Muddled
September 11, 2002
The sun is setting on the way to my last pit stop of the day. The sky is burnt orange, and the air is thick with the smell of a thousand backyard barbeques. As I enter the neighborhood in Walnut Creek that Kurt now calls home, I scan the faces of all of the seemingly happy suburban families enjoying the last days of summer. I see proud fathers washing their cars and squirting their children as they ride by on their bikes. The kids who aren’t on bikes are tending to their lemonade stands and hopscotch games. It’s total suburban utopia. The scene makes me forget about graveyards and Muslim terrorists, and for a split-second I almost forget about what happened just two weeks ago and why I’m so mad about being here.
Rounding the corner to the house, I see the mothers. They’ve come to recognize my black Land Rover, and when they see me pull into the neighborhood, they cling a little tighter to their small children and give me a sympathetic courtesy nod. As much as I always wanted to be a pretty suburban soccer mom, complete with all the suburban bells and whistles, these women make me think otherwise. They’re always out here, doing absolutely nothing except drinking Starbucks coffee and what looks like gossiping about each other. Truthfully, I’d love to punch one of them in the face. At least tending to their wounds would give ‘em something to do for a few hours.
This kind of neighborhood is sooooooo not where Kurt wanted to be, but he made the move for her. I pull into the driveway, put the car in park, exhale, and then let out an exhausted sigh. The last time I was here, so much bad happened. Yep…my latest Chrissygan was a doozy, and it spawned a question that I pray to all that’s Holy remains unanswered for the rest of my life. I can’t know the truth. It’d fill the big gaping hole in my heart with a big shame-filled mass and I might never recover.
When I open my car door, it hits the white picket fence that surrounds the front yard, and I let out a defeated laugh wondering if he put it up to hurt me. I was the one who always wanted one of those things, and he knows it. It makes me think of that damn Porsche and I laugh again. But, you know what? Regardless of his intentions for the fence, I’m glad it’s here. It makes it safer when she plays outside.
Most of her favorite things are already on the porch -the new Barbie suitcase, The Dora the Explorer backpack and her Berenstain Bears fishing pole…and I’m wondering what the hell he expects me to do with the pole. Like, does he really think I’m going to go down to the fishing hole to drop a line in? Even after all of this time, does he still not know me? Shaking off the irritation of the pole, I get started loading everything into my trunk. It’s better to do it before I ring the bell. Since this all started, it’s been an awkward transition, and now, thanks to my latest Chrissygan, it’s a million times more awkward. Just when I slam the trunk of my car shut, the front door opens.
He’s holding her hand, and although I hate to admit it, it’s just about the sweetest vision imaginable. From the moment he got the word, he’s wanted to protect her. Would’ve made my life a lot easier if that wasn’t the case, but he has every right to the grip he has on her, and I’d never do anything to yank it away…not even after what happened just a few weeks ago. Doing my best to hide the big gaping hole in my heart from her and the contempt I have toward Kurt for contributing to its existence, I plant a huge smile on my face.
“Hi sweetie! Did you have fun at Marine World yesterday?”
“Soopa doopa fun!”
In classic carefree Kurt style, he chimes in with, “We sure did. Would’ve been more fun if you were there!”
Looking at him like he has a lot of nerve for saying that since he knows perfectly well I’d rather electrocute myself than go to Marine World, I hiss “Right, cuz I like that place so much.” They’re the first words I’ve spoken to him since that morning, two weeks ago.
He gives me a look that says, “C’mon, not in front of the kid.” I shrug my shoulders and say, “It’s okay, Kurt, we have our own fun time!” Then, poking her in the belly, “Like, at the mall when we’re shoe shopping…when we’re at the movies…when we’re at the studio doing big girl yoga!”
She lets out a giggle and I’m comforted knowing I’ll have that sound around me for the next five days, until the next exchange happens. After I have her buckled safely into the leopard print car seat that Kurt mocked me for spending over two hundred dollars on, I turn to grab the last of her stuff, doing my best to ignore his presence.
“Is this how it’s gonna be from now on, Chrissy?”
“I already told you, I don’t have anything to say to you, unless it concerns her.”
“Would it have been this way if you didn’t get caught?”
In the harshest whisper I can get away with so as to not alarm the little one, “I guess we’ll never know the answer to that, will we?”
Grabbing the car door handle to get in and get away, he touches my hand and says what I already know to be true.
“What happened wasn’t my fault, you know.”
Ignoring his attempt to get me to open up, I keep the conversation focused on her.
“Just tell me how it went the last two nights.”
“Great.”
I look at him like, really? He realized the goof the second he made it.
“Oops! Sorry, I forgot everything can’t be “great” all the time. Honestly though, everything went fine. She slept through the night, no nightmares or scary thoughts. Her appetite was ferocious, and it was fun…I promise, we had a fun time, Chrissy. I think we’re turning a corner.”
I reach out to grab a stuffed animal from him. Instead of handing it over, he hangs onto it as he asks, “So how’d it go for you the last two nights?”
“I think you know exactly how it went.”
When I grab for the stuffed animal, he gently takes hold of my finger and says, “Why don’t you just stay for dinner. C’mon, I feel bad about what happened. I’ll even set out a nice big bowl of chips and salsa, and I won’t care if you devour the whole thing and ruin your appetite. I promise, Chrissy, I really don’t care what you eat now.”
How did this happen? Four years after I had an affair, three years after I moved into my cottage, two years after we’re officially divorced…we’re parents.
I yank my finger away in frustration at that thought and at his invitation.
Smiling from ear to ear, “So, what? No chips and salsa then?”
“No. None now and none later. None, ever. And besides the obvious reason why that’s the case, I need to get her home. I like to keep her on a schedule. You know that.”
“Just so you know…I’m glad you forced me to set up a schedule for her over here. I think it helps with the transitions.”
“Right.” Chucking a little, “Like you really think that.”
Looking deep into my eyes like he never did during the fourteen years we were together, he says, “You were right about that and so many other things.”
When we were together, I would’ve craved a compliment like that from him, but experiencing it so long after I thought the dust had settled between us just makes me feel…stagnant.
“Honestly, I don’t even understand how you could ask me to stay for dinner. Didn’t you listen to anything I told you the other day when I stormed out of here?”
“C’mon, Chrissy! You know me, I try not to listen to most of what you have to say!”
And there it is, his amazingly perfect smile. I think one of the soccer moms with nothing better to do than stand around on the street and watch our exchange just fainted.