She takes a bite of her bagel and talks tightlipped through it, pointing to the counter behind me. “Breakfast.”
There’s an Einstein Brothers Bagel box with enough food in it to feed an army, three tubs of flavored cream cheese, six bottles of fruit juice, and a large Starbucks cup. I can’t remember her ever buying food for anyone but herself. As I pour the contents of the lukewarm Starbucks cup into a mug from the cupboard and walk it to the microwave, I say, “I thought I told you to leave last night.”
She shrugs as she swallows another bite. “I fell asleep. Then I left. Then I came back. With food. Your food selection is pathetic.”
Punching buttons on the microwave, I defend, “Oatmeal is good for lowering cholesterol.”
“I hate oatmeal. It tastes like wet sawdust.”
I know she doesn’t like oatmeal. I know she thinks it tastes like wet sawdust. And I don’t care. I shake my head. “Why are we talking about oatmeal, Miranda? What are you doing here?” I ask again.
She’s picking at her bagel. Stalling.
“Daddy, what’s for—? Mommy, what are you doing here?” Kira asks. She looks confused.
I jump in before confusion takes over, and Miranda says something to make this worse. I want the answer to that question. Kira doesn’t need to be encumbered with it. “Bagels, darlin’. Pick one out and we’ll put some cream cheese on it, and eat in the living room while we watch cartoons.”
She does as I ask and we take our breakfast to the living room to sit in front of the TV and go through our early Saturday morning ritual that I’ve missed so much.
Fifteen or twenty minutes into “Adventure Time” Miranda joins us. She walks in quietly, which is unlike her, usually she’s showy and has to be the center of attention. She sits on the floor cross-legged. Kira tracks her but doesn’t say anything, and when Miranda settles, she rests her cheek back against my arm and loses herself in Finn and Jake on the screen.
All’s quiet, uncomfortably so, but still quiet until Kai and Rory join us. They’re both eating bagels, and Rory has cream cheese smeared on his lips and cheeks in the shape of a smile, the residue left after the huge bite he’s just taken. “What are you doing here?” the boys ask together. I almost laugh, because we’ve all asked her, verbatim, that same question now within the span of an hour.
We’re all staring at Miranda waiting for an answer. Her cheeks are reddening and her eyes look glassy when she whispers, “Breakfast,” and then stands and walks to the bathroom.
Rory shrugs, unconcerned, and continues to devour his bagel as he sits next to Kira on the couch.
Kai, on the other hand, looks saddened when he sits down next to me. I put my arm around him, and he rests his head against my shoulder while he finishes his bagel.
Miranda returns five minutes later. Her eyes are red.
“Thanks for the bagel, Mom.”
Kai just schooled me.
On compassion.
And forgiveness.
I’m not ready for forgiveness; the wounds are too fresh. For all I know forgiveness may never come. But compassion is something we should all be willing to show. Treating people badly in reaction to how they treat us plays into the ugliness in the world and perpetuates it. Treating people well, not in the hopes that they’ll change, because sometimes people never change, keeps our hearts and minds free from the ugliness. I’m so fucking sick and tired of feeling the ugliness.
Sometimes it takes the purity of a child to remind us what’s important.
Miranda sniffs and answers, “You’re welcome, Kai.”
So, I vow, at least for now, to deal with Miranda with caution instead of hatred. I don’t have to like her to do that.
“Miranda, can you help me take the trash out?” I need to talk to her and find out why she’s here and, most importantly, where my kids fall into her plans, because on paper, she still has full custody.
I grab the bag out of the kitchen trashcan—it’s only half full—and walk outside. She follows me down the stairs. At the big dumpster at the back of the building, I ask again, “What are you doing here?”
She finally answers. Sort of. “In California? Or here at your place?”
I lift the lid on the dumpster and toss the trash bag in. “Both.”
“In California? Looking for a job and trying to find a house. And here? Hoping I can stay until I find both of those.” She doesn’t even blink when she runs through her list. She doesn’t sound confident. She’s unsure, not at all hopeful, pessimistic. She says it like she may as well because she doesn’t have anything to lose.
I’m dumbfounded by almost every answer. I can understand the looking for a place to live part, but the rest makes no sense. “You don’t have a job? Why can’t you transfer back to the Marshall Industries office here?”
She raises her eyebrows, and there’s no pride in her answer. “Because I was fired months ago.” And before I can say anything she adds, “I lied. Blackmailed Loren. He didn’t trust me with his business after that.”
I close my eyes and shake my head. She’s like bad reality TV. “Was this before or after you married?”