Page 143 of Pick-Up
Cliff. Money. Time. Stress. Parenting. The mental load. These demands have cock-blocked my peace for years. At least, that’s what I would have told myself before.
Now I wonder: Was it me all along?
As I look at my reflection in the mirror—which looks okay “for my age”—I realize that one enormous barrier is the way that I see myself. As a worker bee or a vessel before a woman. I have stopped viewing myself as autonomous.
That’s the most surprising thing about the changes of the last few weeks to me—the mental leap about my own identity.
I have always liked to remain a step removed. Kaitlin wasn’t wrong about that. Not for the sake of a set of values but for my own protection, I realize now. I like people to see me with that sheen that Kaitlin remembered—easier to maintain with some distance. I like to look clean and crisp and not try too, too hard. I like them to think that they’re lucky to be my friends.
Only it’s been a long time since I really felt that way. It’s beena long time since my skin glowed and my hair looked perfect and my stomach was flat and I got my liquid cat-eye liner just right and I didn’t have giant dark circles under my eyes and a small smudge of kid food somewhere on my sweater. It’s been a long time since I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror midday and looked as together as I thought I had when I left the house. It’s been a long time since I looked in the mirror and wasn’t surprised by the older face that gazed back at me.
I am a different person now. That’s the truth. I am no longer the prettiest girl in school—or at least the one who did the most with what she had. Who knew how to coolly attract the right attention and just a bit of fear. I am not untouchable or sparkling. I am not wild or even really fun. I pee when I jump. I pee at night when I try to sleep. I pretty much pee all the time. And I’ve lived enough to know that a correct Kegel is only an urban legend.
I am an old lady. Or I might as well be. I like herbal tea and lavender hand cream and walks in the fall down dirt roads. I like hot toddies and bingeing TV shows and wearing sweaters. I like my mom’s edibles. And that is nothing spectacular or revelatory, since it has happened to millions of women before me, except in so far as it shocks me every single fucking day.
And maybe, just maybe, it doesn’t mean that I can’t be something else too.
I guess it never occurred to me that someone else could see me differently than that. Could see me sparkle. Could see me as more than utilitarian. After kids and Cliff and years of single-minded survival. That someone could see me as a whole human instead of a figment of my former self. That I couldbea whole person again.
47 | Vow of CelibacyFATHER ETHAN
TO-DO
Call with corporate.
Dr. Feldberg: 144 W. 86th Street, 1A—9:00 a.m.
Move on.
Move on.
I see Sasha at drop-off, but I disappear before she can spot me.
I have stuff to do. Kaitlin to help (whether she likes it or not). Adjustments to make. Come-to-Jesus moments to accept. I’m watching Ruby like a hawk to make sure she’s fairing okay. Corporate is poised to make a decision about our jobs.
But I still have to actively try not to think about Sasha. She’s told me where she stands, and I can’t blame her. Now, I just need to accept defeat.
48 | Uptown GirlKAITLIN
When our divorce was finalized, Ethan and I stopped seeing our couples counselor. For obvious reasons.
You can’t fix something you’ve already returned to sender.
After the Harvest Festival debacle, when he and Ruby arrived home to his apartment (even though it wasn’t his night), he called me and insisted we go back for a therapy session.
“But we aren’t a couple!” I protested. But I knew I had no leg to stand on.
“Kaitlin, we’re in this together,” he whispered, so Ruby wouldn’t hear. “Whether we like it or not.”
The man loves a lecture. It’s so annoying when he’s right.
Of course I know I went off the deep end. Of course I know I took it too far. I know I am notfine. I knew that before I blew it all up. In retrospect, that’s probably why I did it.
So I didn’t have to pretend anymore.
On the downside, I no longer have access to the school’s office copier. Lisa has been handed those responsibilities, and she is already drunk with power. I can’t wait for her to organize a PS421 field trip to Target to shop for jumpsuits.
Those administrators will miss me when she gets to talking. And never stops.
