10. Elizabeth
Ten
Elizabeth
“I know, babe,” I tell my son. I pick at my shirt, adjusting one of the “capsule” outfits that Lisa and June declared interview appropriate.
I don’t actually have an interview, but I plan to go drop my resume in person at FARE and want to look nice.
Of course, I can’t go do that if Todd doesn’t come meet his fucking custody responsibilities.
We both stand there for another five minutes, our breath becoming irregular.
I’m sure Jake’s heart is racing as much as mine.
“Are you calling him?” My son looks at me so intensely.
I have no desire to call Todd, because I am sure I’ll regret what I say to him if I get through, but I nod to Jake and pull out my phone. I dial.
“Right to voicemail, Jake.” We both sigh. Then he screams.
“I don’t even like him. His new house smells like fragrance and I don’t like that person he’s living with because she smells like hairspray and all the food has tomatoes in it.” Jake yanks open the front door and steps into the front yard, where he screams again and then plunks down on the grass.
I close my eyes and wait for inspiration to come to help me salvage this day, but it doesn’t arrive. Until I open my eyes and see Kellen crossing the street, a lawnmower abandoned in his driveway. “Hey, Jake,” he says, his voice kind. “Something bothering you today?”
“Yes!” Jake doesn’t elaborate. I smile because he did indeed answer Kellen’s question. Kellen also grins, and I feel warmth spread through my chest, where I hadn’t quite realized an icy chill had settled.
“Would you—now wait. Let me get it right. I’d like to see if I have an idea to help. What’s bothering you?”
Jake seems to ponder Kellen, who sits down next to him in the grass and waits, patiently.
Why can’t Jake’s actual father be this patient with him, I think, and immediately hate myself for having such thoughts.
There’s just so much to unpack there. I listen as Jake complains that his dad is late, is not answering his phone, and has basically ruined Jake’s entire life.
Kellen looks up at me and nods. I wave. “Your mom is pretty dressed up. She looks like she had some plans go awry, too.”
Jake considers this and looks at me. “She is dressed atypically, yes.”
“You got somewhere to be, Beth?” With his legs bent, arms dangling as he and my son fidget with the clover growing in the yard, I can easily pretend, just for a minute, they both belong there, together.
Father and son, making sure I get out the door okay.
It’s a fantasy, totally unrealistic and a dangerous path to let my thoughts wander.
“I had an errand to run,” I say, waving my hand. “But I can go another time. I don’t want to leave Jake while he’s upset.”
Kellen is quiet for a moment and Jake yanks a clump of dandelions from the yard, hurling them toward the street. “I see that your grass is a bit long,” Kellen says. “Is the landlord supposed to mow?”
I bite my lip and shake my head. I haven’t gotten around to dealing with the lawn yet.
Every time I think I’m getting caught up with this new life, I’m reminded of another thing I didn’t do.
Or couldn’t do. How hard is it to get a lawnmower and take care of this small amount of grass?
Evidently hard enough that I failed to do it.
“Tell you what,” Kellen says, standing and extending an arm toward Jake. “Why don’t I show Jake here how the lawnmower works. You have a knack for mechanical things, right?”
“I understand how combustion engines function to operate the blades.” Jake rolls his eyes, like Kellen just suggested he didn’t know something simple like counting to five.
Kellen chuckles. “Well then we’re halfway through already. Beth, you can run your errand and by the time you get back, we’ll have covered safety tips as well as mechanics.”
“Oh, I can’t let you mow my grass, Kellen,” I spit out automatically, accustomed to saying no to help.
I may have known Kellen as a teen, but I’m not ready to leave my son alone with him, not when Jake’s been upset.
Most of the time, the well-meaning person offering assistance isn’t really qualified to help me get Jake to the car or coax him to move if he’s blocking a door and gets upset.
I’ve just gotten used to being on call. All the time.
“I’m not going to mow it,” Kellen says, scoffing. “Jake will.”
My mouth drops open to protest, but Kellen holds up a hand. “I’ve taught four teens how to use a lawnmower and haven’t had a lost digit yet. You go on and run your errand and then stop somewhere for a cup of tea by yourself.”
I swoon, right there on my porch. If I hadn’t been leaning against the door to my house, I would have fallen right to the ground.
That is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me in 50 years, and that includes the first time I knew Kellen when he used to say beautiful things to me before we’d kiss.
I touch my lips, remembering the feel of his soft lips against mine.
He had smooth cheeks then, no chest hair poking out from his shirt collar.
I shake myself back to reality and sigh.
He’s right. I should run my errand, but I also should stay home and make sure that Jake doesn’t relapse into the red zone and hurt himself.
Kellen seems to watch me working through this thought process. He squints. “What if Jake calls to check in every ten minutes until you get there? He’s got a phone, right?”
Jake rolls his eyes and pulls out the phone in question. “Mom, it’s fine. I want to use the lawnmower.” He doesn’t look back at me, walks right across the street toward Kellen’s garage in that way he has of shutting off the switch, like the lightning storm never even happened.
“I swear I’ve got this, Beth,” Kellen says. “Go run your errand.”
I try not to cry, and I close my eyes. I tell him, “When his shoulders get tense, that’s his tell that he’s starting to get very upset. Promise you’ll have him call me right away?”
“I will study his shoulders with all the care I give a dam about to break.” Kellen holds one hand over his heart and one hand in the air, like he’s saluting me, and I feel something shift in my chest. Maybe this can be okay.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I run back inside to grab the folder with my resume, along with my purse.
When I get to the driveway, I see my son crouched next to my former lover, leaning over the lawnmower and talking about “rigid rules and flexible rules,” and I know for sure that I’m going to have to use my facial massager later, because my god.
This man understands how to talk to my son. And it turns me on.
“May I help you?” There’s a pleasant woman at the reception desk when I find the FARE office in a row of old industrial buildings.
I put on my most confident smile and lean on the counter.
“I hope so,” I tell her. “I’m interested in applying for the open position I saw online.
For the parent coach? I’ve got my resume and cover letter here.
” I open the folder and hand her the documents, but I can tell by the look on her face that I’ve made a blunder somehow.
“Oh,” she says. “I’m so sorry. We actually just filled that position.” I will myself not to feel defeated. It was a pipe dream job, anyway. In no universe would the perfect part-time job open up and fall at my feet that way. Not that easily.
I nod. “I understand. Bad timing,” I say, pulling back the papers. A door opens behind the desk and I see a woman who looks vaguely familiar.
She hangs up her cell phone call and does a double take when she sees me. “Elizabeth Gaston!” She points at her chest. “Do you remember me? Karen Wolfe. Our boys were in social skills together. Gosh, it’s been almost ten years now.”
I do remember her, now that she says that. I smile and shake her hand. “It’s Elizabeth Burns now,” I say. “It’s so good to see you.”
“What brings you down here? We don’t get many visitors here at the office.” I learned from their website that most of their trainings are in schools, for teachers and staff, but sometimes in community centers when they host events for families to attend.
“I was actually here to apply for the coach position, but I just learned that I was a little too late.” I shrug and try to seem casual, even though I’m ready to cry inside.
Karen makes a disappointed face. “Oh, gosh. That’s too bad. I always love when we get parents on the team who really get it. You know? Of course you know. How is Jake?”
I shrug. “Pissed off that I ruined his life by moving him to a new neighborhood with new smells and different furniture.” We share a belly laugh about that.
I seem to recall that her son has an aversion to the color yellow and can’t even be in a room if someone else is wearing a yellow shirt.
“Is Evan still struggling with yellow?” I clutch the folder tight against my chest, hoping I haven’t struck a nerve.
That one would be a really hard aversion to manage, especially in Pittsburgh where half the city dons black and gold clothing every Friday in support of the baseball, football or hockey teams.
Karen beams. “You remembered! Oh man, that one was a hard one. We got the most wonderful behavioral specialist and she took him to the football stadium—you know most of the seats there are yellow. Gold. Whatever. She did all this desensitization work with him and of course he still hates yellow, but is able to at least attend class with other kids who wear a Steelers jersey or something.” She shrugs.
“I’m so bummed we don’t have anything here for you. ”
“There will be other opportunities,” I say, echoing things I’ve heard Lisa say before. Echoing the statements I say to my own kid when he’s suffered a disappointment. If I say it often enough, maybe the sting will wear off my own disappointment.
Karen makes a face. “Well,” she says. “Why don’t you leave your info with me. Got a resume? Of course you do. Anyway, we partner with so many organizations. It’s the time of year where there’s so much turnover as schools are getting started…why don’t I pass your info along if I see something?”
“Oh my gosh, Karen! Yes. Thank you.” I hand her the folder. “That would be amazing. Truly.” She hands me her card and tells me to call, and not just about Jake. I slide it into my pocket, not wanting it to get lost in the cavern of my purse.
I walk back to my car, reminding myself that this was a reach job anyway.
I have no real training or qualifications, just 15 years of advocating for my kid to get the services he needed and the insurance coverage necessary to pay for it.
It’s not really like I lost the job. Karen seems like she has really good connections.
I slide into the driver’s seat and look around.
There’s a comic book shop nearby, a few dive bars.
Kellen urged me to go get a tea, but I’ve been gone nearly an hour by now.
Surely he and Jake have finished mowing the grass.
I realize I didn’t even leave Kellen my phone number in case of an emergency.
What if Jake didn’t charge his phone? Jesus, I didn’t even call to check in like I said I would.
Panicked, I start to drive toward home, telling myself Jake has my number and both of them know where my parents live, and my parents have my number, too.
“This is fine,” I tell myself. “It’s fine. You can run an errand and leave your teenaged son at home. This is fine.”
My phone pings while I’m at the light. I look down to see a message from Jake: Can I mow lawns 4 $$? Kellen says I can use his mower.
I feel a deep relief that spreads through my veins like warm chocolate. I’m almost high on the sugary sweetness of this feeling—Jake cooled down from being upset and moved on with his day.
The light turns and I swing over the Hot Metal Bridge back toward my end of the city.
I’m driving along and I see a jumble of furniture by the curb as I get to a neighborhood where a lot of college students live.
Remembering the bedroom furniture I recently picked up, I slow down, hoping maybe I’ll score something for the dining room.
All the chairs I see are stained or broken, but my eye catches a flat black…something. “Works! Free!” Someone has written a sign with black marker and taped it to the object. I park and get out, peering down. I realize it’s a portable treadmill.
It’s small and pretty basic, but I think about all the times Lisa has told me stress lives in the legs.
She started power walking whenever she had a call home from a teacher, pacing until she felt calm enough to carry on with her day.
Soon, she was putting in 30 miles a week, sometimes with one of her kids running behind her, complaining about her pace.
I don’t have a supportive husband at home like Lisa, to take the reins with the kids while I go blow off steam.
I decide this treadmill is the perfect solution.
I won’t have to leave Jake if I’m anxious that he’s on edge.
I can stomp out all my rage. Maybe I’ll even work up to jogging.
How many years has it been since I exercised?
I wrestle the treadmill into my hatchback and head home, a smile on my face. When I pull in the driveway, I see that the yard has been neatly mowed. Jake is inside on the couch playing a video game. “Hey,” I say, ruffling his hair. He bats my hand out of the way, not looking up from his game.
“I’m in the middle of a round,” he says.
I roll my eyes, drag the treadmill into the room, and plunk it in front of the TV. I sink into the couch next to my son and pull out my phone to search for the instruction manual for this model.