41
I don’t sleep. I try to bend my mind to see how I could keep Ethan without compromising who he is and the happy life he’s built. I cannot ask him to leave it. I cannot move to Devon. My kids need to be near Pete and in their schools and with their friends. I could go see him one day a week for the next twelve years until Cliffy goes to college. It’s an eight-hour drive round trip. None of it makes sense.
I close my eyes and tell my mom, “I am in a knot.” I know she knows what I mean. I picture the two of us trying to untangle a tiny gold chain, trying to loosen a knot that is so fine and so tight it will not give. You’re pulling too hard. I know she’s right. We have two more weeks, and I’m racing to the end already.
It’s Friday, and Ethan calls. “Ali, I’m losing my mind here. Tell me what’s going on.”
And it’s hard to be distant when his voice is in my ear. Just the sound of it makes me want to settle in and wrap everything about him around me. All of the thoughts in my head sound crazy, and I know if I share one of them the rest will pour out. “I’m scared,” I say.
“That’s what happens when something matters. I think it’s normal. I’m scared too. Terrified, really. I want to see you.”
“When can you get back?”
“Maybe Tuesday.” The “maybe” is the worst part of that sentence. “Any chance you can come up here tomorrow? Spend the night?”
A four-hour drive actually feels like nothing. “Okay.”
“Okay? Really?” All the well-being in the world rolls over me. He is excited to see me, and this time tomorrow we’ll be together.
“Why not? Assuming Pete’s on time tomorrow, I can be there by two.”
I drop Ferris at Frannie’s house and try to ignore her concern for me. She’s not saying anything in particular, but there’s a question mark at the end of all of her comments. So that’s fun? And he’s coming back Tuesday?
As I get on the highway I think about how stuck I was after my mom died. Moving through the fog of grief and overwhelm just to sit and stare at my mess until it was time to panic about dinner. Driving sixty-five miles per hour north and watching the distance shrink on my GPS is the opposite feeling. I am exhilarated moving forward. I’ll be there in two hundred miles. Now one hundred seventy-five.
My phone rings, and it’s Greer. “Hi, sweetie.”
“Mom, can you come get me?” She’s crying.
“What’s wrong?” A small panic creeps into my chest.
“Everything,” she says. And I relax. This is going to be a little melodrama, and then it will be fine.
“How can everything be wrong? What’s going on?” I switch lanes to get around a too-slow cement truck.
“Caroline started a new group text without me on it.” She’s really crying.
“How do you know?” I brace myself. Ah, seventh grade has finally hit.
“I’ve been texting them all morning and no one is responding. It’s impossible that all eight of them don’t have their phones. So I went online and they were all together last night at Jessica’s and today they’re at Olivia’s pool.” She’s crying again and I don’t know what to say to make her feel better. I know she’s right: she’s being Seventh-Grade Dumped. I can feel it all come back to me with the sound of her voice. It’s as if, at the most terrifying part of your identity creation, your peers gather and declare you worthless. Seventh grade is a social experiment devised by monsters. This happened to you. We got through it.
I stall because now I’m only eighty-six miles outside of Devon, which I don’t exactly want to tell her. “How do you know there’s a new group text?”
“Mom.”
“Okay, and how do you know it was Caroline?”
“Of course it was Caroline.” And of course. Caroline is the worst. “Can you come get me? I just want to be home with you.” I’m eighty-five miles outside of Devon.
“Did you talk to your dad about this?”
She gives me a half laugh. “Mom, come on.” Part of me wants to force a situation where Pete has to hear her out, where he has to wade through the volcano of feelings she’s having. But he doesn’t have those skills. I feel a bubble of anger rise from my chest. Where was he supposed to get those skills? I never asked him to step in and engage with any of us emotionally. I’m the one who taught my kids not to expect anything from Pete.
She’s quiet for a while, but I swear I can hear her heart beating and her stomach churning. “Mom, I really need you.” Auntie Mame.
And it’s not even a decision. I put on my turn signal and get in the right lane to get off the highway. I would throw my body onto a mountain of live grenades to protect her from pain.
“Greer, I’m coming. I’m with a client right now, but I can pick you up at Dad’s in three hours. I’m not going to tell you this is no big deal. Because I know exactly what this feels like. Why don’t you go to soccer practice—that might feel good—and then you and I are going to spend the rest of the day together.” I’m off the highway, I turn left to cross the overpass, and I’m back on, headed south. My GPS tells me, “Rerouting.” No kidding.
I call Ethan. “Hey,” he says. From the background noise, I can tell he’s at the skate park. “How close are you?”
My words are stuck in my throat.
“Ali? You there?”
“Yeah. I can’t come.”
“What? I thought you’ve been on the road for hours.”
“I was, but Greer called. She needs me, and I turned around.”
“Is she okay?” And it’s worse that he’s worried about her rather than being angry that I’ve ruined our plans. I want to go back to feeling angry at Caroline Shaw rather than sinking into this bottomless pit of sadness.
“She will be. It’s middle school girl stuff, and she needs me.”
“Oh. Wow, I really wanted to see you.”
“Me too. I’m sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
He’s quiet for a while, and the din of the skate park pours through my car speakers. “I hope Greer’s okay,” he says.