44 EVIE
E VIE
“Okay, everybody, votes in?” I joined my two children on the floor and gave the coffee can a shake. It was decorated with a colorful assortment of stickers, marker drawings, and a tattered wrap of white construction paper.
“Wait! I’m not done yet!” Lainey knitted her brows together in serious contemplation, purple marker poised in her small hand.
I couldn’t help but smile as I watched the gears turn in her head, the coral rays of evening sunlight filtering onto the side of her face from the living room windows.
Nearly a full minute later, she folded the tiny slip of paper into a tidy square and dropped it with satisfaction into the can.
“What about you, monkey, is your vote in?” I asked as Lucas plopped down with a clumsy thud next to me, crisscrossing his legs.
“Yep! I picked bike ride.”
“You’re not supposed to tell!” Lainey chided.
He shrugged, pulling a goofy face. There were few things a five-year-old loved more than aggravating a bossy big sister.
My life was a series of moments like this, tied together with gossamer threads.
It wasn’t the big things, like weddings and vacations and milestones, but rather the simple moments that I loved, hidden in the unremarkable, mundane evenings of daily life.
I’d made my choices—done what I thought was best for everyone.
I’d crafted the quiet life behind the white picket fence far from the shiny lights and secrets that lingered in boxes tied with aging ribbons.
I had chased the ghosts of the past away and kept them at bay. Or so I told myself.
Steve and I had started the Friday-evening ritual of Family Fun Night just over a year earlier, and by some miracle, it had stuck, despite all the changes that had occurred in the midst of a recent separation.
The can was full of slips of white paper, accumulated votes of weeks past, marking the passage of time and the emerging interests of growing children.
“Okay, mine’s in too!” I had made a show of thinking hard, then dropped my own vote into the can. “And look out! It’s a good one tonight!”
“Let me guess, board game?” Lainey asked with a smart, silly grin. Moms can be so predictable, after all.
“Ooh, I hope it’s make-your-own-sundae bar,” Lucas added. “I love when we do that.”
“Hmm, I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?
” I tickled Lucas in the ribs. “Okay, Lainey Bear, I think it’s your turn to pick this week.
” I gave the can a ceremonial shake and held it out.
With relished authority, she reached her hand inside and made a big deal of blindly selecting the evening’s activity.
She unfolded the paper and jumped up with glee, making her long chestnut ponytail bob with excitement.
“Peter Pan!” She’d gotten lucky and chosen her own vote. “Let’s do it in the backyard!”
“I’m Peter!” Lucas shouted after her and took off running.
“Fine, I’m Tinker Bell and, Mommy, you’re—”
“Wendy. I know.” I laughed and stood, summoning the last reserves of energy from the day. I was always Wendy when we played this game of pretend, acting out the scenes from the beloved tale. Kids can be predictable sometimes too.
Summer had ended in Eastern Pennsylvania, but the evening still held the last drops of golden sunshine and green trees.
We spent the next forty-five minutes running around the backyard in character.
Sugar for pixie dust, a green tutu, and a plastic sword.
Arms flapping in pretend flight, and our boxer, Roxy, chasing and being chased, loping on long legs as she unknowingly played the role of the dreaded crocodile with a toothy grin.
Similar sounds were heard from swing sets and patios over the fences of neighboring yards and beyond.
The evening chatter of picturesque suburban life.
As the sun dipped and the air began turning cool, I glanced at my watch. “Okay, guys, just a few more minutes till we have to go in. It’s almost—”
“Dad!” Both children took off running past me, and I turned to see Steve coming around the side of the house. “We’re playing Peter Pan!” Lainey added. “Wanna play?”
“Aaarrr! Ahoy, that makes me ...” Steve threw his arms around our two children and scooped them up, one on each side. “The dreaded Captain Hook!” He swung them around, kissing the tops of their heads before turning toward me.
“Hey there,” he said. “I’m sorry I’m a little early. My last meeting rescheduled. Hope it’s okay. I rang the doorbell but—”
“Yes, it’s broken.” We both chuckled. “Again.” The thing had been a perpetual thorn, even before he’d left. It was one of those little tasks that always ended up at the bottom of the list.
“Do you want me to fix it this weekend for good, finally? I don’t mind.”
“Thanks, it’s okay. I’ve got someone coming to look at it.”
He continued to hold the kids at his sides as they squirmed in fits of giggles.
The top buttons of his blue oxford dress shirt were undone.
His tie had likely been strewn aside in the car on the way over, and there were now flecks of glitter from Lainey’s tutu on his sleeve.
One minute the sharp and tidy businessman, and the next, the image of the perfect father—that was Steve.
Blond Kennedy looks and the face of a man who had perhaps at one time spent sunny dawns on the river with his rowing crew in college but who’d gotten pleasantly soft with age.
It could be annoying—his perfection. A lot to live up to.
“The kids aren’t quite ready yet. I have to finish packing their bags,” I said, wishing I’d had the chance to change into a nicer shirt.
“I can wait. It’s no trouble.” As we stood somewhat awkwardly, the kids flitted around us like fireflies.
“Okay, I’ll just run in.” I started up the wooden steps of the deck he’d once stained almond brown and turned. “It’ll take me a little while; come on in. Can I get you anything?”
“I’m good, thanks.” He gave me a warm smile—the same one that had first struck me smitten in the sixth grade—then returned his attention to the kids as I went inside.
The aftermath of a separation, the time between sharing a life together and signing names on a divorce decree, is a fuzzy, gray area with blurry lines.
There hadn’t been animosity between us, no screaming fights or thrown dishes.
No red flags to say, Danger. Trouble ahead .
Just the slow fade of what once had been love and affection, disappearing into the mist like a shadowy ship from a cold-climate harbor.
It was there, and then it was gone. Or maybe it had never been there in the first place.
Eventually, he decided he needed a fresh start, and I decided it would feel less lonely to be alone than to pretend to be happy when we weren’t.
It was mutual, really. No bad guys. We even got along so well that we’d come to these conclusions at just about the same time, which was almost funny but not.
We’d been figuring it all out and navigating the new order of life.
I started the well-choreographed routine of packing bags.
It was Steve’s weekend with the kids, and by that point, I’d finally gotten the process down to a science, including the endless search for Stuffy the Dragon and the pangs of guilt.
A short while later, I deposited the bags at the front door and returned to the living room to find Lucas dozing on the sofa, curled into a nest among the oversize taupe cushions.
Steve sat perched on the edge of the sofa with the TV remote in one hand and a glass of water in the other.
He glanced toward Lucas. “He was tuckered out, so I brought him in. He just crashed.”
“Where’s Lainey?” I asked.
“I told her she could run next door for a few minutes and see the Rileys’ new turtle.
” As he tuned to the finance report on the television, I glanced at the room.
The day’s toys were still on the floor, and I collected a plastic cup of apple juice from the end table, depositing it in the dishwasher.
I noticed a line of red crayon had somehow appeared on the leg of my jeans.
Steve flipped the channel back to an entertainment news show and set the remote down, turning to me.
“Hey, it’s really great that you’re trying to keep up with the whole Family Fun Night thing. ”
“Thanks. Trying, anyway. They still love it.”
We both paused, not knowing what to say next; then he looked up at me sideways and smiled a little sadly. “It was really nice joining in again for a few minutes.”
I continued tidying the room, placing a few DVDs back in the drawer, the activity filling the silence that followed. “Just a heads-up, Lucas has been making me read four books a night ... including Tootle the Train ,” I said with a weary half smile.
“Ouch. That’s a long one.” He feigned a comical wince.
“And watch out for Lainey’s loose tooth. I think—”
“We’ll be fine.”
“I know. It’s just—”
“Evie.”
I bristled at the familiar tone of voice but nodded, letting it go. It wasn’t easy for either of us; I knew that. And we both seemed to be engaged in the constant, unspoken competitive sport of Who’s Got It More Together. I often felt like I was losing.
“So, any plans this weekend?” he asked, changing the subject after a few moments had passed.
“Nothing much. Kate and I might have lunch, but I think I’m going to catch up on work mostly.”
“How’s work going? Still adjusting?”
“It’s good. Thanks. I got a new story this week.”
“Hey, that’s great! I told you they’d be beating down your door.”