The Escape Collection: (The Escape Collection) (45 page)

“Becca, you’re not even listening.”
 

“I am,” I said, dipping the offending vegetable in the ranch again. “Italy. It sounds fun. When are you leaving?” This was the part of the story I was waiting for. Knowing Steph, it would involve some elaborate plan with a job she heard about that was a sure thing and an easy way to get overseas. She’d probably thought she’d be able to travel for free and live a life of leisure. Steph had always been lucky. I don’t know how she did it, but she had a never-ending stream of men who liked to take her places or set her up in great jobs that she’d work at for a few months until she got bored.
 

“In a few weeks. I have some money saved up, quite a bit really, and I need a change. Don’t you ever just feel like you’re trapped and you need to get away?”
 

“You have no idea,” I muttered. “What do you mean you have money saved up?”
 

“I’ve been putting away for a while and my grandma left me some money a few years back. Besides, since I’m not at the radio station anymore, I thought—”

“Why did you quit that job again?”

“They wouldn’t let me speak on air,” she said. “I told you. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, I’m ready for a change.”

There was something in her voice. She sounded serious and she actually wasn’t relying on someone else to get her there. Maybe she really was going to go.
 

My mind drifted. What would it be like to travel by myself to Europe? See the canals in Venice. Maybe go to Paris and sit under the Eiffel Tower, drinking cafe au lait and eating croissants. What would it be like to wake up in the morning and only worry about myself? Maybe even paint something again?
 

“So,” Steph was talking, “what do you think?”
 

“I think it sounds amazing.” I took another sip of my coffee, trying to cover the envy that most certainly showed on my face. Of course I was envious. Steph was free to do what she wanted. She was the cool “auntie” who showed up to take my girls shopping, or to the movies, but never had to deal with the daily crap that went along with being a mom. And now, it seemed, she was running off to Europe.

“You should come,” she said.
 

I almost spat out my sugary coffee and I should have, because forcing it down my throat only made me choke. It took me a moment to get the coughing under control. Once I’d regained control, Steph brought it up again.
 

“Well, why not, Becca?”

“Why not? Because I have two kids, a husband, and a life. I can’t just pick up and go to Europe.” As much as I’d like to.

“Sure you can. Maybe not for six months like me. But surely for—”

“Six months? I wish.”
 

“Maybe not so long,” she said. “But why not a few weeks? I bet Connie could come and help look after the girls. You need a break now and then, too, you know?”

I did know. That was the problem. For the last few years, all I’d dealt with was tantrums, homework, planning dinners, Jon working late, and the general monotony of being a mother. There was no question I needed a break. But the reality was I wasn’t going to get one.
 

“It sounds great, Steph. And believe me when I say that I’d join you if I could. But escaping to Europe is the last thing that will happen right now.”

I grabbed a carrot stick—anything to keep me from telling her I would go. That I would leave everything and go traveling with her, as if I were twenty-one again.
 

“Becca,” Steph said, her tone serious. “Don’t you ever find it all too much? I mean, I just don’t know how you do it all. Don’t get me wrong, I admire you for everything you do around here. You’re a great mom.” I tried not to laugh. “And you keep this house running, and you’ve always been there for Jon, but…”

“What?”
 

“I don’t know how to say it,” she said.
 

I sighed. Not speaking her mind had never been Steph’s problem. “Just spit it out.”

“I don’t think I could do it,” she said. “I don’t think I could sacrifice myself the way you have. Maybe that’s why I don’t think I’ll ever be a mom.”

I felt like I’d been punched. I sucked in deeply.

“Sacrifice myself?” I managed to get out.

She had the decency to look abashed but she didn’t take it back. “What I mean is—you’ve given up everything, Becca. You’re like a totally different person.”

“I am not. I’m still the same person I just look after more people.”
 

“When was the last time you painted anything?” Steph’s green eyes flared with the challenge in the question and I stared at her for a minute instead of answering.
 

After a moment I said, “I thought we were talking about your trip to Europe.”

She picked up her mug of tea but watched me carefully as she took a sip. “We were,” she said.
 

The idea of going with Steph to Europe was ridiculous. I knew it was. It didn’t make sense in any way.
 

So why couldn’t I get our chat out of my head? All afternoon, it was the only thing I could think of. It wasn’t even the idea of getting away, although that was appealing. It was that she’d said I’d changed. That I wasn’t me anymore. Of course I was me. What did she mean? I wasn’t anyone different just because I had children. Was I?

I didn’t want to dwell on it. I knew the answer.

“Becca?” Jon’s voice called out.
 

If he was home from the store with Kayla, it meant it was almost time to go for my birthday dinner. He always left shopping for my present until the last minute and this year he’d taken Kayla to help him choose something. No doubt it would be a vase or a big piece of costume jewelry. Not that it mattered.
 

“I’m in here,” I called to him and pushed up from the bedroom floor.
 

“Becca?” Jon opened the door. “What are you doing in here?”

“Just sitting.”

“On the floor? Are you okay?”

“Of course I am. I was just…” I wasn’t really sure what I was doing on the floor. I’d gone to get socks and I’d just ended up sitting, staring at the carpet. That happened sometimes. How was I supposed to explain that to Jon?

“Is everyone ready to go?” I asked instead.

“Of course.” Jon didn’t look convinced that I was okay, but he wouldn’t start anything. We were expected at Connie and Dad’s for dinner in twenty minutes. “We’re just waiting for you. The kids are in the car.”

I accepted his outstretched hand and let him pull me up. We hadn’t touched at all since our fight but he didn’t let me go right away as he usually did. Instead, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

I nodded. It was hard, but I forced myself not to pull away. He was trying. It was more than I was doing. It’s not that I didn’t want to fix things; I just…it was hard. Things had been strained between us to say the least, and not just in the last few days. It had been longer than that.
 

“Maybe later…” Jon nibbled my neck and shivers ran through me.

“Maybe later I can get a good night’s sleep?” I smiled, trying to make the joke.

He pulled away. “Right, Becca. It’s your birthday. If that’s what you want…”
 

The look in his eyes—the rejection—I hated it. “Jon,” I said. “It’s not what I—“

“No. I get it.” He dropped his arms and turned to leave. “We should go.”
 

“Jon.” I grabbed his arm. “Don’t.”

When he spun around I wasn’t ready for the anger in his eyes. “Don’t what, Becca? Don’t try and be close to you? Don’t try and show you affection? I’ve tried everything I know how to do and you keep pulling away. What is it about me?”

“It’s not you,” I said. “It’s just…” It’s just what? What was I supposed to say? I should be able to tell him that I was so tired that all I wanted to do was sleep when I got into bed. And besides that, I didn’t want him to see me naked. How was I supposed to tell him that the thought of sex exhausted me? That I couldn’t imagine summoning enough energy, let alone any desire. And why would he want to have sex with a shapeless, boring, house mom?

I looked at him; he was waiting for me to explain. I couldn’t.
 

I let my arm fall to my side. Jon’s shoulders sagged, and he said, “We should go.”

I watched him walk out of the bedroom, leaving only my reflection—exhausted, fat and frumpy in my rumpled blouse—staring back at me in the mirror.
 

***

The drive to Dad and Connie’s took fifteen minutes, which was not long enough for me to think of a way to tell Jon that I wasn’t trying to avoid him. I missed him. I missed being close to him and hanging out on the couch, just talking and laughing. When was the last time we’d done that? Maybe if he just looked at me in that way he used to? It seemed more like it was the idea of sex in general that he wanted, not necessarily with me. How could I explain to him that sometimes I just wanted to snuggle and feel close? Why did it always have to be about sex?

I could’ve laughed at myself, and I would have, too, if I were alone. The idea was ridiculous. Of course it had to be about sex. Jon and I had always had a great sex life. At least until Kayla was born. Things had been going downhill for years. It just got worse the longer nothing went on. Every time I turned him down, the distance between us grew larger. Even when I did relent, things never turned out the way they were supposed to. I always felt like something was missing. A connection that used to be there.
 

“Mother,” Jordan said from the back seat. “Did you hear me?”

I looked over at Jon for help. He shrugged and offered me a small smile to let me know he was on my side, whatever it was.

“No, sorry. I was daydreaming,” I said. “What were you saying?”

Jordan sighed as if I’d just said the most ridiculous thing. “I asked you if I could go to a movie tonight. Liz said she’d meet me there if you could drop me off. The show doesn’t start until 7:30 and this thing at Grandma and Grandpa’s can’t possibly take—“

“This ‘thing’,” Jon interrupted, “is your mother’s birthday dinner. It’ll take as long as it takes.”

Jon glanced at me and the rush of warmth I felt for him took me by surprise. I put my hand on his leg and gave it a squeeze.
 

“Whatever,” Jordan said. “Can I go or not?”

“The attitude isn’t helping,” Jon said.
 

“No, Jon,” I said before she could launch into a full-scale pout. “She can go.” I turned to look at Jordan, who was trying to suppress a smile. Kayla sat quietly, watching the situation play out. Sometimes I thought she was taking notes for when she got older. “You can go.”
 

In Teen Time: Successfully Parenting Your Terrific Teen, the author talked about picking your battles so your child felt like they were in control of even a few things in a world that was largely out of their control. Besides, it might be nice to play good cop for once.
 

“Really? I can go?”

Jon looked at me out of the corner of his eye as he took the familiar turn to Connie and Dad’s. I knew what he was thinking. He thought I’d caved. But he wouldn’t say anything.
 

“You can go,” I said again. “We’ll drop you off on the way home. But Jordan?”

“What?”

“Best behavior tonight,” I said. “And I’m picking you up as soon as the movie’s over.”

“Whatever, sure. Can I use your phone to tell Liz? Because I still don’t have my own,” she added pointedly.

I handed over my cell, ignoring her comment. To hear Jordan tell it, she was the only kid in the ninth grade who didn’t have her own phone. But that was a fight I was saving for another day.
 

Chapter 5

“He’s not having a great day,” Connie said to me after we arrived. The girls had retreated to the living room, where Connie kept books and games for them when they came to visit. Jordan liked to pretend she was too old for them, but, just like Kayla, she ran to the room to see what was new every time. Jon had brought his toolbox, and armed with a list from Connie, he was tackling some of the home repairs that my dad either didn’t have time to get to, or more likely, couldn’t handle anymore.
 

“What do you mean?” I asked, following her into the kitchen. “Where is he?”

“Where else?” I followed her gaze and saw Dad sitting in his chair on the deck. He sat in the same spot, looking over the gardens that Connie still tended with care. It was his spot. When I was young he’d retreat there at the end of the day with his newspaper. More often than not, he’d abandon the paper and world news and simply stare at the flowers, watching the birds or just disappearing into his own thoughts. Lately, as his memory failed more, the deck and the gardens seemed to be the only place he liked to be. On a good day, I could sit with him and get him to talk, or at least listen, while I told him about the girls and filled him in on any news that he might be interested in. On a bad day, he didn’t know who I was. He’d stare at me blankly, or even get angry because I was bothering him. He knew enough that he knew he should remember me, but the fact that he couldn’t just angered him.
 

There had been more bad days than good lately. I wasn’t sure if I could handle it today.
 

“It’s okay,” Connie said, reading my mind. “It’s not too bad. He knows you’re coming. He knows it’s your birthday. He just seems agitated about something. But he’s expecting you. Why don’t you go out and say hi?”

I turned away from the window and looked at Connie. “Are you sure you don’t need any help in here?”
 

“Becca,” she said and put her hand on mine. “He’s your dad. Go sit with him.”

***

Pockets of irises, lilies, and dozens of other plants I couldn’t identify filled the garden and lined the pathways through the yard. Connie was featured on the community garden tour every year, and for good reason. It was only the end of May, and already the space was in full bloom, showcasing her love and attention in every corner.