Lauren stood at the sink, rinsing the fresh--picked strawberries, blueberries, and gooseberries. Daltrey’s giggle resonated from upstairs as eight--year--old Ziggy and five--year--old Tosh chattered away. They were both named for reggae musicians, of course, and had the long dreadlocks to match. Although Lauren kept them clean, Nessa couldn’t help imagining swarms of flies around their heads.
“Why don’t the three of you come over for dinner?” Lauren said. “Mac can throw some veggie burgers on the grill and we’ll make a night of it.”
Lauren’s husband, Mac, was an IT genius putting together the computer systems at the new National Bio and Agro--Defense Facility that was being built outside Manhattan. His giant brain intimidated Nessa a little, but he was a nice enough guy, if a little introverted.
He and John had had a cordial relationship, but Nessa hadn’t mentioned yet to her neighbors that John was no longer living here, and she had no intention of doing so now.
“Thanks, but I’ve got to get a blog post up tonight. I’m way behind.”
Lauren turned off the water and dried her hands before sitting at the kitchen table. “You’ll want to eat these berries today or tomorrow,” she said. “Because they’re perfect right now. But the ones in the jars will keep for a year.”
“Thank you, Lauren,” Nessa said. She didn’t want Lauren to do anything for her, but it was impossible to stop her, even though Nessa remained aloof and impersonal. Lauren was the most domestic, industrious, artistic person Nessa had ever known. Lauren did most of the talking when they were together, which worked out well. Still, Nessa missed having real friends.
But having real friends required intimacy, and intimacy required honesty. And real honesty on Nessa’s part would dismantle the carefully constructed fortress that was her life.
In addition to gardening, canning, quilting, spinning, and pottery, Lauren homeschooled the boys. They were constantly going on field trips to museums and exhibits. Ziggy and Tosh went around all summer without shirts and grew brown, unlike Daltrey, who Nessa slathered in sunscreen any time they went outside. This drove Lauren insane.
“It’s a racket,” she said. “You’re putting chemicals all over your child, who then is deprived of vitamin D.”
“Oh, he gets that in his fortified Sugar--Coated, Honey--Covered, Chocolate--Infused, Artificially Colored Sweetie Flakes,” Nessa said.
“It’s not funny,” Lauren said.
“It’s a little funny,” Nessa said.
Lauren finished the berries, then called for her boys, who came stampeding into the kitchen with Daltrey hot on their heels.
“It’s half--off day on Tuesday the twenty--first at the splash park,” Lauren said. Ziggy and Tosh surrounded Daltrey and asked if he wanted to go swimming. His head nod was so enthusiastic, he nearly fell over. Daltrey faced her and traced a circle over his heart with a flat hand, ASL for “Please,” his big eyes begging.
Nessa tried not to grimace in resentment at Lauren. Why couldn’t she have asked Nessa before the boys came in? She was always doing this sort of thing, forcing Nessa to say “yes” to things she’d rather not do. But in spite of this irritating habit, Lauren was the only mom Nessa spent any time around. She’d stopped taking Daltrey to the playground because she couldn’t stand the inane mom talk; the endless complaining about how hard mommying was, about how little their husbands understood; the endless cannibalizing of their children’s lives, served up for the entertainment of the other moms, a justification for their existence, to make up for their own nonexistent lives. It was such an identity thing for these women.
They were the ones who posted the creepy mom memes online—-like A son will hold your heart forever—-all this borderline stalker talk: “My children are my heart and soul, my liver and pancreas. I’m incomplete without them, blah, blah, blah.”
Nessa had been horrified when she’d learned she would be having a boy, because apparently something happened to a woman’s brain when she had a son. She became a servant, hopelessly tied to the boy’s wants and needs. She poured all her energy into this male life, the only one in existence who, for at least a short time, only had eyes for her. These women believed they could mold their sons into the men their husbands could never be.
She’d been relieved to discover she could love her son but not have that weird, desperate longing for him, to serve his every need.
Lauren appeared to be the same way with her sons. That’s why Nessa could tolerate her better than most. And Lauren was interesting. She did things, didn’t just follow three paces behind her sons as if they were demigods.
“Okay,” Nessa said, “we’ll go to the splash park.”
Daltrey and the boys held hands and danced in a circle. She couldn’t help but smile. He’d probably forget before the day came.
“How about we pick you and Daltrey up at nine on the twenty--first for the splash park?” Lauren said.
“Okay,” Nessa said. But she already had an excuse ready. She’d call Lauren the night before as soon as Daltrey was in bed and say they had sore throats, and she was so sorry but they wouldn’t be able to go after all, darn it to heck.