Viv
Starting over
Viv Thurman stood, tall and dry-eyed, in the house where she’d raised her children.
She needed to call a cleaning service and double check with the local agent she’d engaged to make sure there was nothing else to do before she drove home.
Home was such a tricky word. This had been her home, for thirty-six years. Now that the pain had passed, she found herself strangely at peace with selling the house. It was empty of everything except a few pieces of furniture the real estate agent thought properly staged it, just enough to let new people, potential buyers, imagine themselves here in the future.
Like they had, she and Drew. It had been only the third house they’d looked at, but they’d been able to see their future in it immediately. They’d stood right here in the living room and pictured evenings spent drinking wine and reading books. They’d stood in the empty bedrooms and tried to imagine their children.
Always two. They had always pictured themselves with two children, one for each bedroom.
Never divorce, though that, too, was becoming more familiar, a word that with repeated use became less vivid, though not quite bloodless. Viv had imagined they’d sell this house when they were ready for assisted living, though at twenty-three she’d thought sixty was at least a decade beyond old.
She inhaled, probing the softest parts of herself for grief. They wouldn’t grow old in this house.
One more once-over was all it really needed. A final vacuuming, a final wipe of the counters, a final sweep and mop of the floors. Viv again contemplated calling a service. It made no sense to be sentimental about this last step before locking up and leaving, but she found herself reluctant to turn the job over to strangers.
She dialed Lisa’s number instead, not at all certain she would answer.
“Mother? Are you all right?”
Strange how a woman could stand in her old house and bid it good-bye without shedding a tear, but the sound of her daughter’s voice made her suddenly want to weep.
“Mother?”
“I’m here.” She cleared her throat. “I’m at the house. I don’t— I’m not sure—”
“Are you crying?”
“No. Certainly not.” Viv dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “I need to clean the house before I head back down south. Would you— Are you busy?”
Lisa’s voice was tentative. “You … want me to come over and help you clean? We would have done a better job, but we thought you would probably hire people.”
“Yes, of course that’s what I should do.” And it would probably be a relief. What on earth had she been thinking, to consider doing it herself?
“Unless … Mother, do you want me to come over and help?”
“I’m sure you’re busy,” Viv began.
“Uh, yeah, not really. You mean, busy being a shut-in with serious paranoia issues? Anyway, give me like half an hour and we’ll be over. Bye, Mother.”
She’d hung up before Viv could say anything. Like Thank you or You aren’t a shut-in or Who’s ‘we’?
She stowed her sweater and purse on the sofa and went in search of a broom.
*
The first words out of Lisa’s mouth were: “Derries to the rescue, Mother.”
Viv frowned, then was gently—but firmly—pushed out of the way.
She’d feared that the “we” in question was that boy, Emery. But it wasn’t. By the time they all trooped inside, she almost wished it had been.
“Mother.” Singer kissed her cheek and put down a mop bucket full of spray bottles, cloths, brushes, and sponges. “Have you started? If you’d told us you planned to do everything yourself, we would have done a much better job.”
Jake, with Miles in one arm and a bag of toys in the other, passed them. “Hey, Mrs. Thurman. Do you have any requests for food? Derries only work if you provide a meal for them. Fair warning, it’ll probably be pizza if you don’t tell me something else.”
Raucous laughter cut off any chance Viv had to reply.
“And beer! We work for food and beer!” Frankie waved. “Hi, Mrs. Thurman. Nice to see you. I’ll volunteer to do my former abode, since I can basically clean the whole thing in like twenty minutes.” She picked out a spray bottle and a roll of paper towels. “Text me when the food gets here!”
Singer made a grab for her supplies and missed. “Frances, other people may need paper towels.”
“Other people can walk their butts out to the guesthouse, then. Ta!”
The baby made a noise that mimicked her, and Jake grinned. “Do us a favor and do not start copying Frankie, Miles. I’ll do something nontoxic while he plays.”
“The vacuum is in the car.” Singer held out his arms, and the baby went to him. “You and I will assess the jobs that need to be done while Jake gets that, okay? Let’s start in our bedroom. Or I guess it’s just the master bedroom now.” They walked down the hall.
Viv took a shaky breath. “They are so … loud.”
“I know, Mother.” Lisa patted her arm. “Should we get Chinese? Would that be good? Or Indian?”
“I couldn’t possibly eat right now.”
Lisa pulled out her phone. “I’ll tell Carey to pick up Chinese.”
“All right.”
Jake bustled back in with the vacuum, Singer returned with what he was calling a “plan of attack,” and Lisa took the baby while Singer wrote out a list, assigning tasks to all of them.
Viv realized she was largely redundant right around the time Jake’s brother and his girlfriend arrived. She could have called Lisa from Valencia and asked her to arrange for the house to be cleaned, and the entire group of them would have converged just like this, loudly, irreverently. Competently, for all their noise and bluster. The house was nearly clean by the time they descended upon the food.
A pizza as well as Chinese. And an assortment of paper plates and plastic utensils. The girlfriend, Alice, offered Viv first pick of Chinese food, and she found herself eating even though she hadn’t felt hungry.
Jake offered her a seat on one of the sofas beside Singer, but she found an excuse to do something in the kitchen long enough for all of them to settle into their places. They talked over one another, filling every corner of the house with their voices and laughter.
The house still felt warm, awake, alive. Not hollow.
It was hard to remember being that young, laughing that freely. Viv wasn’t sure she ever had, really, though it was always possible that she’d decided such unfettered emotion was somehow unbecoming, that it wasn’t suited to her role in life. When she looked back, she could see places where she’d restrained herself, times when she might have embraced sentiment, or even passion.
Could a woman her age learn how to feel passionate? Probably not, but Viv thought she might try. It was frightening to be starting fresh now, when she’d thought everything would be established, the shape of her days more or less unchanged. But it wasn’t without a certain thrill, she acknowledged. Anything could happen.
Across the room Singer happened to look over at Lisa, both of them smiling, and Viv had to turn away briefly to dab at her eyes again. She’d raised her children in this house, and they’d grown into people she hardly knew. But that, too, might be remedied. Both of them could laugh. Both of them could claim friendships steadfast enough to rally for a spontaneous house cleaning.
She pulled a chair from the dining room a little closer to the group spread out over the floor and the sofas and returned to eating her food. She had no idea what they were talking about, but it didn’t matter. Every now and then Singer would say something, or Lisa, and the baby rounded the table, happy to eat bits off of everyone’s plates.
They all packed up to go later, leaving the house in perfect saleable condition. Lisa gave her a hug and told her to drive safely. Jake and Singer were the last to go. On impulse, Viv grabbed Jake’s hand as he was chorusing “Good night, Mrs. Thurman” and said, “Please call me Viv. Everyone does.”
He smiled widely. “Good night, Viv. Text Singer when you get home safe.”
“I will.” She kissed the baby’s forehead. “Take care of them.”
“I’ll do that.” He walked out, slipping past Singer, who was staring at her.
“Mother, I…” But he couldn’t seem to find words.
She kissed his cheek. “Good night, darling. Thank you for helping today.”
“Of course. You won’t drive tonight, will you?”
“No, I have a hotel room. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
“All right.” He hesitated, then kissed her cheek. “Good-bye, Mother. We’ll have to plan a visit soon, if you’ve decided to stay in Valencia.”
“I think so. For now, anyway.”
Singer nodded. “Maybe after the adoption is finalized.”
“I look forward to it.” Both of them paused, and in that pause, that shared moment, Viv understood that she hadn’t said anything but the absolute truth. Singer and Jake and the baby would come visit, and she would look forward to seeing them.
Sounding a bit hushed, Singer murmured, “Well, good night.”
She found she couldn’t say anything at all, and so kissed him again, and locked the door behind them.