Page 134 of Pick-Up
Didn’t I almost will it? Would he ever even have noticed her if I hadn’t talked about her incessantly?
In the wake of the implosion, I am oddly calm.
The bathroom door wheezes open. A small child—maybe a first grader—walks in, crosses to a stall. Doesn’t lock it.
For a second, I’m afraid she’ll be scared of me. Then I remember that looks can be deceiving. To her, I am just another mom.
I turn on the faucet. The water is freezing cold, but I splash it on my cheeks anyway.
I need to get out of this place. Go home. I have blown up what was left of my life. And the stupid thing is, I don’t even care about Sasha anymore.
In this moment, I can see what I’ve maybe wanted all along: confirmation that she’s just as much of a mess as I am.
The little girl comes out of the stall.
“Don’t forget to wash your hands,” I say, drying my own on a brown paper towel. I hand her a dry one.
And then I go home, leaving out the school’s front gates instead of the yard. I don’t tell Lisa or Ruby or Ethan I’m leaving. And I don’t go back for my hat.
46 | He’s Going DownSASHA
I am shaken.
How can I think about anything but what happened at the festival? Ever again?
When we return home, I escape to my room and sit on my bed, trying to make sense of the past few weeks. I put my head in my hands and let myself cry for two whole minutes before wiping my face clean of evidence and cooking up kale chips and organic chicken fingers. Because if they’re organic, they’re healthy, and I’m a good mom. Hussy or no.
Don’t you dare tell me different.
For the rest of the rainy weekend, I am barely in my body, moving blindly through games of Sleeping Queens and UNO. I look up twice and realize I’ve lost. I am going through the motions.
Kaitlin imploded. And it was disturbing. My insides are roiling now too.
Why? Well, for one thing, now Ethan and I feel like an impossibility. Things have just become exponentially complicated and public. Everything I try to avoid. And, somehow, even though I haven’t known him long, I really miss him.A lot.
It’s hard for me to imagine life without him, even though I never had it with him.
I catch myself wondering what he’s doing. I picture him in his reading glasses, staring intently into space while he considers how to word something. I picture him reading with Ruby. He said they just startedThe Hobbit. I picture him picturing me.
When I call to cancel my babysitter, since the non-date has become a nonstarter, the disappointment steals my breath. Like it’s happening all over again.
I brace myself against the kitchen counter. I’m just sad.
I really thought this could be something.
And I’m wondering how long it will be before Ethan stops being the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing at night.
For reasons I can’t quite assimilate, I am also consumed with thinking about the other men in my past—ones who I thought were excited about me but who were actually excited about how we presented together. Josh, Cliff, others. Is that how a young Ethan felt about a young Kaitlin? Did they mistake a pretty picture for love? He said he used to care about those things—flashy parties, flashing lights. Image. Things my ex-husband prizes above even our children. Has that truly changed, or will Ethan regress? Where had things gone wrong? What drove Kaitlin to this brink? Because she didn’t get there alone.
I think about the way Kaitlin saw me when we were teens. The way I made sure they all saw me. The way she sees me now.
Who I was. Who I am. The truth versus an idea.
How long have I been erecting walls to keep the world out? How much can we actually protect ourselves? To what extent does that have value?
I think mostly about their daughter, Ruby.
As an eight-year-old kid, what does she see and understand? Can she sense the unsettlement? Does the road feel bumpy or like every day? From how much can we really protect our kids? From how much should we?
