Chapter 28 Gwen
Gwen
It was Sunday, the day before Gwen had to return to work.
She stood in her walk-in closet. The walk-in closet that had been such a selling point for this house.
This house that had been her dream house.
Her work clothes had been organized perfectly by a former version of herself, a person who had time and energy to tend so carefully to her wardrobe.
There were pants—black, gray, tan. There were pencil skirts.
There were blouses, arranged by color. Below, in the shoe rack on the floor, were her pumps and flats.
She had once been a person who cared about shoes, who “dressed for success.” Since becoming a mother, she’d dressed only for survival.
“How’s it going in here?” Jeff asked, coming into the closet with June in his arms. He had sent Gwen in here to pick out an outfit a half hour ago. He must have been wondering what was taking so long.
“I don’t know. Nothing seems right,” Gwen said.
It was a statement of total truth.
“Hey, I know this is hard,” Jeff said, “but I really think this is a rip-the-Band-Aid-off situation. You’ll feel much better after tomorrow.”
“You’re probably right.”
She couldn’t fathom how he could be right, how anything could feel much better after she handed over her baby (and a hefty sum of money) to relative strangers and then returned to a work environment where she was expected to be on for several hours a day.
Jeff didn’t want to hear her negativity, though.
She had to, for all intents and purposes, suck it up.
That night, she lay awake in bed, flat on her back, while Jeff lay flat on his back next to her, the two of them like two cadavers in a morgue. He was sleeping well enough to snore. June was still waking up two or three times a night, and Gwen found herself on alert for her cries, unable to rest.
She sat up against the headboard, tapped her phone awake.
It had been two days since the kissing incident with Leigh, and she still hadn’t heard from her.
She felt mortified by the whole thing, kept replaying it in her head and chastising herself.
What had come over her? Beyond the humiliation, she was overcome with grief.
She imagined it like an ever-growing multilayered cake, each layer a different source of melancholy—sadness over these first months of new motherhood, sadness over letting June down in so many ways, sadness over going back to work, sadness over her distance from Jeff, sadness over the apparent end of her friendship with Leigh.
She longed to hear from her. She fantasized about Leigh forgiving her, absolving her of her shame.
They would recommit to their friendship, moving forward with the understanding that what had happened between them had been a one-time blunder not requiring further analysis. Why wasn’t Leigh texting her?
Gwen opened Instagram, scrolled mindlessly, looking for something for her brain to grasp on to and mull over so she wouldn’t keep ruminating about Leigh.
She tapped to Angeni Luna’s page. There still hadn’t been a post. Under her last post, a slew of commenters was pleading with her to reassure them.
We miss you, Angeni. Hope all is ok!!!
Starting to worry . . . . . . can u let us know u ok?
Hope rumors aren’t true and ur just taking a break
She started to type a message to Leigh:
Still no word from Angeni Luna. The mystery continues! Miss you, my friend . . .
Then she deleted it. She wasn’t the desperate type, and a message like that was desperate.
“You okay?” Jeff said, rolling onto his side and putting a hand on Gwen’s thigh. His voice was thick with sleep, his eyes still closed.
“Yeah, sorry, I’m fine.”
She put the phone down on the nightstand and slid back to her horizontal position, staring at the ceiling. She channeled Leigh and took several deep breaths. Just as she was finally feeling relaxed enough to sleep, June cried.
It was the same as always—Angeni and Gwen sitting at the kitchen table, Angeni holding Gwen’s hands with such tender affection.
I know you’re uneasy about going back to work, Angeni said.
It doesn’t feel right to be away from June.
Of course it doesn’t. But you have established such a rich connection with June.
It will withstand the difficulty of the separation during the days.
The bond between the two of you can withstand anything.
“Babe, your alarm’s going off,” Jeff said.
It took Gwen a minute to realize she was sleeping in June’s room.
She’d come in to see her in the middle of the night for their new routine—several minutes of attempted breastfeeding, followed by a bottle of formula.
Gwen didn’t know if June was even getting any milk from her anymore, but they were keeping up the charade.
It was possible June just thought the presentation of her mother’s boobs was part of the ritual of these feedings.
Gwen planned to pump whatever she could at work, even if she managed just a couple of ounces. She owed it to June to keep trying.
Gwen remembered lying down with June on her chest postfeeding. She hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but she had. She must have transferred June back to the bassinet at some point, because that was where she was, unbothered by Jeff’s appearance in the doorway.
“For work,” Jeff said. “Your alarm.”
Gwen sat up in bed. She’d set the alarm on her phone for six so she would have plenty of time to get everything ready for the day.
“Sorry,” she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. June began to stir.
“Want me to start the shower for you?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Sure, yeah,” she said.
She checked her mental list:
Shower
Dress
Blow-dry hair
Makeup
Breakfast
Breastfeed/bottle
Dress June
Double-check June’s day care bag
Double-check work bag—pump supplies!
When in doubt, she’d always relied on lists, switching into a robotic going-through-the-motions mode that didn’t give her time to consider any troublesome feelings. That was the only way she would get through this day and all the days after it—by dismissing her feelings.
By seven thirty, she had accomplished all the items on her list and looked like a woman who was ready for the hours ahead of her. She stood by the front door, June in her car seat on the floor, June’s diaper bag and her work bag next to each other.
“You look great, honey,” Jeff said.
He seemed pleased. He must have worried that she’d be unable to get out of bed. He must have foreseen a complete breakdown.
“I can go with you to drop off June,” he said.
“It’s okay. I’ve got it.”
His presence at drop-off wouldn’t be a comfort. That was why she didn’t want him to come. He’d be far too breezy and chipper, which would only make her feel worse about the avalanche of despair she expected.
“I’m proud of you,” he said.
He gave her a kiss on the cheek, then kneeled to give June a kiss on the cheek.
“Look at my girls, going off into the world.”
Breezy and chipper.
He helped load them into the car, his girls going off into the world.
Then he gave Gwen another kiss on the cheek and said he’d call her in an hour to check in.
She sat in the driver’s seat, seat belt on, and watched him pull out of the driveway in the rearview mirror.
When he was down the street, she considered her options.
What if they just didn’t go? How long could she pretend to go to work while actually staying at home with June?
The day care wouldn’t call Jeff; they would call the mother.
Everyone called the mother. She could say they’d had a change of plans, unenroll, lose the two-grand deposit.
She could tell her boss she needed another month, the alternative being a resignation.
Jeff would be none the wiser for at least a week or two.
Her phone buzzed with a text, and she hoped it was Leigh checking in because she remembered this was The Day. But it was just Jeff.
You can do this
If he hadn’t sent the text, maybe she would have gone forward with her desperate scheme. Those simple words from her oh-so-simple husband were enough to stop the train of her thoughts from barreling down its derelict track. She started the car.
They’d selected the Seattle Child Development Center for day care because it was right downtown, near both of their offices.
Gwen hadn’t been to the facility since they’d selected it, when she was barely pregnant and already touring various places with the hope of getting on a wait list that wasn’t too long.
She pulled into the parking lot, and her anxiety spiked immediately.
There were so many cars pulling in and out that a woman in an orange vest was there to direct traffic.
Gwen was positioned precariously in the driveway, the back half of her car still in the street, making her the target of aggressive honking that kick-started her crying earlier than she’d anticipated.
The woman in the orange vest made eye contact and, upon seeing Gwen’s obvious distress, waved her over to a spot near the back of the lot.
Gwen was still crying as she pulled in and put the car in park.
When she went to open her door, she saw that the woman in the orange vest was standing there, a look of pity on her face that made Gwen want to curl up in a ball on the floor beneath the steering wheel for the rest of the day.
“Oh, honey,” the woman said. “First day?”
Gwen muttered, “Yes,” but she couldn’t look at the woman, couldn’t take in her sympathy.
“It gets easier, I promise,” the woman said. “Well, not in the parking lot. That’s always a bitch. But the whole drop-off thing gets easier.”
Gwen was thankful for the comic relief, felt a smile come to her face despite the anguish.
“Can I help you two inside?”
“That’s so kind, but I’m okay. I—”
The woman sighed. “I’m going to help you two inside.”