my chest, arms around my calves, eyes across the room to the sun setting on the sea.
My children hated me.
They hated me.
It took everything I had, absolutely everything, but when I burst out crying, I did it silently.
*