21
I see Ethan Wednesday and Thursday while my kids are at camp. “Clean out the house” has become code for “skateboard and make out.” I feel like I’m sixteen and I’m riding the wave of something bigger than me. I reach for a roll of packing tape, and the brush of an arm leads to the grip of a neck, and, before I know it, I am up against a refrigerator for twenty minutes. Or maybe it’s five. I have all sorts of alarms set on my phone because I lost my mastery of time. Stopping ourselves becomes increasingly difficult, and the kissing-only rule has been loosened. “Any Ali is better than no Ali,” he whispers into my neck.
I shouldn’t be surprised that there’s a small half-pipe in the basement he nearly burned down. He talks me through the fundamentals of skateboarding while also encouraging me to let go of my fear. He wants me to get my head around skating up to the top and then skating back down. It’s all physics and gravity, but also a lot of letting go and changing course, which, for me, happens in very small increments.
Friday is our custody mediation session, and I accidentally spend the morning with Harold at the inn. I’d noticed from the dog park that the flag hadn’t been raised, and upon closer examination, the garbage hadn’t been picked up either. He sort of left me no choice. I was worried I was overstepping, but the moment I walked into his office he pulled out his desk chair for me and said, “Have at it.” I put together a detailed to-do list—what to order when, and a checklist for the most important tasks to manage. Making sure the garbage is out on time is top of the list.
When I get home, I am buoyed by the progress at the inn, so I set a timer on my phone and spend ten minutes loading the dishwasher and scrubbing the pots in the sink. This feels a tiny bit like self-care.
I get a text from Ethan: I’ll meet you there at eleven. Still working on my costume.
Me: Can’t wait to see. What should I wear?
Ethan: Your regular weary housewife clothes are perfect.
Me: Ouch.
I pull into the parking lot behind Lacey’s office, and Pete is getting out of the passenger seat of a white Toyota. He leans over the door and gives the driver his best, most nauseating smile before he shuts it. The smile dies when he turns around and sees me standing there.
“What was that?” I say.
“I’m dating,” he says.
“A woman?” My brain is catching up to this state of affairs, and not quickly.
“Ali.”
“That’s fine,” I say, and scan the parking lot for Ethan. I just need to get through this meeting.
“You could date too,” he says. And before I eke out a sarcastic reply about just how much dating a woman can do between noon and two on Saturdays, Ethan pulls into the parking lot. He steps out in a maroon velour tracksuit. I am now positive that I am losing my mind, because I like the way he looks in it.
“Hey, guys,” he says. “Hope I’m not late.”
Pete shakes his head and walks into the building.
Ethan gives me his conspiratorial smile, like everything in this world is funny, and offers me his maroon arm to escort me upstairs.
“Nice threads,” Lacey says.
“It’s athleisure,” he says. “My father’s.”
We sit at the round table, and Lacey says, “Let’s look at a monthly calendar and start outlining our expectations.”
Pete says, “Well, what we’ve been doing is the kids live at the house. I take them to soccer Tuesday nights—the days change with the season and league. And then I have them on Saturdays, when we have either practice or a game. And usually for a while after. I coach.”
“What we want to nail down,” says Ethan, “is the language here. Let’s eliminate the word ‘usually’ and commit to chunks of time.”
“With all due respect, Scooter, ‘usually’ works for us. Sometimes things come up and I need to change plans.” Pete is already up for a fight.
“Do things come up for you, Ali?” Ethan asks, and turns his whole body to me, as if to suggest that I now have the floor. I should be used to this, because Ethan is always giving me the floor. He listens to me in a way that makes me want to share everything.
I sit up a little straighter. “No, I am able to plan out my week and keep my commitments, if Pete does the same.”
Pete lets out a dramatic breath and leans back in his chair, as if now he’s heard everything. “That’s Ali. A huge planner. She’s the only person I’ve ever known who’s surprised that every twenty-four hours it’s time to make dinner again.” He laughs at his little joke.
I open my mouth to speak and nothing comes out. I’ve had nightmares like this where I’m trying to scream but I’m not able. There’s just too much anger behind every word. I’ve kept my mouth shut for so long, it’s almost like my body knows that if I start I won’t stop.
Ethan leans in. “Lacey, I assume you’ve been working with families for a while. Do you think it’s emotionally helpful for Pete’s children to think they’re spending Saturday night with him and then get shuttled home because a big bike ride came up?”
“This is bullshit,” says Pete.
“It’s actually not. I have it in my notes.” Ethan flips through the pages of his legal pad at a deliberately slow pace just to irritate Pete. He runs his pen down each page, nodding, before he turns to the next one. “Here it is. Just this past Saturday night. You decided to keep the children overnight and then returned them immediately after dinner?”
“That’s none of your goddamn business.”
Ethan looks down at his tracksuit, as if it proves that he’s actually in business. “I’m pretty sure it is, Pete.”
I want to reach across the table and smack Pete. Smack him for being arrogant and smug and totally thoughtless. There’s something terrifying underneath all of this anger. I can feel how Pete acting like a jerk makes me miss my mom. And I picture her, with her big smile, saying, “Oh, that’s fine. Let him do his bike ride. You know what would be fun?” I’d let it go. My chest is tight with anger at Pete but also with the unfamiliar discomfort of being angry with my mom. She should have let me speak up. It’s like she trained me to be mute around Pete.
Lacey speaks before I can. “We find that the more consistent the schedule, the easier it is on the kids. They get anxious if they’re not sure about basic things like where they are going to wake up.” Lacey is looking at Ethan like she wants to lick him. This is mildly irritating, but it’s good to have another person on my side.
Pete’s glaring at me, arms crossed over his chest. “Are you going to say anything?”
“Yes.” My voice comes out stronger than I expect, like my anger is a weapon I just found in my purse, and I’m going to give it a try. I look directly at him because I want him to see what’s brewing behind my eyes. “I think we can stay loose around the weeknights, because the soccer schedule changes. But the weekends need to be consistent.”
“Could you commit to having your children from ten a.m. on Saturday morning to ten a.m. on Sunday morning each week?” Ethan asks. His hands are folded, his gaze is steady.
Pete lets out a breath. “That’s twenty-four hours.”
And I know what he means. He means that’s way too much time for him to not be able to do whatever he wants.
I’m guessing Ethan knows this too, but he doubles down. He jots down a few numbers on his legal pad. “Okay, if we let you have them until four on Sunday, that would be thirty hours. Ali, is that okay?” He must be the best poker player in the world. There is no hint of a smile on his face to give him away. Lacey is sitting with her pen at the ready to record the decision.
“Where’d you get that tracksuit?” Pete asks. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so angry.
Ethan runs his hands down the velour. “It belongs to my father. It would be hard to find one like it now, I think. But thank you.” He turns to Lacey. “So did we say thirty hours?”
“Twenty-four is fine,” Pete says.
“We are going to get so fun-tastic tonight,” Ethan says when we’re outside. Pete stormed out of the office ahead of us, so we’re in the parking lot alone.
“Well, thank you for today,” I say. It’s not enough, but I need to get into my car and talk to my mom. It wasn’t okay, her not letting me sort out my marriage. I should have been standing up to Pete all along. I feel tears welling up and I don’t want to darken his victorious mood. I turn to go and he grabs my arm.
“Wait, aren’t we celebrating? We won. He committed to time and you have a full free day. Every week.” His expression is expectant. Like he’s waiting for me to get the joke and laugh.
“I know, it’s great,” I say. And my voice catches. I don’t want to be crying in this parking lot.
“Come with me.” Ethan leads me to his car. He opens the passenger door and I get in.
“Really, I’m fine,” I say when he’s in the driver’s seat.
“You’re not fine. We won and you’re about to cry.” He’s turned toward me, and he’s waiting for me to explain.
“It’s all of it. The fact that Pete had to be bullied into spending twenty-four hours with his children. The fact that my kids have never been with him for that long, including when we were married. The fact that I haven’t had twenty-four hours to myself since my mom died. All of it.”
“He’s kind of a tool.”
“I may have made him that way. I stopped asking him to step up a long time ago. My mom. She sort of covered for him. I turned into this.” I gesture at myself.
“What do you mean by ‘this’?”
“A weary housewife. This isn’t a costume.” I’m crying now and reach into my bag for a tissue that isn’t there. I find Cliffy’s rainbow sweatband and use it to wipe my eyes. “And I’m also sort of afraid of the free time. What if you just bought me twenty-four hours a week and now I have no excuses?”
Ethan puts his key in the ignition. “We need dogs and some fresh air.”