Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
‘ I wish you’d change your mind,’ Mum said to me later as we walked in the garden enjoying the late-afternoon sun with Robyn. She was trying, unsuccessfully, to convince me to have dinner with Dad.
It was unusually quiet. Issie’s mum was dropping Lexi home later – a big tick for car-pooling. Matthew was inside, working on his laptop, exhausted from a self-inflicted hangover and excessive hedge trimming. And Angus was lying on the outdoor day bed, playing his Nintendo Switch and muttering, surrounded by Rupert, Cleo and Bugs. His little empire. Sure, he should have been building his science project (the water cycle in 3D?!), but he was happy and wasn’t asking for food. I knew if I said anything to disturb him, the food issue would rear its ravenous head within seconds.
Besides discovering kids may want pets but will accept no responsibility beyond rolling around on the floor with them, during my seven months’ experience as the mother of an eight-year-old boy, I have learned:
It’s all about food – and M&M’s are a sound nutritional meal.
When it’s not about food, it’s about the NS, PS4, PS5 (but life is definitely not worth living without a Nintendo Switch).
Life’s about fun – and getting filthy – and refusing to bathe or shower.
Homework? What’s homework?
I deadheaded a daisy. ‘Lexi’s pulling away from me, she’s not my little girl anymore. She’s only interested in hanging out with her friends.’ I threw the dead daisy onto nearby mulch. ‘She’s not telling me everything going on in her life.’
Robyn snorted. ‘Of course she’s not telling you! She’s a teenager.’
‘Just. She’s not seventeen.’
‘She looks it.’
I felt helpless. Even if I got the chance to eavesdrop, I couldn’t understand most of Lexi’s conversations. The other day, when Lexi walked away from her laptop long enough for me to snoop at her Snapchat page, I was dumbfounded. It was all smiley icons and incomprehensible abbreviations. Whether it was talking or texting, Lexi and her friends had their own vernacular.
‘I remember not so long ago Lexi always wanted to be with me, shop with me, hug me?—’
Robyn coughed. ‘How many years back are you going?’
I deadhead a purple hydrangea. The garden was dry, very dry. There’d been no rain for months. No grass to speak of. Most of the leaves had fallen from the trees. The only plants still thriving were the conifers. It seemed cruel to slash them. I looked over at the mountain of cut branches piled against the fence .
‘She did. She was hugging and cuddling me up until?—’
‘She discovered boys?’
‘I guess. Now she wants to do things on her own or with her friends. She has secrets. I try to pick up on the signals, the snatched ten minutes in the car in the morning, bonding when we’re walking Rupert, or sharing chocolates. But really, she thinks I’m a know-nothing nuisance, a source of aggravation. A Boomer, even though I’m Gen X.’
Mum clicked her tongue. ‘Welcome to my world. I know what it’s like to be considered an irritation. I was in the supermarket checkout line this morning and the cashier, a mere child, asked through her bubblegum if I was carrying my senior citizen’s discount card! The whole store heard. I was mortified. I said, “Certainly not!”. She assumed I was over sixty-five. Me! And then she snapped a bubble under my nose.’
I patted her back in solidarity.
‘As if it’s not humiliating enough going to the supermarket these days,’ she continued. ‘There are cereals pitched exclusively at women like me who are over a certain age. The cereal makers have decided Weet-Bix isn’t good enough for me anymore. It’s outrageous. I know what I need, thank you very much, and it’s not a lecture from a cereal company or a pimply youth.’
I poked Robyn on her shoulder. ‘Thoughts?’
She waved her hand. ‘I know you think I’m part of the problem.’
‘You’re selling an idyllic lifestyle that doesn’t exist.’ I held up two fingers in a V sign. ‘Hashtag blessed. Ordinary people can’t keep up with the hashtag happy life, hashtag living my best life.’ I exhaled. ‘We feel lost, alone and desperate. Hashtag tired and worn out.’
‘Are you talking on behalf of a generation of women or specifically yourself?’ Mum chimed in.
I rolled my eyes. ‘I’m generalising. ’
‘Yes, you are,’ Robyn said, patting her stomach. ‘It’s all right for you, Katie. You have the perfect home, the perfect husband, and two great kids. I’m pregnant. A fat little butterball…’
‘I’d hardly call you little’ – I ducked out of the way before Mum could whack me on the arm – ‘but your Instagram devotees wouldn’t know that, would they? And I don’t have a perfect life. But your fans think you do.’
‘It’s how I make money, Kate. Back pimples and chaffed nipples aren’t going to get many likes.’
‘No, but is selling a perfect, blessed alternate reality sustainable? Also, that baby formula post is getting a lot of vitriolic push-back.’
She clenched her jaw. ‘Who says formula isn’t better? Jeez.’
Maybe I was being too hard on her. It was how Robyn earned a living. In addition to happy snaps, she advertised vitamins, honey, and recently prams, nappies and toys.
Robyn’s mouth wobbled and she looked as if she was about to cry. ‘I’m having nightmares about the attacks.’
‘You know not to read the comments. It’s not healthy.’ Some of the ones I’d read this morning were vicious. ‘Don’t let it get to you.’
‘How can I not when people tell me I’m ugly on the inside. I need a safe space.’
I pointed upwards. ‘Mars is looking good.’
‘Thanks.’ Robyn rubbed her belly. ‘I’ll get run out of BabyCo if I advertise pacifiers.’
Or formulas. ‘Are you thinking about it?’
‘There’s a possible offer in the works for baby formulas’ – I knew it – ‘and I need the money.’ Robyn breathed deeply. ‘It might all end tomorrow.’
‘What will end, love?’ Mum asked, walking up beside us with a handful of weeds .
‘The endorsements, Mum. Keep up. Anyway, I’m not sure I’m up to the task.’
I frowned. ‘Of parenthood?’
‘Yep. My vision board’s not inspiring me. Most food makes me gag. I have reflux, sciatica. You name it. A baby means the end of my youth, the end of freedom, and the end of life as I know it.’
‘You’re right,’ I said, taking the weeds from Mum. ‘Your followers don’t want reality posts.’
Robyn nodded. ‘Don’t you ever feel like packing it in, that it’s all too much? Do you ever feel like taking a holiday, a long holiday to… oh, I don’t know, the Mediterranean? Or the Maldives? The Maldives would be perfect this time of year.’
‘I think about it every day, Robbie, but I can’t.’ I glimpsed me trembling on a tightrope. ‘I have responsibilities, and so do you.’
Despite dreaming about being chased by land-dwelling sharks, I walked into the kitchen Sunday morning feeling refreshed, mainly because Matthew and the kids had let me have a sleep-in. Now, they were laughing, and I felt truly happy.
I grabbed a handful of berries and sat. ‘What’s the joke?’
‘Lexi and I were remembering the mix-up with the Americans,’ Matthew replied.
My sunny mood dimmed. ‘I worked very hard to make the evening a success, and Lexi’s theatrics didn’t help the situation. Yet I’m the person who ruined the dinner party?’
Matthew held up his hands. ‘I didn’t say that. You always work hard to manage tough situations and you always pull through. You must admit, though, you’re a bit of a control freak.’ He winked at Lexi and she nodded in agreement.
‘I hate it when you call me that.’ Even though it was true. ‘ And anyway, why am I a freak to want to be in control of my life?’
The more they giggled, the more I fumed.
I didn’t make a fuss though. My family didn’t need additional fodder upon which to graze. Instead, I made myself a strong cup of Earl Grey and retreated outside to sit in the sunshine, determined to let the incident wash over me.
Besides, it was only a few days till my birthday. I didn’t want to argue with Matthew. In fact, I fancied rekindling some semblance of romance with him before then, with or without handcuffs, because if he hadn’t yet bought me a present, I wanted to make sure he was in a generous mood when the time came.
The day passed without further blow-ups, and late in the evening after the kids had gone to bed, I whipped on my sheer black negligée and gave myself a once-over in the bathroom mirror. Passable, passable.
Wrapping myself in a matching black robe, I glided down the hall and into the office. ‘Matt,’ I purred, letting the robe fall open. ‘Let’s go to bed.’
He barely glanced my way before closing his laptop. ‘Sounds like a plan but let me pack first.’ He stood and started walking towards our bedroom, me trailing behind.
‘Pack?’
Matthew stopped mid-stride and turned. ‘Sorry sweetheart, didn’t I say I’d be in the Melbourne office this week?’
I shook my head. ‘No.’
Eyes finally clocking my attire, he grinned. ‘You look absolutely gorgeous by the way.’
Despite his words, desire drained from my blood. ‘But the kids? The magazine? How will I manage?’
He kissed me lightly on the lips. ‘Your mum’ll help. ’
In the bedroom walk-in wardrobe, Matthew puckered his brow. ‘Have you seen my navy chinos? They’re here somewhere.’
‘There.’ I pointed to the pants directly in front of him.
‘I know you’re disappointed. I promise to take you out for your birthday and to celebrate landing the magazine gig as soon as I get back. A double celebration.’
My birthday. Reality dawned. ‘You’re away for my birthday?’
‘Till Friday, hon. Sorry. I thought I’d told you.’
No, you didn’t . But no point arguing about it now. Matthew’s mind wasn’t focused on me. Work worries occupied all his brain space. Still, if I was ever to return to regular employment, we’d need to renegotiate the whole parenting pact.
‘Sorry. The timing’s not ideal given it’s your birthday week. But I need to sort out ongoing issues with the Melbourne branch before the end of the year.’
‘I guess,’ I started.
‘You know work is always hectic in the lead up to the holidays.’ He paused. ‘And you did spring this photography gig on me. It came out of nowhere.’
I nodded. ‘True, but I didn’t want to pass up the opportunity.’
‘I know.’ He took me in his arms and kissed me.
‘Guess I’ll have takeaway with the kids on my birthday,’ I said, returning from the bathroom some minutes later, after I’d changed out of my cold, impractical negligée into comfy flannel pyjamas and slipped into bed.
Matthew didn’t answer. He was asleep well before I turned out the bedside light.