In the morning, Jasmine and I walk over to the studio. It’s cold and overcast, not a great day for being outside, but great for artwork. She needs to stay off the iPad. Her obsession with tsunamis and bombs and natural disasters is simply a focus point.
My creative brain is itchy, and I set aside the wallpaper painting and pull out some gessoed boards, smaller, twelve by twelve. I let my hand hover over the rolling container of acrylics, and feel turquoise and yellow calling me. I squirt some of each on the board and tilt my head. What do I want? A triangle. A square.
Jasmine is worried about change. Stephanie is making a good move for her life. It’s a great opportunity, and it’s good for Jasmine to see her mother choosing big steps, being brave. London will be an amazing adventure, even if it’s challenging at times. I want Jasmine to be able to enjoy it—and maybe even anticipate it. So often I’ve taken the safe path. I want more for Jasmine.
While I was sleepless last night, I tried to think of ways to help her, and I came up with a couple of projects we can do together.
In a vase on the main table, the dahlias Ben brought last week are starting to fade, dropping petals in pink and peach and white, and it gives me a little pang. He hasn’t texted me today. Have I messed things up?
But if a simple no to an invitation messed it up, what kind of connection would it be? I sweep the petals into the trash, irritated with myself. I’ve always been terrible at relationships, loving too much, loving the wrong people. It’s like I’m tone deaf in that arena, but I really don’t want to be that person now. Haven’t I grown up after all this time? Learned my own value?
I like him, and I’m mad at myself for that, even. Why should I expect it to be a big thing?
Except that it seemed important the other night. It felt like something real. It felt like I could trust him.
Focus. Jasmine needs me.
I move the board to a drying area. “So,” I say, spreading out a big piece of white butcher paper, “let’s do something.”
“Okay.” She leans on the table. Her hair is pulled back into a scrunchie, the curls boiling out in a puff at the back and escaping in tendrils by her ears and nape. Baby hair lines the edges of her hairline, pale against her warm golden skin. “What is it?”
“Did you look for the best things about London on your iPad last night?”
A shrug. “Yeah.”
I give her a pink Sharpie. “Write one of them down.”
She chews on her lip. “I know what you’re doing.”
“Yeah? What am I doing?”
“Trying to change my mind.”
“I am. Because I really, truly, in my heart of hearts, think you are going to love it.”
“Really?”
“Really.” I smile and pick up a red Sharpie. “They have double-decker buses. You could ride on top.” I draw one, with a girl waving from a window.
She giggles. “They have a big old castle,” she says, and draws a square building with turrets.
“Ah, yes. There’s more than one. The king lives in one, and one is an old, old thing from ages ago, and it has a dungeon.”
“There’s a king?”
“Yep.” I draw a face with a crown.
“Is he handsome?”
“Not especially.” I draw a teapot and a tray with little cakes. “You can have afternoon tea, with little sandwiches and cakes. I will make sure we do that when I come visit.”
Jasmine stares at the paper. “I miss my mom,” she says. “I don’t like thinking of her so far away.”
“Aw, sweetie,” I say and gather her into my arms, kissing her head. “Shall we call her? I’m sure we can reach her right now.”
“Okay.”
I pull out my phone and dial Stephanie’s number from the video app. It rings on the other end, and I pull Jasmine close, turning us to face the window so the light will be good.
Stephanie appears on the screen, and she looks beautiful—rested and clear eyed. “Hi!” she says. “What are you two up to?”
“I miss you, Mommy!” Jasmine cries.
“I miss you, too, but guess what? I found us an apartment today, which they call a flat, and I think you’re really, really going to love it.”
“Can I see it?”
“I’m not there right now, but I can go there tomorrow and show it to you. It’s on a high floor, so you can see the river and a big park, and there’s a little garden on the roof.”
Jasmine nods.
“Steph, you look great,” I say, hand on Jasmine’s back. “London agrees with you.” My heart settles to see her looking like this, as if she’s looking forward with pleasure instead of dread.
“I love it here,” she says. “I feel like I fit in. In so many ways.”
“I’m glad. We’re doing fine here.”
“What have you been doing, Jasmine?”
“I stayed overnight with Suze and she taught me to play blackgammon.”
“Backgammon maybe?” Steph smiles, but she narrows her eyes. “What was Nana doing?”
“I was—”
“She had a date!” Jasmine cries. “With Ben.”
Stephanie’s eyebrows rise, but her smile is genuine. “Really, Mom? I love it.”
I try to shrug it off. “It was nice.”
“Hmm. You’ll have to tell me more. I like Ben. He’s a good guy.”
“He is.”
A cluster of noises arise on the other end, and Stephanie looks over her shoulder. “Sorry, I have to go. My partners are here to pick me up for dinner.”
“Dinner in the morning?” Jasmine asks.
“No, sweetie. It’s six in the evening here.” She smiles. “Blow me a kiss.”
Jasmine complies, sending handfuls of kisses toward her mom, one after another. “Love you!”
“Love you more,” Stephanie says, blowing kisses back. “Bye, Mom. Love you, too.”
The phone goes dark. I feel enlivened but also slightly depressed by her glow. Her clear happiness. She isn’t coming back, ever.
And I want that for her. I want what makes her happy. I deeply, truly do.
But where does that leave me?
“Do you feel better, sweetheart?” I ask.
“I guess.” She heads for the wide, low desk where she’s been working and settles in. For a minute, I watch her, and I think she’s trying not to cry, but I won’t go and try to insert myself into that personal grappling with pain. It’s good for her.
And yet. God, I’m going to miss them! Both of them!
I wander to the window and look out at the sea, trying to identify the strange feeling in my heart. Am I sad that Stephanie is settling in so easily? Why would that bother me?
The waves are high today under a low, dark sky. They roll in as if on a highway, and crash with dramatic violence against the rocks. I raise my eyes to Suze’s house and see her on the balcony with another person. They’re just standing there, drinking coffee, but there’s an air of intimacy about them that makes me think—
And then I realize who it is.
Joel.
A strange, ancient thing twists my heart. Joel. All this time, Joel. I think of the way they looked at each other in the kitchen that first day.
I think of him burning down the church.
It was always Joel.
I say aloud to myself what I’ve always known. “They were in love. The baby was his. Suze has been lying to me for a long, long, long time.”
And I let her because I didn’t want to know. A crumpling pain crackles through my lungs. What have we done to each other all these years? What have we done to ourselves?
THEN
HELLO, DARKNESS
Suze
I knew I was pregnant by the time school started, but I lived in such a state of terror that I ignored it, and I didn’t get to see Joel until the first day. We saw each other in the hall, and walked straight toward each other, like we were magnets. His face made everything in my soul feel better. All the worry and danger and grief drained away at last for a second, and I saw the same thing on his face. A little smile, his eyes shining. He grabbed my hand and looked over his shoulder and then dragged me outside into an alcove and kissed me like he was drowning and I was air. I kissed him back like I was a plant and he was the sun. We connected our souls and our hearts, and life suddenly felt like it might be okay.