calmly recounted her understanding of the morning’s events, she offered to make them all something hot to drink, guiding Tom firmly to a chair as his adrenaline ebbed and he felt his knees about to give way.
The three sat there for over an hour. Abby spoke shyly to her father, trying to explain why she’d made such an ill-planned and dangerous trip. Cynthia assured them that while the visit had been very unexpected and was certainly not something she would ever advise Abby to try again on her own, that she was impressed with the girl’s writing and the girl as well.
Tom took this in, too overwhelmed to do more than sit in a grateful silence, simply nodding and sipping his tea, allowing Cynthia to carry the conversation. This led to a discussion about why she was home that day and what was going on at work. He had been following the work stoppage — anyone archaic enough to still opt to listen to the radio while in the car had to be somewhat aware of it — but he hadn’t known how to ask how Cynthia was coping without it coming down to an awkward conversation about money and support payments. She didn’t need for anything, she’d have assured him, a fact he was already well aware of.
They also chatted about the other kids, bringing Matt home for the holidays, and Julia’s school applications. She asked after his mother and he her parents, who had all retired to the same small town where Tom grew up and Cynthia had spent her summers. They managed, miraculously, not to stumble on any of the unpleasant, taboo, and hot-button topics strewn like mines in their typical conversations. This was especially impressive, as the most volatile of these was embodied in the curly-headed girl sitting between them, sipping on instant hot chocolate and hanging on every word.
As awful as it had started and as awkward as it still managed to be, Tom was sorry when he noticed his cup was empty. It was one of the best conversations he’d had with his ex-wife, with anyone for that matter, in a very long time. There had once been a time in his life when he had been able to talk for hours, until the sun came up. Not proselytize or argue or debate, but actually think and talk and discuss, conversations that filled you up instead of draining you.
It felt as though they had stumbled back onto a familiar rhythm they had once followed so effortlessly. This was the part of the story Tom had not relayed to Jennifer, though he was sure that, even unspoken, it was the part making her so angry. He was feeling calm and serene and curious about the day, and he knew she could sense it and did not understand, and how could he possibly explain it?
“I know how scary this is for you, and how bad it could have been. I do understand it. But nothing bad did happen. Aren’t you thankful for that? Trust me, after the way you went at her, I don’t think Abby will be planning any solo cab rides in the near future.” He had meant to lighten the mood, but as so often seemed to be the case these days, he had misread it entirely, and he actually heard the thud as Jennifer sprang up from the bed.
“How I went at her? Right. How terrible of me to be a parent. If it was up to you, next time she’ll take the car? Oh no, wait, since they are going to be email pals now, I guess she’ll be able to just drop her a line whenever she feels like it and ask her to come pick her up!”
This was in reference to what without a doubt had been the worst decision Tom had made that day, he decided. As they were leaving Cynthia’s, Abby, so wonderfully, childishly oblivious to adult subtext, and obviously quite thrilled to see how well everyone had gotten along, had decided she’d been wrong to think that there had ever been an issue about getting to know Cynthia. Her initial plan, which even to her had seemed a bit unlikely to ever come to pass, now seemed less unreasonable, so she made the bold move of inquiring when she would be able to come back for her next “lesson.”
Tom, who knew this to be an absolute non-option from his wife’s perspective, assumed that it would be for Cynthia as well and was shocked to hear her say that it was something Abby would have to check with her parents about, and they could let her know. She’d gone on to say that in the meantime, if Abby ever wanted to send her some writing to take a look at, she’d be happy to do it.
This could have been nothing more that a magnanimous gesture from the non-parent passing the bad news buck, but somehow to Tom it didn’t seem that way, and he was touched by the interest Cynthia was showing in his daughter. It seemed more than simply polite to him, and he thought he still knew her well enough to tell. He found himself strangely proud to find a chance to show Abby off, a way of somehow proving that he could make something good on his own, that Abby had been worth it.
As Abby began to explain that she wasn’t allowed to use the Internet yet, he heard himself promising to make her an email account just for this educational purpose and agreeing to talk to her mother when they got home about the occasional in-person visit. In spite of, or maybe because of Abby’s delight, regret started to rear its head before he’d even put his key in the ignition.
That regret would have been felt even more keenly if he had been standing in the bedroom with his wife that moment. Now, with her arms crossed and the squint in her icy blue eyes, Jennifer cut a surprisingly imposing figure for someone who in her heyday was commonly referred to as a living Barbie doll. But Tom couldn’t see her. He just sighed wearily and turned on the shower, hoping to drown her out and steal a little peace. This had been an unexpected day for him too, but with all the harping and multi-generational estrogen pumping, he hadn’t really taken any time to deal with it.
From safe within his warm-water cocoon, he was spared the sight of Jennifer storming over to pick up the clock on the nightstand, its big hand pointing to the top of the dial, the little hand on the seven. She set it back down, cursing, and the delicate roses shook again even harder. She bounced around the bedroom, yanking out suit jackets and socks as though these few actions would somehow change the fact that they were now, without a doubt, going to be obscenely late.
Tom also knew they were late. And he knew it was his fault. First forgetting they had plans at all and sending away the after-school sitter, forcing Jennifer to call, apologize, and ask her back. Then the admittedly rather immature handling of the whole thing with Abby, as well as his absolutely immature refusal to get ready until Jennifer was nearly in tears asking him to — not that she hadn’t been in tears the whole damn time she was home. He also knew he was going to be paying for this tardiness for the rest of the evening.
Still, after all the useless, stupid bickering since she had walked in the front door, Tom smiled at the thought of her wandering around the bedroom aimlessly checking the seams of her dress and the curl in her hair while she waited for him. The smile widened when he remembered her exasperated look as she pleaded for him to “hurry the hell up.” She was not a woman worth fighting with about these kinds of things, because what she lacked in his brand of reasoning, she made up for in lung capacity. So, as usual, he decided to opt out and just luxuriate for a minute under the warm, steady pressure of the water. It felt somehow like a victory. He didn’t stay long, though, because it also felt like he was being a real prick.
He emerged from the bathroom and dressed in the sweater she’d laid out for him, wearing the cologne she always bought for him. She was fiddling in her jewellery box trying to act like she hadn’t been pacing the entire time. Walking up behind her to grab his suit jacket, he caught her eye in the mirror and came to stand beside her. She was still so very beautiful. And even though he was older, with the grey in his hair less the appetizer than the main course, he thought he was holding his own.
They made a striking couple, if not at that moment a happy-looking one. Currently they resembled some modernist revision of American Gothic; no smiles, stern eyes. He thought that was pretty clever but bit back the thought before it popped out of his mouth. It was not the time for jokes, he remembered; not nearly time for them to be friends again. As they passed Abby’s room, Jennifer opened the door a sliver just to say goodnight but received only a snuffled “G’night DAD” in return for her trouble.
At the car, Tom got into the driver’s seat, though they were taking her car, and by the end of the night, if history was any indication, it would be obvious that he would be in no condition to drive home. Even though dinner was at her friends’ house, a place he’d never been. It was what she expected, and it was the least he could do. He circled around to open her door as she grasped her elegant appetizer, now more of an apology than