liked to say I was the only person she knew who bought the black ones. I tried to think of someone else but couldn’t. At the same time, the tan ones made me feel like I might attend a college formal.
“Simon?”
“I’m upstairs.”
I heard footsteps as she walked into the kitchen.
“Laney-poo!”
Having seen this greeting a hundred times before, I pictured my daughter launching herself into the air, awkwardly engulfing my mother’s torso. The two of them shared a wide, toothy grin, passed on to yet another generation of Connolly women.
I stood in the closet, debating. Since leaving my old job, I had worn a tie exactly four times. Three of them had been meetings with my growing list of medical-writing clients and one had been Rachel’s brother’s late-in-life re-wedding to her new sister-in-law, a wire artistfrom Pasadena. As expected, she and Rachel did not have much in common. Mark now shared fifty-fifty custody of the children he had raised so perfectly. I missed him, although after that one night life had too many times gotten in the way of us bonding.
I decided against the tie. For some reason, I tried not to wear jeans to school, even though I wore them 99 percent of the time. I thought it would reflect poorly on the kids. A button-down and Dockers would do, though, so I headed downstairs.
My mother sat on one of our counter stools, leaning in and gushing over one of Laney’s drawings.
“That is the best tree I have ever seen.”
“It’s blue, Grammy,” Laney said, her head tilted.
I smiled. “Where’s Jake?”
My mom rolled her eyes. My skin burned as my blood pressure rose higher than it should.
“What?”
“What?” she asked back.
“What happened?”
My mother sighed and looked out the window. “What did I do to become the hated grandmother?”
I looked at Laney, whose little eyes grew wide.
“Come here,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm.
She followed me into the den. I shut the two swinging doors so Laney couldn’t hear me. Then I checked the room. Sometimes Jake read his book with a flashlight under the table next to the couch. I didn’t want him to hear the conversation. The coast clear, I turned to her.
“You can’t say stuff like that in front of her,” I said. “Shit, you shouldn’t say that kind of stuff ever.”
“Watch your language.”
I took a deep breath. “Jesus, you always do that. You try to deflect.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Jake!”
“I just wanted to know what I did to make him mad. When I came in, he didn’t even look up from his book.”
“I’ve told you a hundred times before, he’s just like that. He does that to everyone. He’s just a little awkward sometimes.”
“It wasn’t a hundred times,” she said.
“GOD! Please stop that.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Just back off him, okay? He’s nine. You’re the adult. Stop taking it so personally.”
“I just thought things were better. I tried so hard to be nice to him, and now we’re right back where we started from.”
I covered my face with my hands, pressing into my temples as I slid them down. “Please, Mom. He’s my son. Do you think I don’t talk to him about it?”
“I just don’t get it,” she said.
I barked out a laugh. “Are you serious? Where do you think he gets it from? Remember when your friend, Mrs. Masterson next door, offered me candy and I said no because she was a stranger?”
“That never happened.”
I turned away from her, attempting to hide my frustration. “I have to go. I don’t want to be late for his conference.”
Swinging open the doors, I walked into the kitchen and called out, “Jake.”
“Yeah, Dad,” he responded from the basement.
I walked down slowly, thinking. I found Jake in one of the bean-bag chairs. He had two football-player figurines in his hands and he was making bone-crushing noises. He did not look up at me when I walked down.
“You okay?”
“Sure,” he said.
“Did you say hi to
“Simon?”
“I’m upstairs.”
I heard footsteps as she walked into the kitchen.
“Laney-poo!”
Having seen this greeting a hundred times before, I pictured my daughter launching herself into the air, awkwardly engulfing my mother’s torso. The two of them shared a wide, toothy grin, passed on to yet another generation of Connolly women.
I stood in the closet, debating. Since leaving my old job, I had worn a tie exactly four times. Three of them had been meetings with my growing list of medical-writing clients and one had been Rachel’s brother’s late-in-life re-wedding to her new sister-in-law, a wire artistfrom Pasadena. As expected, she and Rachel did not have much in common. Mark now shared fifty-fifty custody of the children he had raised so perfectly. I missed him, although after that one night life had too many times gotten in the way of us bonding.
I decided against the tie. For some reason, I tried not to wear jeans to school, even though I wore them 99 percent of the time. I thought it would reflect poorly on the kids. A button-down and Dockers would do, though, so I headed downstairs.
My mother sat on one of our counter stools, leaning in and gushing over one of Laney’s drawings.
“That is the best tree I have ever seen.”
“It’s blue, Grammy,” Laney said, her head tilted.
I smiled. “Where’s Jake?”
My mom rolled her eyes. My skin burned as my blood pressure rose higher than it should.
“What?”
“What?” she asked back.
“What happened?”
My mother sighed and looked out the window. “What did I do to become the hated grandmother?”
I looked at Laney, whose little eyes grew wide.
“Come here,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm.
She followed me into the den. I shut the two swinging doors so Laney couldn’t hear me. Then I checked the room. Sometimes Jake read his book with a flashlight under the table next to the couch. I didn’t want him to hear the conversation. The coast clear, I turned to her.
“You can’t say stuff like that in front of her,” I said. “Shit, you shouldn’t say that kind of stuff ever.”
“Watch your language.”
I took a deep breath. “Jesus, you always do that. You try to deflect.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Jake!”
“I just wanted to know what I did to make him mad. When I came in, he didn’t even look up from his book.”
“I’ve told you a hundred times before, he’s just like that. He does that to everyone. He’s just a little awkward sometimes.”
“It wasn’t a hundred times,” she said.
“GOD! Please stop that.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Just back off him, okay? He’s nine. You’re the adult. Stop taking it so personally.”
“I just thought things were better. I tried so hard to be nice to him, and now we’re right back where we started from.”
I covered my face with my hands, pressing into my temples as I slid them down. “Please, Mom. He’s my son. Do you think I don’t talk to him about it?”
“I just don’t get it,” she said.
I barked out a laugh. “Are you serious? Where do you think he gets it from? Remember when your friend, Mrs. Masterson next door, offered me candy and I said no because she was a stranger?”
“That never happened.”
I turned away from her, attempting to hide my frustration. “I have to go. I don’t want to be late for his conference.”
Swinging open the doors, I walked into the kitchen and called out, “Jake.”
“Yeah, Dad,” he responded from the basement.
I walked down slowly, thinking. I found Jake in one of the bean-bag chairs. He had two football-player figurines in his hands and he was making bone-crushing noises. He did not look up at me when I walked down.
“You okay?”
“Sure,” he said.
“Did you say hi to
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