Page 9 of Let's Call a Truce
The sting of shame shot through me like it did every time. I had been a darling of the school before Jason died. Room mom, active member of the PTA, friends with everyone on campus as I poured all my type-A energy into my kids’ lives. Now that energy was tapped out at the office, and I was the school inconvenience.
Sophie popped into the car, jabbering on about her day like usual but sending worried glances at her sister. Clara threw her backpack down with a bit too much force. My greeting was returned with a huff and a shrug, and she turned to face the window with her jaw squeezed tight.
“Clara, sweetie, what’s wrong?” I asked after five minutes in the car without a word from her.
“Nothing,” she snapped. “I’m fine.”
I was intimately aware of thatfine.Iinventedthatfine.It made me wish I could go back and apologize to Jason for every passive-aggressive moment in our relationship.
“Something is obviously wrong, Clara. What is it?”
Silence reigned in the car while we waited each other out. Even Sophie kept quiet for once. Clara’s foot tapped against the back of my seat, making the whole thing rhythmically jerk.
Finally, she broke. “You’re late.”
“I know, sweetie. I’m sorry. I got caught up with something at work.” That something may have been a giant, distracting asshole, but she didn’t need to know that.
“Youpromisedyou’d be on time today. For the ice cream party?”
Fuck.
The season kickoff celebration for her soccer club. The team moms came together to host a party at one of their houses every year. It was the sort of activity I planned before Jason died. And just like these moms, I would have cluelessly planned it for after school, the needs of working parents not even on my radar.
I couldn’t take off work, but I told Clara we’d be able to make it for the end if we headed there right from pickup. I had Post-it notes all over my office to remind me. It was the whole reason I was determined to leave after that email before Ben called.
I wanted to blame this on him, on his unreasonable last-minute request and his ability to make my mind scatter in rage. But this was all on me. Because apparently the last almost-three years as a single parent weren’t enough for me to understand that I didn’t get the luxury of things for myself, even when that thing was nothing more than screwing with my office nemesis for a bit of fun.
“Honey, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot. Let’s head there now.”
“It’s probably over now,” she grumbled, continuing to glare at the suburban homes out the window.
“I’m sure it’s not,” I said, trying to keep my tone positive. “We can make this work. I’ll just pull over here and plug the address into my phone. I just need to find the email, but I’m sure it’s not far from here. We’ll get there and you’ll have time—”
“Mom,” she screamed. “Just stop. It’s too late, and I don’t want to be the weird girl who shows up when everyone’s leaving.”
Her tears reflected in the rearview mirror were a punch to the gut, a vivid reminder of how much my life had changed and how often I fell short of what they needed.
I turned the car in to one of the cookie-cutter neighborhoods between school and our house, throwing the car in park and turning around in my seat to face her. Clara’s bottom lip was trembling, a clear sign that she thought she was in trouble for yelling at me. But she wasn’t the one who needed to issue an apology.
I reached over my seat for her hand. “I am so sorry, Clara. It was a mistake. I’m trying, but I’m not perfect. And I promise I’ll try harder.”
The flash of guilt that crossed her face hurt more than anything that came before. My sweet, overachieving firstborn who took on too much responsibility for our pain. She gave me a watery smile. “I know, Mom. It’s okay. Don’t be upset.”
“What about me?” Sophie shrieked from the other side of the car, all righteous indignation. “I wanted to go, too!”
Sophie was never one to be left out of the conversation for long. Clara and I shared a small smile before I turned to Sophie. “You’re right. I am sorry to you, too.”
Sheharrumphed, then lifted her chin. “You’re forgiven.”
I laughed as I buckled myself in, throwing the car back into drive. “How about a double feature? You can each pick a movie, and we’ll have pizza on the couch while we watch them.”
I could hear my seriously stained couch begging me not to let pizza sauce anywhere near it, but the smiles that split the girls’ faces were worth a million pieces of ruined IKEA furniture.
And from here on out, I’d keep my attention where it needed to be. On my girls.
I’d sent Asia an SOS text when I got home, bartering free wine for a sympathetic ear to listen to my crappy day, after the girls were asleep.
She’d become one of my best friends over the past two years. Before Jason died, I had a large group of friends who were all stay-at-home moms, too. They supported and loved me throughevery stage of the grieving process, but things changed when I went back to work.
