Chaos surrounded her. Boxes were piled up everywhere. They covered the kitchen counters. They lined the walls of every room—even the bathroom. She’d packed in a hurry, tossing things into whatever box they fit into. Towels were stashed with mixing bowls, bottles of shampoo with Play-Doh, cookbooks with pillowcases. At the time her method had seemed to make sense. But here at the other end of the one-mile trek to her new home, she realized the contents of each box would need to be sorted out before being tucked away.
As if that task weren’t daunting enough, the apartment itself had a long way to go before it would be livable. The bathroom and the kitchen needed a scrubbing. No curtains were hung, no pictures, not even a calendar. Her furniture looked much too big, and much too plentiful, for the compact rooms. Besides, none of the pieces were in quite the right place. Lamps had been set down unceremoniously on the floor of the hallway, end tables were clustered in Evan’s room. Somehow the kitchen table had ended up in the living room.
Yet the turmoil of the apartment, Laura knew, was only partly responsible for reducing her to tears. Nor could she blame the stress of leaving the familiarity of her house and moving into a place where she couldn’t even find the electric sockets. Three days earlier, the paperwork on her divorce had been finalized.
She’d expected to be matter-of-fact about it. Instead, she was overcome with a dozen different emotions, ranging from relief to sadness to fear. She tried to push them inside, to busy herself by throwing out a decade’s worth of telephone bills and finishing off an entire freezer full of food.
Now, suddenly, all the emotions she’d tried to ignore were rising to the surface, jumbled together. She realized that while she’d tried to believe that the pieces of the puzzle that constituted her life were starting to fit together, in reality they were no more organized than the Snoopy-and-Woodstock puzzle at the bottom of the stairs.
“I can’t do this,” she gasped, her voice muffled by Cam’s shoulder.
“Can’t do what?”
“I can’t live here. This doesn’t feel like home. No place feels like home. I don’t live anywhere. I don’t have a life. Everything that was familiar is gone.”
Cam kissed her gently on top of her head. “You must be exhausted. We’ve been lugging stuff all day. Tell you what. You go lie down, and I’ll do something about dinner.”
“I can’t lie down,” she protested. “There’s too much to do.”
“Just twenty minutes,” said Cam. Glancing around, he added, “Now all we have to do is find the bed.”
Laura hadn’t realized just how tired she was until she lay down and closed her eyes. Almost immediately her aching muscles melted into the mattress. Succumbing to the thick sleep that wrapped her in its insistent arms was a relief.
When she opened her eyes, afternoon had been replaced by night. Unfamiliar shadows painted the walls. She lay still for a long time, listening to the strange sounds that invaded the room: the clicking of the radiators, the dog downstairs barking, a train whistle in the distance. Peering at her watch, she saw she’d been asleep for almost two hours.
“Cam?” she said sleepily, shuffling out of the bedroom. “Are you still here?”
She heard him bustling around in the kitchen. She wandered in, bracing herself for the disconcerting dishevelment she expected to find. She stood in the doorway, amazed.
Instead of looking like a warehouse, the kitchen was a kitchen. The cardboard cartons were gone. In their place stood the kitchen table, with all four chairs pushed underneath. The small appliances had been unpacked and lined up on the counters. One of the cabinet doors was open, and she could see dishes and cups stacked neatly inside. Even the refrigerator magnets were in place.
The table was covered with a tablecloth, set for dinner. In addition to two place settings there was a pair of candles, their tiny flames oddly cheerful. There was even a bunch of flowers, stuck into an NFL glass that had been a freebie from a local gas station.
Cam stood at the counter, wrestling with cartons of Chinese take-out food. Glancing over his shoulder, he smiled at her warmly.
“If it isn’t Sleeping Beauty. I was just about to wake you with a kiss. Did you have a good rest?”
“Mm-hmm. Goodness, the elves have been busy. Or should I say Prince Charming?”
“You might want to hold off on characterizing me as charming until you’ve sampled my taste in Chinese takeout. I order from the hot-and-spicy column.”
Laura crossed the room. Going up behind him, she put her arms around his waist and leaned her cheek against his back. “You’ve thought of everything. You’re even going to feed me.”
He turned around and hugged her hard.
“I’m sorry about before,” she said. “I guess I kind of lost it.”
“Who could blame you? I know how hard this was.”
“You made it a lot easier.”
“I’m glad. Now, enough mushy stuff,” Cam insisted. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starved. Carting around furniture is hard work.” He ushered her toward the table. “Chopsticks or fork?”
****
“The world looks considerably brighter now that I’ve got some prawns in me,” Laura observed a few minutes later. She glanced around the room. “Wow. You really whipped this place into shape.”
Cam shrugged. “I did my best. You’ll probably want to redo some of it. But at least the shampoo’s in the bathroom and the silverware’s in the kitchen.”
“It’s starting to look like a place where human beings reside. I don’t know how you found the energy to do all this.”
“This move didn’t wear me out as much as it did you. I didn’t have your emotional investment in it.”
She reached across the table and took his hand. “Thanks, Cam. This really means a lot to me.”
“All I did was unpack a few boxes.”
“No, you did a lot more. You saw that I was having a hard time and you bailed me out. I’m not used to having anyone do that for me.”
“Hey, I’m trying to be one of the good guys. You’ve spent enough of your life having showdowns with the bad guys.”
Looking around, he added, “But you’re right about this apartment starting to shape up. You found a good place for yourself and your son, Laura.”
“I wonder how long it’s going to take me to get used to it,” she mused.
“I predict a week, tops.”
“You know,” Laura mused, glancing around, “I remember reading this story when I was a kid. It was kind of corny, but for some reason it stuck with me all these years. It was about a pioneer family that traveled across the country in a covered wagon, a mother and a father and a couple of kids. They suffered terrible hardships, but managed to build a sod house in the middle of the prairie. Even though they were barely getting by, the mother of the family insisted on making a real Christmas. She said, ‘A house isn’t a home until you’ve spent your first Christmas in it.’ “
Cam looked confused. “Are you saying this apartment won’t feel like home until Christmas?”
“Sort of. Actually, I have my own theory.” Still clasping his hand, she led him toward the bedroom. “Come on. I’ll show you my idea of how to break in a new place.”
* * * *
Laura stood at the kitchen window, washing breakfast dishes and gazing out at a view that was still foreign to her. Through the black, leafless branches, stark as a skeleton, she watched a pale sun struggling to brighten up a gray November sky.
The dreariness of the day was a dramatic contrast to her lighthearted mood. Happily she puttered around the kitchen. Having just dropped Evan at school, she was now free to luxuriate in the still-new feeling of having the apartment all to herself. When a favorite oldie from the seventies came on the radio, she couldn’t resist singing along.
Slowly she was coming to grips with the idea that
this
was home. She was full of plans and ideas of how to turn these four rooms into a real home. Her mental shopping list kept growing: shelf paper for the kitchen cabinets, a new rug for the bathroom, new sheets for her bed so she could finally throw away the ones that had been hers and Roger’s. Even more, she dreamed up extra touches she wanted to add to her life, little niceties she’d never bothered with before, like indulging in a mud pack once a week and keeping a bottle of champagne in her refrigerator.
Suddenly Laura chuckled. She’d just realized, as she rinsed out her coffee mug, that she was smiling. Cam had crept into her thoughts. He’d been so helpful, getting her settled in. Considerate as well. He truly understood how hard this move had been. She reached over and with a sudsy hand touched the bouquet of flowers he’d picked up for her on moving day.
My goodness, she thought, incredulous. I’m happy. I’m really happy. I’ve made the move. I’ve left my house behind ... along with that part of my life. It’s over. I actually managed to get through it.
Her son had also survived. Evan was excited about living in a new place, and full of plans of his own. He’d taken great pains to tape his collection of posters up on the walls of his room, becoming so absorbed in getting them just right that he actually chose wrestling with a roll of masking tape over watching television. He’d also gone through the list of his school friends to decide who should sleep over which weekend and help break in his new home.
Laura sensed that Evan’s enthusiasm went beyond the novelty of having a brand-new space to nest in. He, too, had experienced a sense of closure. The period of transition was over. He had to have been dreading this move—if not actually fearing it. It had finally come to pass. He now had two separate homes: Mom’s house, Dad’s house. This was what divorce looked like. Not only was it probably less painful than he’d imagined, it may have actually been a relief.
When the telephone rang, Laura dashed into the living room. She was anxious to feel that even though she was living in a new place, the rest of the world hadn’t forgotten her.
“Hi, Laura. I hope I’m not calling at a bad time—”
“Julie!” Laura cried. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”
“I figured it was about time I gave you a call at your new home. I can’t wait to see it. How’s it shaping up?”
“Well ...” Laura looked around at the pile of boxes that was still pushed against the living-room wall. The couch was covered with sheets, washcloths, and enough towels for her to open her own Turkish bath. Every single item needed to be refolded and stacked up in the linen closet. Jammed between the chairs and the end table were framed posters and photographs, a hammer and a box of nails. Several piles of toys, most of which Evan had outgrown long ago but nevertheless refused to part with, decorated the corner.
With a deep sigh Laura admitted, “Right now this apartment looks like it’s been done in Early Warehouse. But I’m full of plans.”
“How exciting! Your very own place. Are you ready for visitors yet?”
Laura’s eyes rested on her unhung art collection. “How well can you handle yourself on a stepladder?”
* * * *
Julie brought along a tin of Scottish shortbread cookies and a brand-new teakettle. She also personally brightened up the apartment with the day’s fashion statement, a garden medley that included a full skirt of flowered fabric, a T-shirt with daisies all over it, and a silk rose worn behind her ear.
Laura bustled around the kitchen, chattering away as she filled the kettle and arranged the cookies on a serving tray. For a moment she felt as if she were seven years old again, having her teddy bear and her Betsy Wetsy doll over for tea. Reaching up into the cabinet above the stove for the Earl Grey tea bags, she was again struck by the realization that living on her own was going to be just fine.
“This place is
you,
Laura,” Julie insisted, sitting down at the kitchen table. “Or at least it will be by the time you get done with it.” Giving her the once-over, she added, “And you look radiant.”
“You look good, too, Julie.” Laura paused for a moment, trying to remember where she’d put her fine china. When she realized she had yet to unpack that box, she settled for coffee mugs. “I take it things are going well in the romance department?”
“Oh, Laura,” Julie said with a sigh, “Bobby is so wonderful. Things with him are great. Perfect, in fact, if I dare use that word.”
Peering over at her, Laura saw that her words didn’t quite match up with the earnest expression on her face. “I keep waiting for the
but.”
Laughing self-consciously, Julie admitted, “There is one thing.”
“What’s that?” Laura asked, expecting some deep, dark revelation.
So she was disappointed when Julie replied, “Claire.”
“Is that all? Giving you a hard time again, is she?” Laura waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Whatever it was she said, Julie, don’t listen to her. She’s just ... well, she’s just being Claire.”
“It’s not anything in particular she’s said,” Julie hastened to explain. “It’s not even that she’s constantly on my case. You know that ‘don’t say I didn’t warn you’ attitude of hers.”
“Only too well.”
“It’s that ...” Julie’s voice trailed off as she carefully arranged her flowered skirt over her knees. “It’s that I can’t help wondering if I’m making a terrible mistake. Or to be more accurate, if I’m repeating Claire’s mistake.”
She looked at Laura with large, soulful eyes. “Claire’s my friend, for heaven’s sake. She’s not some ... some psychopath, or some princess, or some unreasonable person. If she couldn’t manage to make a go of it with Bobby, what on earth makes me believe I could do any better?”
Laura was taken aback by Julie’s words. They sounded all too familiar. Nodding understandingly, she said, “That’s the problem with getting involved with someone else’s ex. You can’t help wondering if there’s something you’re missing—something his ex-wife found out once good old Mr. Right let down his guard.”
“That’s part of it. There’s also the question of whether
I’m
capable of doing it right.” Julie shook her head. “I’m beginning to think the world would be a better place if we left matchmaking up to computers. We humans certainly haven’t had a very impressive track record.”
Laura stopped fussing with tea bags and dessert plates and sat down opposite Julie. “Has something happened to precipitate all this rumination? Or is this just an ongoing existential crisis?”