“Jack is like that,” she said. “He loves me in a good, true way. He loves my quirks and my brokenness and even my big mouth, though I have to use that mouth often to apologize for what comes out of it.” She laughed softly. “And he makes us get it right. When we were first married and we’d get into a fight, I just wanted to get in the car and drive to Tacoma. And he never let me, the stubborn mule. I remember he would say, ‘Manda, I love you and you love me and we are in this forever. And neither of us is leaving. So we can keep arguing and being pissy with each other for the next four hours, or we can just make up now and get back to being together.’” She shook her head, laughing. “Such an accountant. Always looking for the most efficient way to get something done, even if it’s an argument with his wife.”
“You got a good one,” I said. “Other than having to teach him not to wear athletic socks with sandals, you really had very little rewiring to do.”
She snorted. “Well, he did have that phase with all oatmeal-colored clothing. Not a good choice for anyone, especially those with Nordic ancestry.”
We watched as a young family walked by, the dad pulling a little girl in a wagon and the mom struggling to rein in a golden retriever who appeared to think the leash was a polite suggestion, not a commitment.
Manda turned suddenly to face me. “All right, listen. I don’t mean to be bossy or put my nose where it shouldn’t be.”
I looked at her, confusion settling on my face. “Why not?”
She ignored me. “But I just have to say this: I think you need to work less. There. I said it.” She threw up her hands as if relinquishing a burden.
I squinted at her. “No offense, Manda, but you are repeating yourself. You have always thought I work too much.” I felt a heavy stone of self-defense settle in a familiar place in my gut.
“I know, I know,” she said, shooing the thought away with one hand. “But this time I’m serious. It’s not just that you need to work less so that you don’t develop hypertension or drop dead of a heart attack at age forty.”
I winced.
“It could happen.” She pointed with one finger at my chest. “But this time it’s different. I’m up-close and personal this time, Char. You’re not a million miles away in New York. I’m watching you this time, and I’m worried you’re just not getting it.”
“Not getting what?” I said, feeling my ire poke its head out of its dormant state. “I’m getting exactly what I’ve worked for, Manda. After many, many years of sacrifice.” I heard strains of Margot’s voice in my words, but I pushed on. “Of course I’m working too hard. Of course it’s a lot of hours.”
Manda nodded. She spoke quickly, each word chasing the next. “I just wonder if you’re going to miss out on the really, really great things in your life just because you are on this locomotive and you can’t seem to slow it down, even for a potty break.”
I looked up at the water view, which didn’t seem to inspire the same sense of calm it had moments before. “I will not apologize for who I am.”
“Oh, give me a break,” Manda said, slapping the bench with one hand. “You are not your job, Charlie. You are a talented, bright, beautiful woman who is missing her whole life because of her job. But you are not your job.”
“Not fair,” I said, jumping up and starting down the path again. Manda jogged behind me to catch up.
“What’s not fair?” she said, her voice creeping up in volume and pitch. “I’m trying to talk to you, Charlie. I think you’re not being fair by not using your listening ears.”
“Whatever,” I said, upping my speed to a powerwalk. “You’re allowed to identify yourself as a mom. That’s your job, and you wear it like a badge. In fact, you complain about it all the time.” I shifted my voice into a whine. “‘It’s so hard, it never ends, I can’t get a break, I’m too tired to have sex, I never have time for me, I wish I could sleep for eight consecutive hours, my butt is huge, I love walking without a stroller and fruit snacks.’”
It took me a good five steps to realize Manda had stopped walking. I turned and saw her standing still on the path, face crumpled and eyes big.
“Wow,” she said, voice small, almost childlike. She shook her head slowly. “Is that what I sound like?”
I inhaled deeply and forced all the air out of my lungs, feeling my frustration deflate with a healthy poke of repentance. “No,” I said, walking toward her. “You don’t. Manda, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, hand up to stop my words. “I get it. I shouldn’t have pushed so hard. You do what you need to do.” Her lips made a thin line. “You’re a big girl, Charlie. I know you can handle this.”
My shoulders slumped. “I thought I was. Handling this.”
Manda didn’t say anything for a moment. “Just be fair. Be fair to you, be fair to Kai. That’s my only bit of counsel.” She cleared her throat, and I thought the smile she mustered looked like a brave one. “Advice session officially over.”
I put my arm around her. “I’m sorry. I think my social skills are deteriorating with time.”
She sniffed. “You’ve always been a bit rough around the edges.”
I fumbled my way toward penance. “Can I take you out for lunch? I don’t have to be at Thrill until three today.”
She shook her head. “Thanks, but I think I’d better get home.” She stopped abruptly, and I hated to think of her editing her comments about what the rest of her day held with Zara, Dane, and Polly, just so I wouldn’t think she was complaining. I didn’t think I had it in me to hanker for a story about breast pumps and spit-up, but there I was, hankering.