—The Second Chances Handbook
There’s nothing like the out-of-body feeling I get when Amber acts like I’m twelve and she’s the boss of me. Since her divorce, she’s all in on Mom and Dad’s doctrine of family closeness. Once the oracle who predicted my split from Tobin, now she’s his biggest fan, constantly pointing out the ways I can’t get along without him. Instead of sloughing me off, she micromanages my every move, picking at my mistakes past, present, and future, telling me to take what I get and be happy.
“Eight thirty sharp. If you let her stay up, she’ll be a mess tomorrow.”
“Yes, Amber.” I grit my teeth to keep from saying more. I’ve been Eleanor’s go-to caregiver since she was three. I’ve done diapers and fevers and nosebleeds right alongside the Legos and storybooks and trips to the bunny hill. Ambermusttrust me, after all that. So why treat me like a summer intern on day one?
My sister gives her daughter a long, tender squeeze. Eleanor dissolves into delighted giggles when Amber counts individual hugs, insisting she needs a hundred before she goes.
My ovaries flip.
I always thought I’d be a mother by the time I hit thirty. For a long time, I dreamed of a baby with Tobin’s easy laugh and startling ice-chip eyes. And then there’s Eleanor, bright and funny, hilariously stubborn, with a bananas imagination. I’d love to have a kid like her.
But if I were a mother, Tobin would be the father.
Every year at Pap smear time, when my doctor asks if I’m thinking about babies, I imagine myself at Disneyland, hot and irritated from the press of too many bodies, arguing with my husband on a stretch of baking tarmac.No more cotton candy,I snap.They’ve already had too much.Later, I see myself cleaning up after upset tummies, because he’s sneaked the kids treats anyway.
And I ask for another year’s worth of pills.
Because he’d be the Fun Dad who only says yes, I’d become the Mean Mom who says no. On top of that, nobody would listen to my no. I’d get all the punishment, without even a taste of the crime.
And it’s not like I don’t want to say yes. But by the time I get there, Tobin’s already used it all up. So many times, he’s said yes even when it hurt him.
Even when it hurt us.
He’s spent weekends hardscaping his mom’s yard while I pulled weeds inhisvegetable garden. He’s said yes to every passing acquaintance who asked him to help them move because he’s big and friendly and has a truck. He agreed to rotate someone’stires when he was still in his wrist cast, and I had to be the Mean Wife who shut that down.
“You had ice cream with dinner, so none with the movie. Aunt Liz won’t eat any in front of you, because that wouldn’t be fair.”
Even Amber wants to make me take all the no. Forget that—if Amber wants an obedient babysitter, she can pay for one. Free babysitters only say yes. And technically, nobody forbade movie popcorn with extra butter.
“Aren’t you going to be late?”
She shoots me a narrow-eyed look. “Have fun, you two peas in a pod.” Her nursing scrubs are printed with rainbow unicorns. If she met a unicorn in real life, she’d snap off its horn and tell it to be happy being a horse.
“Should we call Grammie and Gramps while we make popcorn?” I ask when the minivan is out of sight. Eleanor sprints for the popcorn maker while I call my parents twice. They always need two chances to figure out how to answer a video call.
My mom’s face appears with the cheery connection sound. “Eleanor! Hi, precious! What are my three girls doing tonight?”
“Mama’s at work. Me and Aunt Liz are having a movie. And popcorn. I have to concentrate while I pour.” Eleanor frowns, carefully tilting the jar of kernels over the microwaveable popper.
“Too bad your mom’s not there. She and your aunt used to love watching movies together. There were these awful vampire films.…”
“Twilightwas a global sensation, Mom. And it was also about werewolves.” Ever one to root for the underdog, I was Team Jacob. Amber was Team Edward, but at least we agreed on what to watch. The Christmas I completed myTwilightDVD collection—necessary in Pendleton, where the broadband used to be too sketchy for streaming—Amber and I watched all five movies. We cried our eyes out; it was glorious. We didn’t have many momentslike that, but the ones we did were pretty great. I’m 90 percent convinced that one Christmas is the reason my parents got me and Tobin a DVD player for our wedding.
Even my wedding gift was about being close with my sister.
“You’re not watching those with my granddaughter, are you? Weren’t they very sexy?” Mom looks worried, as if Eleanor isn’t the kid who knows where episiotomies come from.
“Stellar’s not getting here till eight, and you know El passes out ten minutes into a movie. Besides, we’re watchingLegally Blonde. Where’s Dad?”
“He’s picking up Thai. We’re too tired to cook.” Mom relates their hiking adventures in Sedona while I take back half the enormous chunk of butter Eleanor’s hacked into a tiny ramekin and squish it back onto the stick.
“Too much, El, the popcorn will be all wet.” Food texture matters a lot to Eleanor, and in the case of popcorn, she’s correct: dampness would be a problem for both of us.
“Gotta go, Mom, the situation here is going nonlinear.” My parents got us into the habit of using backcountry terms like “nonlinear”—the moment when the edges of a snow slide turn outward, triggering an avalanche—as ordinary speech. I love how it feels like code, math, and mountains all at once. I’d teach people that kind of insider secret language on my tours. If I had tours.
Clenching my teeth, I correct myself:whenI have tours.
