Page 68 of Sex. Love. Marriage.
Mom takes a look at Fin as I set her on the floor to run after Sevi as he crawls on all fours toward his water dish on the floor. Mom follows me into the house. “How are you holding up?” And then she points to Sevi. “Is he really drinking water off the floor?”
“Yes, he thinks he’s a dog.” I get this question a lot, and I hate it. Not the one about Sevi thinking he’s a dog. The one everyone who knows we lost a child asks. How are you holding up? What does that even mean? I don’t think I’m holding up. I’m surviving, yes, but if only they knew the noise inside my head and saw the hole in my chest.
I shrug and offer, “I’m fine, Mom. Why are you really here?”
“I wanted to see my grandbabies.” Her judgmental eyes lower to my body. “You look too skinny.” She pauses, pointing to Sevi. “That’s weird. He shouldn’t be doing that at his age.”
His age? He just turned three. Most three-year-olds I know throw tantrums and their moods change in an instant. The fact that he’s fairly normal, I think is pretty good. “Well, I eat, and what’s wrong with him acting like a dog? He’s three. Three-year-olds are weird.”
Kate takes the kids outside to play, her boys taking turns pushing Hazel on the swing. I smile. She looks to Jagger as if he’s her hero. She has the biggest crush on him, but don’t tell Noah. He’d freak out.
My mom sighs, her eyes drifting around the house and the mess. There are laundry piles on the couch, dishes stacked up in the sink and my floors haven’t been washed in weeks. It’s just not a priority most days. “Kel, this place is a disaster. What are you doing?”
Please tell me you don’t like her already. Are we on the same page? “I’m trying to raise kids and be a mom.” Peeking inside the bag of groceries, I take out the steak seasoning. “Sometimes it’s hard.”
“And a wife,” she adds, as if I’ve somehow forgotten that. “It’s okay to not be okay. You lost a child. It’s okay.”
I slam the steak seasoning in my hand on the counter and wish I was throwing a glass at the door. “I know it’s fucking fine to not be okay,” I snap, my heart pounding in my ears. The thing is, I’m not okay, and I don’t want the reminder. Not today. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get Hazel ready for her play.”
“Oh, well, I’m coming then.”
“Awesome. Noah will be so happy.” In case you didn’t know it, that’s me being sarcastic because if there’s one person Noah doesn’t get along with, it’s my mother.
HAVE YOU EVERbeen to a school play? You know the ones where you sit with all the parents, and they’re raving about how talented and special their child is to have the lead in the school play?
I’m sure you can guess it, but I’m not one of those parents. In fact, I’m nervous as hell and sweating like crazy. Why did my mother have to show up when things aren’t great? It only adds to the mess. When Noah found out she was in town and staying at our house, he drank three beers. In. A. Row. Right before Hazel’s school play.
Needless to say, he’s half shit-faced and no help tonight as I try to wrangle Sevi, Fin, and Oliver who’s just as pleased to be dragged away from playing basketball with Jagger and August.
Noah leans into my shoulder, relaxing in his seat, his arm draped over the back of mine. “Why is Hazel touching herself? It’s like she’s on ecstasy.”
I scowl at him. “How would you know?”
He shrugs one shoulder, indifferent boredom dripping from his voice. “College.”
“Figures,” I mumble, narrowing my eyes at my husband. “She likes the feel of the sequins.”
“Yeah, well,” he says, chuckling and shaking his head. His eyes scan the stage and the other children doing variations of the same thing. Not a single kindergartner is standing still. “She’s rubbing her tits, Kel.”
I slap at Noah. “Will you stop it? Be supportive.”
“I am.” And then he points to the end of the aisle where Sevi is crawling on the floor at people’s feet. “Oh, look, babe. Sevi took his shirt off and he’s licking the principal.”
“Oh my God,” I gasp. “Grab him.”
“Last time I did that he bit me.”
I glare at him.
Noah locks his jaw, his throat bobbing with a swallow. “Fuck, fine.”
And he gets up and retrieves Sevi from the floor, grumbling the entire time about him needing to move on from the dog phase. As if it’s that easy.
My eyes move to Hazel on the stage and how happy she looks to be the center of attention for the night. It’s hard with five kids and letting each one of them know they’re special. My heart jumps in my chest. I guess… four kids. Tears burn my eyes as I remember watching Mara at this age, before we knew about the cancer that had been silently growing in her body. Back when she was just a wild-hearted rebel blonde girl with so much life inside her you smiled instantly. Out of all the kids, her and Sevi look the most alike with their bright blue eyes but Hazel, she has her sister’s quirky personality. Like the way there’s a stage full of kids, and I assure you, most of them are watching Hazel’s animated performance of being the Thanksgiving turkey. She rocks the hell out of it.
In the end, we’re all laughing at her to the point Kate and I are crying it’s that funny and look at that, Noah’s laughing and recording her on his phone.
HAVING MY MOTHERin town is horrible. It’s like having an unappreciative house guest who judges you constantly and talks endlessly about how perfect my younger sister Kelsey is. I love Kelsey. She’s great, but she’s not perfect.
