Chapter 6
Chapter six
Itake a calming breath, ready to launch into my Zen-like speech about how we understand you’re getting older, that you’re taking on new responsibilities, and we so appreciate your maturity, but…
When Josh gets there first. “Are you and Ben shacking up together at Miss Barbara’s place?” he demands.
I close my eyes. Again.
Bethany scoots up in her chair, sitting up straight. “What?” she practically shrieks, her tone one of both incredulity and outrage.
“Josh…” I murmur, but it’s too late. My husband is off and running.
“Miss Barbara told us,”—not quite true, she told me—“that you were moving into her place so you could have some space.” He imbues that innocuous word with a lot of innuendo.
Bethany’s face is flushed, her eyes glittering with anger. “I can’t believe this,” she exclaims. “You couldn’t just ask me about it, you have to jump to these ridiculous conclusions?”
Okay, despite her obvious anger, it comforts me that Josh’s conclusions are, according to our daughter, ridiculous. Still, I clearly need to do some damage control.
“We are asking you about it,” I point out. “And all right, your dad might be feeling a little emotional about his baby girl moving on in life. Cut him a little slack, okay?” I smile, willing her to enter into my vibe, but Bethany is still glaring at us.
“Why don’t you save your overprotectiveness for the baby girl you’re having?” she suggests, pointing a finger almost accusingly at my bump.
Whoa. This conversation just took a strange and severe turn.
“Bethany…” I stare at her, noticing the tears starting in our eyes, the way her lips tremble.
“Are you… are you upset about my pregnancy?” I ask, feeling my way through the words because Bethany is nineteen, not an anxious toddler threatened by Mommy’s attention being on the brand-new baby. Right?
“No, I’m not upset,” she says on a huff as she brushes at her eyes.
“It’s just… you guys have a lot going on.
And you know, this baby is going to take up a lot of your time, and…
” She trails off, shaking her head, seeming frustrated with herself.
“I don’t know, I just thought it might be better if I moved out. ”
“Honey…” Josh’s anger, as it so often does, has left him in one big rush, so now he can smile tenderly at our eldest. “Maybe we’ve been preoccupied, but there’s always room for you here.”
“Is there really?” Bethany asks with a touch of asperity even as she sniffs. “Because where exactly is this baby going to sleep?”
“Well, in our bedroom at first…” I begin, trailing off as my daughter’s eyes narrow.
“And then with Rose,” she fills in, “or will the baby wake her up at night, and Rose will have to sleep with me?” Neither Josh nor I answer.
I suspect there’s more than a little truth to that supposition.
“Look,” Bethany says tiredly, “it’s not like I mind sharing with Rose.
It’s just… all my friends from New Jersey are in college.
They’re living independent lives. If we’d stayed in Princeton, I would have moved out nearly a year ago. ”
There is clearly a lot going on in our daughter’s mind, and I understand it. Missing out on college, coping with an unexpected sibling, navigating a new relationship, her first ever romantic one…
“So, why didn’t you tell us?” I ask gently. “Because if we’re overreacting, and we probably are, it’s because I learned this from Miss Barbara, who, to be fair to Dad, insinuated just a little that you and Ben would appreciate the space.”
Bethany lets out a snort of weary laughter. “Well, Miss Barbara has always been a free spirit. But if you think Ben and I are going to shack up together, Dad, you clearly don’t know the Wilsons very well. I think Mr. Wilson would skin Ben alive if he so much as suggested such a thing.”
I smile wryly at that. Bethany might be exaggerating the Wilsons’ reaction… but only by a little.
“Okay, so tell us what you’re thinking,” I encourage our daughter.
Bethany looks between us, seeming wary, hesitant, and so very young. Is she really ready to live on her own? Admittedly, she has a point. If she’d gone to college, she already would be.
“I haven’t thought it completely through,” she admits slowly.
“Miss Barbara only asked me a couple of days ago, and I wanted to think about it first. But she wants someone to keep an eye on the place, and I’ll have to water her plants, so it’s just easier if I’m over there…
” She hunches one shoulder, looking shy.
“I mean, I kind of want to figure out what it’s like, living on my own.
And I know it’s not the same as college or a dorm or anything, but…
it’s close enough. And,” she adds, giving both Josh and me pointed looks, “it’s not like I’m that far away.
I’m literally a ten-minute walk up the road.
And I can come by here to hang out or help or whatever all the time.
” She smiles at me, her expression softening.
“I’m not upset about this baby, Mom. I mean, I was surprised at first, but it’s exciting, and I know you’re going to need help once she arrives, so… don’t think I’m busting out of here. I’m not.” Her lips tremble just a little as she smiles. “I’m still part of this family.”
“You certainly are,” Josh assures her. He sounds a little choked up, and I might need to dab at my eyes, but then I can always blame pregnancy hormones.
Josh pulls Bethany into a hug that turns into a group hug that lasts all of three seconds before she pulls away, laughing.
“Okay, okay,” she warns us, “don’t get all emo on me.”
“Emo!” Josh explains indignantly, then he’s laughing, too.
As bittersweet as it is to think of Bethany moving on, I’m glad we navigated this potential conflict, crisis averted.
Hopefully, the next time Josh sees Ben, he won’t go all crazy dad on him, the way he did with William’s erstwhile bully.
I can completely picture my husband giving Ben a little meaningful man-to-man talk.
But for now… I feel relieved.
The rest of the day passes in the usual flurry of chores that never seem to end—weeding, tidying, laundry, making cheese and a fresh batch of yogurt. There’s always something to do, but it’s a good something. Usually, anyway.
In the afternoon, Rose and I spend a happy hour perusing the feed store catalogue; we’re hoping to pick up a couple more chicks when they arrive, as well as various seeds and early plants.
Josh is still hoping to get pigs, although I remain ambivalent.
Knowing my husband, he’ll be coming home with two of them any day now.
It feels exciting to be going through the whole seasonal cycle again, and hopefully, this time, a little—if only a little—wiser.
When Rose goes off to play with her many cats, I spend a contented half-hour looking for a hotel in Charleston for Emmy and me.
We’ve agreed to go away the first week in May before things get too crazy with the garden.
My dad ambles in as I’m deciding whether to splurge on a five-star luxury hotel that has a weekend deal.
“Hey, there,” he says, and something about his smile that usually comes so easily to him makes me pause.
“Hey.” I close my laptop. “I just boiled the kettle. Can I make you a cup of tea?”
“Now, that sounds nice.” He sits down at the table with an audible creak of his joints as I go to the counter to brew his tea.
“What have you been up to?” I ask lightly.
My dad tends to make himself busy pottering around, playing games with the kids, or sneaking off to his room to watch Midsomer Murders.
I feel a twinge of guilt that I haven’t been engaging him more actively; I’ve been more worrying about him from a distance.
“Oh, this and that,” he replies easily enough. “I got soundly thrashed by William in chess and discussed the advantages of the Browning X-Bolt 2 with Jack. I believe he has hopes to bag a deer this season.”
“Hmm.” I know everybody around here hunts, but I’m still struggling to get fully on board with it.
“And I watched an episode or two of my show,” my dad admits with a twinkle in his eye.
“What season are you on now?” I ask, smiling. My dad has watched a lot of Midsomer Murders.
“Sixteen,” he informs me with a touch of pride. “I’ve still got a ways to go.”
“What, eight?” I ask with a laugh.
“Nine,” he corrects me. “I’d better hop to it.”
“What will you do when it ends?” I muse as I place a cup of tea in front of him. Despite our good-natured banter, I have a feeling there’s something more that he wants to say. I sit back down with my own cup of tea and take a sip, waiting for him to spit it out.
“I’m sure I’ll find something else to occupy my time,” my dad assures me. He hesitates and then adds, “Actually… there’s something to do that tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I am surprised; it’s Sunday. The only thing we usually have happening on a Sunday is church.
“Yes, there’s a… a social at the community center in Buckholt for us oldies.” He smiles self-deprecatingly before continuing, “A tea dance. I thought I might go.”
I try to school my expression into something that doesn’t resemble complete shock.
A tea dance? My dad has gone to his PT willingly enough, but he hasn’t engaged too much in the social activities available for ‘oldies’ in Buckholt, although to be fair, he has gone to the bridge group a few times.
Still, a dance. I’m pleased, of course, but like with Bethany, I’m a little…
taken aback. Life is moving on in all sorts of ways, it seems.
“Um, sure,” I say, a few seconds too late, but I smile to make up for my delayed response.
“I’m sure someone can drive you.” It will have to be either me or Bethany since Josh still isn’t driving, and William isn’t taking his test until May.
My dad decided to stop driving awhile back after his Parkinson’s diagnosis.
It made sense, but I know he feels the loss of freedom keenly. “When is it?”
“Four to six.” He grimaces slightly. “I hope it’s not too inconvenient.”
“No, no,” I say quickly. I am still reeling a little that my dad wants to go to a dance, but then I tell myself to stop reacting to everything so much and just enjoy the fact that he’s making friends. “I’ll go to the feed store and Kroger, stock up on a few things. It’ll be great.”
“Great.” My dad smiles, drinks the rest of the tea, then rises carefully from his chair. “Time to start season seventeen,” he tells me with a wink, and he goes out with a spring in his step, whistling La Vie en Rose.
Hmm.
Later that night, as we’re getting ready for bed, I mention the tea dance to Josh.
“I’m happy for him, of course,” I say quickly, in case my tone conveyed that it wasn’t. “It just seems a little… strange.”
“Why? Your dad’s always liked dancing.”
“He’s not super steady on his feet,” I remind him.
“Abby, no one at this thing is going to be all that steady on their feet. Some of them will probably be dancing with Zimmer frames. I wouldn’t worry.”
“I’m not worried,” I say on something of a huff. I slide into bed and fold my arms. I don’t know what’s got me into such a tizz about this; it must be the pregnancy hormones. Even I can see I’m being unreasonable.
Josh, however, gives me a knowing smile. “Are you worried he’s met someone?” he asks, his tone managing to be both playful and gentle.
“Met someone—”
“A woman.”
“A woman!” I practically yelp. I stare at Josh as I realize that is what has been sticking to the back of my mind like a burr. “Do you think he has?” I ask in a hushed voice.
Josh chuckles. “Who knows? Maybe he just wants to kick up his feet. But if he did… that would be no bad thing, surely?” He raises his eyebrows. “It’s been six years since your mom died, Abby.”
“I know.” I still miss my mom’s calm, capable demeanor and brisk, ready smile just about every day.
I rest one hand on my bump as it occurs to me that this will be the first baby I’ve had where my mom didn’t swoop in the day after to make a million casseroles and deep clean all the bathrooms. She was always much better at that kind of thing than rocking a newborn or changing diapers.
That was my dad’s domain, funnily enough.
They were different in so many ways, but they loved each other deeply.
Could my dad really have met a woman?
Or, like with my spiraling thoughts about Bethany, Ben, and babies, am I overreacting?
“I guess it’s just something I’d have to get used to.”
He reaches over to pull me against him, my back against his chest, his hand resting over mine on the bump of our baby.
“There are a lot of things we’ve had to get used to,” he murmurs against my hair. “But we’ve done okay so far. We’ll manage this.”
“He might not have met someone,” I protest and feel Josh’s laugh reverberate through his chest as he pulls me a little closer.
“You keep telling yourself that, Abby,” he says, then reaches across me to click off the light.