Chapter 12
Dear Cece,
I’ve lived long enough to learn when to take time to cool off before getting into some heated, pointless argument.
This morning was one of those moments. Imagine my disappointment and embarrassment when I called Tina to hear about how my accomplished, brilliant daughter knocked her interview out of the park, only to hear that she’d done quite the opposite.
Blaming your previous company for letting you go?
Challenging your potential supervisor on the mission of the company?
You could have simply said you didn’t want the job.
At least then I wouldn’t have wasted my time.
I can’t pretend to know what’s gotten into you, Cece, but if you’re dead set on self-destructing, I’d appreciate it if you kept me out of your blast range.
Not all of us want to go down like the Titanic.
Is this really what you’ve decided to do with the privilege and opportunity afforded to you?
I cannot understand this change, Cece. Everyone loses their job at one point or another, everyone has relationship trouble, but you don’t blow it all up.
I can only hope that you’ve reconciled with Jonathan.
He is a good man, Cece. He is dependable and yes, he is rich, and that matters.
There, I’ve said it. Sure, money doesn’t buy happiness, but it buys so much else: space, time, safety, and consistency.
You might not think much of these things; you’re still young.
But trust me. There is nothing worse, nothing dingier, than getting old and worrying about money.
I don’t know why I’ve never said it so plainly to you before, perhaps because it sounds crude, but it only sounds crude to those who are unwilling to admit its truth.
I’m sorry I wasn’t there this morning when your father told you.
I imagine it came as quite a shock, or maybe not.
You’ve always been more perceptive than Wynonna.
The truth is, Cece, your father and I have been drifting apart for quite some time.
Marriage is a funny thing. Sometimes I think it was easier when you girls were young, and we were busier than bees.
Sure, we fought more. God, the screaming matches we would have, but in the end, cooler heads would always prevail because we had you two, and we knew there were necessary sacrifices that had to be made.
And I’m glad I made those sacrifices, but now that you and your sister are out of the house, there’s less to distract us from ourselves.
The vacation was a last-ditch effort to try and save things, but it feels to me like this has run its course, and I refuse to be still and atrophy just because that’s what good wives are supposed to do.
Your father and I spend very little time together as is.
I’ve never been busier at work, perhaps by choice, and he’s grown only more like himself.
He’s a creature of habit. Just getting him out of the house feels like a feat.
People don’t change as they get older; they just get more like themselves—at least that’s what my mother used to say.
None of this takes into account the matter of your father’s business, which moves closer and closer to insolvency with each passing day.
I can safely say that the company hasn’t turned a profit in three years.
We’re only above water because I’ve redoubled my efforts and have found my own steady stream of income.
But I am tired. Tired of his delusions, tired of pulling more than my weight.
I don’t want to grow older and more resentful than I already am, which is why I need to leave.
Staying will only harm the both of us. I’ve found a good community of women in my exercise classes.
I’m telling you, I feel like I’m forty again.
I wake up energized and hungry. You can understand, Cece, can’t you?
I’m not asking for your forgiveness; I’m just asking you to understand.
I imagine this is a lot for you to process.
Call me if you want. I haven’t told Wynonna yet, please don’t say anything, I want to tell her myself.
In fact, I’ll give her a call now. The last thing I want is your father breaking the news to her.
And just in case you’re wondering, I’m still mad at you about blowing off that interview.
I love you, Cece. So does your father. I hope you’ll eventually understand why I’m doing this.
Love, Mom
Cece finishes the email and slides her phone into her pocket and stands up from her seat at the picnic table.
Semitrucks rumble by, kicking up dust and grime.
From the welcome center, a steady stream of weary travelers sated by McDonald’s and Starbucks.
Only Bernard’s impatient yaps bring her back to the moment.
In so many ways, her mother is right, which only makes Cece angrier, mostly with herself.
Of course, she should have rebuffed Kim’s connections and help, but that would have required honesty and forthrightness, two qualities Cece is woefully in short supply of.
The tears come fast and hard before Cece can stop them.
How absurd and juvenile, she thinks, running the back of her hand under her nose.
Crying! Why is she so upset? Hadn’t she suspected something was going on?
Even so, Cece finds herself overcome with the keen sense that something is ending, not a perfect union, but a union, nonetheless.
Her parents’ marriage had lasted nearly four decades—a not-so-insignificant amount of time.
Cece wonders how long her parents might have lasted if not for her and Wynonna.
She wonders what makes a strong marriage, a good marriage, one capable of weathering not just the small tragedies of life, but the inexhaustible whims of the human heart for change and reinvention.
Except there was no changing with Barry—he’d very much preferred to stay the same—and now her parents were on the brink.
Cece doesn’t know how to hedge against such risks.
Two months ago, safely ensconced in her job and relationship with Jonathan, right before the proposal, she’d have turned to the numbers, to probable outcomes.
The best indicator of the future was the past, and the only way to guarantee success, in anything, was to analyze the risks and uncertainties and act quickly and decisively to account for them.
But even then, Cece understands, cajoling the dog back into his crate, there are no guarantees.
Bernard sniffs around the unfamiliar apartment.
It feels strange to be back in the very place Cece absconded from, filled with conviction and malice.
Had she failed? Run back to the friendly confines of her relationship with Jonathan, tail between her legs?
It doesn’t feel like she’s given up, but somehow, she suspects she’s faltered somewhere.
Jonathan had sounded anxious on the phone when she’d asked if she could stop by, but now that she’s here, in the apartment, her old apartment, there’s no doubt he’s happy to see her.
Bernard lends the place an air of domesticity, and Cece finds herself slipping into a reverie of their future together, a future filled with family gatherings and warm chandelier light, cooing infants, and the sumptuous ease of a full and busy life.
There’s time to kill. Even though it’s Saturday, Jonathan has work calls and meetings.
The three massive computer monitors in his office tell a story in a foreign language, with greens and reds, jagged lines and blinking decimal points.
After being cooped up in the car, Cece decides to take Bernard for a long walk to stretch his legs.
Jonathan promises to text her once he finishes up, his voice already distant, his mind drifting from the present to his spreadsheets and inbox, tickers on repeat—an infinite loop of inscrutable data.
The South End is bustling with young professionals, techy-looking men in stretchy pants and half zips, skinny women in pastel-colored running shoes and tight ponytails.
Bernard pauses outside a crowded brewery patio, and Cece is amazed by the number of families seated at the beer-hall-style benches and standing around cornhole boards.
Fathers cradle swaddled infants to their chests, hoppy beer painting their upper lips.
Mothers push luxury-looking strollers back and forth with idle feet.
This portrait of parenthood feels less daunting to Cece, nearly attainable.
After Bernard’s tired himself out, Cece finds a bench in the shade along the water and checks her phone. Nothing from Morgan, and why would there be? Instead, an ominous-sounding text from Wynonna: Check your email. So, Kim had told her.
Cece,
Did you know about this? Mom just called me to say she’s leaving Dad.
This doesn’t make sense. They’ve been together for almost forty years, are things really so bad?
What did I miss? This can’t be the solution, Cece.
Sure, they bicker, but what married couple doesn’t?
A little tension is normal, don’t you think?
What the hell is Mom thinking? She can’t just drop Dad and start a whole new life.
She’s sixty-two! What does she actually think is out there?