A Sister's Promise (Promises) (17 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Flipping through her wedding album, Kate dabbed at her eyes with a balled up tissue. For three weeks now, this was how she spent her evenings. All of the classic poses mocked her:
 
the kiss, the rings, the white cake topped with a ceramic bride and groom. She rubbed her hand over the photo of Mitch doing the “Chicken Dance” that used to make her smile. On the last page, Mitch stood between Kate and Joely, his arms looped casually around their shoulders as if they were best friends.

The phone rang and Kate’s heart leapt, hoping it was Mitch. She closed the album cover with a soft thud and jumped up to check caller ID. She sighed in disappointment; it was Joely. She picked up the phone and heard, “I’m not coming for Christmas.”

Kate sat up straight. “Are you having a flare? Are you in a lot of pain?”

“It’s not that. . . . I just got a new client and she wants this mural painted before her family comes for the holidays.”

For the first time since she’d been married, Kate hadn’t bothered to hang stockings or get a tree. She hadn’t been looking forward to the date at all. It was probably best that Joely wouldn’t expect a celebration. That way Kate didn’t have to explain that she and Mitch were. . . separated.

Joely continued speaking as if Kate had argued with her. “Besides, Christmas is really for children.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Christmas is for family.”

“Well, I don’t have one.”

“Joely, that really hurts. I’m your family.”

“I know, but it’s not the same.” She paused. “I’ve decided this year I’m doing what I want for Christmas.”

“Which is what?” Kate asked.

“Be with my friends.”

Kate started to speak, but stopped herself, considering her words. Maybe Joely didn’t want to see Mitch after what he’d said to her during their argument. “Are you sure we can’t get together? Just the two of us?”

“I’ll mail you your gift.”

Feeling pressure in her chest, Kate tried to figure out if she would really have to face Christmas solo. “No. Don’t do that. I’ll come see you.”

“I’m too busy this year. Sorry.”

Kate had the feeling Joely wasn’t really that sorry.

As soon as she hung up, the phone rang again. Caller ID spelled out Mitch—Cell. She picked it up on the first ring.

His baritone voice sounded tense. “Hi, Kate. How are you?”

“How am I? Are you kidding me?” The angry edge to her words surprised her. “I’m going crazy, that’s how I am.”

He sighed loud enough for her to hear.

“Where are you? I at least deserve to know that.”

“At the Fairmont Inn.”

She took some comfort in visualizing his location. An idea popped into her head. “Is there another woman?”

He laughed, stopping short. “Of course not.”

That meant there was hope. “When are you coming home?”

“I don’t know. I’m calling to see if you’ll still meet me at my parents’ house for Christmas. If you’re not there. . .they’ll know something’s wrong.”

“That’s because something
is
wrong. Why don’t you come home right now so we can work things out?”

“I’m not ready.” He paused and the silence actually hurt. “Will you be in Denver?”

Now she sighed. She wanted to see him. Desperately. “I guess so.”

“Good.” He hung up.

Still holding the phone, she stared off into the distance. Her eyes landed on the coffee table and its stack of unopened envelopes hand-addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Hopper. She had no doubt they contained Christmas cards; she couldn’t bring herself to read about little Julie’s prize-winning science fair project or to see pictures of a smiling family visiting the Grand Canyon. She put down the handset and walked over to the table. She picked up the cards, envious of everyone else’s happiness, and tossed them into the empty fireplace. Then she reached for the box on the mantle and struck a match.

# # #

“I-I-I-I’m dreaming of a Whi-i-i-te Christ-mas”
Bing Crosby sang as Kate sat in her in-laws’ enormous A-frame log cabin. Mitch’s parents, both wearing different shades of red cardigans, sat in wing-backed chairs flanking the stone fireplace. Kate thought the scene resembled a Hallmark Christmas card. Everything appeared perfect— except for the fact that upon her husband’s suggestion, they were only pretending to be happily married.

Mitch’s mom, who had crinkles around her eyes from a lifetime of smiles and a soft middle from a lifetime of Italian cooking, crossed the room and handed Kate a present. Looped around the ribbon was a Scottie dog tree ornament with a coordinating plaid bow.

Instead of sitting next to her, Mitch had chosen a seat across the room. Carefully unwrapping one end of the gift, Kate lifted a shoebox lid to reveal a white hat and scarf. “Thank you, Beverly.”

“I hope you like them. I just started taking knitting classes this year.” Beverly stuffed her hands in her pockets and turned pink.

“They’re beautiful. I can’t believe you made them.”

She smiled, looking as proud as a child who flipped a pancake that didn’t land halfway off the griddle. “Come on, everybody. Chime in.
‘With every Christmas card I write, may your days be merr-y and bri-i-i-i-i-ght.’
Hey, you guys aren’t singing!”

Kate usually thought it was adorable that Beverly tried every year to sing carols even though Mitch and his dad consistently refused. This year it just emphasized the chasm between men and women.

Mitch started to pick up the discarded wrapping paper near his dad’s feet. “So, did you like the gift I gave you?”

His dad, featuring the same black bushy eyebrows as Mitch, stared at the Denver Broncos highlights DVD in his hand. “What’s the point of revisiting the past? You already know how it’s going to turn out.”

Mitch grabbed another ball of colored paper and marched to the trash can in the kitchen. His dad flipped on ESPN loud enough to drown out Bing Crosby.

Christmas was over.

# # #

Beverly had asked Kate right after she and Mitch married, to call her Mom, but Kate couldn’t. Kate’s heart hurt when she thought of uttering that term of endearment. No one, no matter how generous and kind, could ever be referred to as her mom.

And yet spending time with Beverly always made Kate envious—thinking the woman epitomized motherhood. In fact, when Kate and Mitch had their first big fight as a married couple (over the proper way to load the dishwasher—something trivial yet monumental, as was everything when you were newlyweds), Kate considered calling Beverly for consolation. The logical part of her knew she would’ve been forced to side with her own son. That’s what maternal instinct was all about. So Kate didn’t make the call. Part of her wondered, though, if his mom wouldn’t have found a diplomatic way to comfort her while remaining loyal to Mitch. Kate wondered whose side she would be on now.

On December 26th Kate gladly headed out with Beverly to hit all of the big day-after-Christmas sales. That way she didn’t have to be in the same room with Mitch, trying to hide the awkwardness between them.

At Lord & Taylor Kate bought a gray wool skirt and some fur-lined leather gloves. Then they browsed in a tiny store called “Remember Paris”, displaying plates with the French flag painted on them and a lamp with an Eiffel Tower base. While listening to lively accordion music, Kate admired the store’s linen dish towels embroidered with the days of the week:
 
Lundi, Mardi, Mercredi, Jeudi, Vendredi, Samedi and Dimanche. She carried them as she looked at the rest of the décor.

In the corner of the store hung baby clothes. Kate was drawn to a pink and white toile dress. White lace adorned the puffy sleeves and skirt hem. When she picked it up, she saw the tag said it was hand-made in France. On the back $90 was written in blue ink. Kate had no idea how much baby clothes cost, but that seemed a bit pricey. She just loved it, though. She draped it over her arm.

“Anything I should know?” Beverly asked.

Kate handed the dress to the cashier. “No, no. It’s a gift for a friend.”

“Oh.” She sighed. “You know, I’ve been waiting an awfully long time for a grandchild.”

Kate laughed nervously. Everyone was so sure she should have a baby:
 
Joely, Nancy, and now Beverly. Everyone except the two people who mattered the most.

Kate swiped her Visa card without paying attention to the total. Grabbing the receipt and bag, she left the boutique.

They walked in silence until Beverly pointed to an art gallery. “Do you want to go in here?”

“Sure.” Once inside they saw several average-looking oil paintings of mountains and waterfalls.

“You could do better than this,” Beverly whispered.

Kate smiled self-consciously. “I’m not much of a painter.”

“Neither is this guy.”

They both giggled and left the small gallery. “Even
I
could do better than him,” Beverly said as they walked through the mall.

Kate faced Beverly. “Do you paint?”

“I used to.”

“I didn’t know that,” Kate said.

“Sure. I was even accepted to art school, but I married and started a family instead.”

Now that Kate thought about it, Beverly was always doing something creative—the knitting and gift-wrapping. Even the mixture of purples and yellows in her summer garden was like a Monet painting. “Wow. You must’ve been really good. You’ll have to show me some of your work when we get back to the house.”

Beverly accidentally dropped one of her bags. She bent over to pick it up. “Oh, I don’t know. It was a long time ago.” She checked her watch. “We’d better get home so I can put dinner in the oven.”

“What do you think Mitch and his dad are doing?”

“They’re probably watching sports and talking to the screen more than they are to each other.”

Kate nodded. The old hurt never seemed to go away.

# # #

That night Kate was surprised to hear Mitch humming “White Christmas” as he carried his toothbrush into the nearby bathroom. She sat on the guest room’s antique iron bed and waited. He had stayed up late the night before, talking to his mom as if to avoid speaking with Kate. Then he’d snuck into the guest bedroom after Kate had fallen asleep.

She didn’t want to keep pretending. She didn’t want to sleep next to him and not be able to touch his stubbly chin or wrap her leg over his. She dreaded the announcement that she would never hear his breathing in bed next to her again.

When Mitch returned from the bathroom, fear constricted her throat. She was too afraid to ask about the state of their marriage.

He closed the door and stood, keeping the distance between them.

The awkward silence tortured her. “Did you know your mom was accepted to art school?”

“Yeah. I think she mentioned it once.”

“Have you seen any of her work?”

“Sure. It’s up in the attic.”

Kate ran her hand across the pastel bedspread designed by his mother, thinking of the Impressionistic landscapes and flowers she had seen. “She’s really good. I think it’s kind of sad.”

“What is?”

“It’s sad that she never pursued her art. Her dream. Instead she gave it up to be a housewife.”

Wavy lines formed across his forehead. “Maybe. But what’s your excuse? You haven’t done anything with your art, either.”

“It’s not the same. I’m not an artist; I just enjoyed taking art classes in college as electives. Your mom was accepted to art school.”

He placed his watch on the nightstand next to an old-fashioned alarm clock with two brass bells on top. “Maybe she was afraid she wasn’t good enough, just like you.”

Kate walked over to the dark window and started digging through the suitcase—not really sure what she was looking for. Her hands pushed aside socks and neatly folded shirts.
Everyone knew she wasn’t the creative one in the family
. Under her matching bra and panties, she felt a bottle of lotion. She pulled it out, squirted some into her palm and rubbed it in.

Her dad always said she was “book smart” like Grandpa, while Joely was creative like him and Mom. She believed in her dad’s statements without question, the same as she believed in God.

Kate thought about the package wrapped in brown grocery paper that arrived in the mail a few days ago. Her sister had given her a family portrait on canvas. The faces of Kate, Joely, their mom and dad, were close together and smiling, posed like at an Olan Mills Portrait Studio. Joely captured the short-lived happiness their nuclear family once experienced, of which Kate had no photographic evidence. It was a true display of Joely’s talent. Kate could never have done anything like that.

Mitch came over and placed his palms on Kate’s shoulders. She stiffened.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said. “It’s just that your drawings are amazing. It’s a shame no one else gets to see them.”

She closed her eyes and wished things could go back to the way they were. One washing dishes and the other drying. One picking the tv show and the other getting a foot rub. One talking about their dreams and the other listening.

They stood there for a while and she enjoyed the feel of his body heat behind her. His breath tickled the back of her ear. She wanted more than anything to turn around and hold him.

He lifted his hands and she suddenly felt cold. “Come sit with me,” he said.

She followed him back to the wrinkled quilt.

He took a deep breath as if he’d rehearsed what he wanted to say. “Do you still want to have a baby?”

Kate swallowed hard. Careful you don’t say the wrong thing. . . . “Maybe.”

“While I was gone, I went to the doctor about a vasectomy.”

She sucked in her breath. The sound of her heartbeat echoed loudly inside her head. “You did what? Even after I begged you not to?”

He nodded.

“I can’t believe you—“

“I felt betrayed when you started pushing me to have a kid.” He ran his hand through his black hair.

 
He cracked his knuckles one at a time. “I stood outside the office doors for almost an hour. But something made me hesitate. For some reason, I just couldn’t make myself go in.” He switched to his other hand and popped the knuckles. “It made me think.”