I was sitting cross legged on my kitchen counter that Monday morning. On my right on the floor was a blanket spread out. There was a tiny Miss Rosie sitting there, entertaining herself beautifully with various crayons and dolls. I wondered, for a moment, if Arnold knew how lucky he was with that. Luke required near constant entertainment at that age. Speaking of Arnold- he was on a ladder by my counter, fiddling with my light fixture. Light fixture is a generous word. It was a lightbulb hanging haphazardly from my ceiling. I called it warehouse fire-hazard chic. The look would probably be popular on Pinterest- right along with those posts that explain how distress perfectly good furniture for a shabby-chic look. Because that made a ton of sense.
"So," I said, more firmly wrapping my hands around my obnoxiously large, round coffee mug, "tell me the Gerald/Phoebe dirt." The mug was covered in ugly, fading yellow followers and had chips in the top. It was still my favorite, I loved mugs that also were hand warmers.
"Dirt?" Arnold snorted, taking a step down the ladder to glance out my window at our sons. They had come back even more inseparable than before. I was kind of hoping they'd have a blow-out fight about flashlights or sleeping bags or whatever goes on in the forest…or Power Rangers, or something. But not really, because Luke didn't even like Power Rangers, I didn't even think they were even a thing anymore, and really- I wanted him to be happy.
"They used to come home on the holidays and occasionally hook up," Arnold shrugged, messing around in the tool box on the counter by my legs, "Gerald told her he really wanted her to know that she was special to him," He found whatever he was looking for, I think. He twirled the wrench, or whatever metal tool it was, I had no idea, around his fingers. "He was trying to," He reclimbed the ladder, looking up, like the words to say were written on the ceiling, "well, you know." He had his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, re-examining his previous work. He then laughed, leaned on the ladder, and looked back down to me. "And she said 'Thanks Gerald, you're a great friend to me, too."
I choked on my coffee, attractively spitting it into my hands. Arnold laughed above me. "Yikes!" I exclaimed through saliva and amusement, "That's," I coughed, "rough."
He jumped off the ladder, "you okay?" he asked, ripping some paper towels off my spinning rack. He had this amused, good natured smile on his face when he handed them to me. I was finding it harder and harder to find it annoying.
I took them from him aggressively, "you're such a dad, Arnold," I teased, wiping off my hands.
He leaned on my counter, "you know I try." He looked over to Sophie, who was quite involved in whatever was going on in her drawing. He waited a moment for her to look up at him, but she had no time for Dad.
I watched him, "you enjoy it, don't you?" He glanced out my window at our boys, running around in circles on my back lawn.
"Yea," he mused quietly, small grin blossoming on his face, "yea, I really do."
"So," I barked loudly, interrupting this irritatingly warm moment we were having, "what are we gonna do about Gerald and Pheebs?"
He gave me a wary look, "what are you proposing we do?"
"I'm not proposing anything," I said innocently, sipping my coffee again…ignoring that it probably had my own spit in it. Whatever, there was my own spit in my mouth. I wanted to think being a mom made me grosser, but that probably wasn't true.
"You have that look in your eye."
"What look?"
"That look you get when you're scheming."
"I know of no such look."
"Well, it is on your own face." His face cracked into a smile again. He picked up his wrench, magic metal wand, whatever it was, and reclimbed the ladder, "hard to see your own face, you know?"
"I just think with the right push…"
"You just want to meddle," he teased without looking down to me. I was glad I didn't have to pretend to be offended. It was true…I loved to meddle. So, what? If all situations could go better if I just got sort-of involved, then what did it matter?
"Why shouldn't I?" I said haughtily, "I heard the last couple I meddled with turned out beautifully," I raised my eyebrows over my cup of coffee, feeling like a wonderfully quirky television best friend, even though he wasn't even looking at me, "kids and everything."
He got whatever wire he wanted connected connected, he grinned, "you're gonna do this with or without me, aren't you?"
"Well, yes…" I shuffled around a bit so my weight wasn't resting on the same foot. I was wearing grey sweatpants and a long sleeve light pink t-shirt, still not a queen of fashion, "but having an accomplice is more fun."
He groaned as he came down the ladder to grab the actual light fixture I bought at Home Depot- not even Ikea, I was personally impressed with myself, so he could install it. "Alright," he said, climbing up one more time, "what are you thinking?"
"Well, does Gerald have any secret fetishes?'
"I'm telling you right off the bat," his tongue was out in concentration again, "I'm not answering that."
Two days later, a sunny Wednesday afternoon, Luke and I were building some sort of structure out of popsicle sticks. I use the word structure loosely. I thought we were building a castle, but about 15 minutes into the event I became distinctly aware that Luke was going for mid Manhattan. At the present moment, it most closely resembled a gas station.
"Should we put a window in?" Luke asked, gesturing to the little structure we were working on next to the bigger one.
"Do we know how?" I asked. Luke shrugged, continued gluing sticks to the wall. "How hard can it be?" I added, shrugging, myself.
Apparently- very. Our little tiny house, gas station, thing, collapsed. Along with it our dreams. Or my dreams. Luke did not seem very affected by this, he continued to color popsicle sticks to look like people, despite they would have no place to live. Not that a gas station would have been much of a home, but it's still a roof. Popsicle stick houses were more difficult than I expected them to be. People could probably get degrees for this nonsense.
My phone rang, lighting up with Phoebe's photo. I grinned at it momentarily, Phoebe's popsicle stick house probably wouldn't have collapsed.
"'yallo?" I answered, tucking it in between my ear and my shoulder. Luke looked up curiously for only a moment, before gluing his homeless stick figures to the cardboard sidewalk.
"Hey, Helga-" Phoebe sounded a little out of breath. I imagine hospital work was very difficult. "You called, and I was gonna assume it was an accident-" I probably deserved that, so I didn't bother with being offended by it, "but I thought I'd check anyway. What's up?
I had glued three sticks to the ground before they collapsed. I groaned. "Do you know anything about popsicle stick house construction." I deadpanned, before shaking my head and rubbing my hand on my face. Mistake- it was covered in glue and sticky.
"Do I, what-"
"Nevermind, I'm just being crazy. What I meant to ask was 'do you want to come over for dinner?" I looked at Luke, asking for his tiny opinion on the matter. Not that I particularly cared, I was the mom here- but we were a team, through and through. He nodded his approval, shaggy hair flying. Jeez- haircut needed, and soon. He held up a thumbs up, but continued coloring with the other hand. A true multitasker. "It's grilled cheese fajita night."
"It's…what?" Phoebe had an amused hint to her voice. I felt bad, for a second, for always speaking in confusing words.
"It's where you layer cheese in between two tortillas and then use that to make the wrap for a fajita." I explained, trying to patiently hold together two popsicle sticks so they'd actually stay. I had no patience for these things. "We made it up last year, it was a stroke of frank genius."
Of course, although I did think all humans deserve to experience grilled cheese fajitas, I had sneaky alternative motives for inviting Phoebe over. Well, as sneaky and alternative as 'wanting to grill her about her love life' was… I wasn't James Bond yet, at any rate. I had the suit for it, though…ready, waiting…in the back of my closet in between the 80's bomber jacket and the prom dress I wore for 30 minutes tops. Anyway- Phoebe did mention someone was with her that day at Home Depot, I just didn't stick around long enough to hear who. Could have been a boyfriend, but could also have been her father… Hell, it could have been a seeing eye dog she was in the process of training, I wouldn't even be surprised, it was Phoebe.
"Meat and cheese always sounds good," Phoebe agreed. "Text me a time!"
I was chopping veggies in the kitchen, window open, radio playing softly in the background. My hair was swept off my neck in a little clip I found in my mother's bathroom. Luke had gone upstairs a little while ago. I tapped my feet as I hummed along, enjoying, perhaps, a moment of domestic bliss. The breeze floating in through the window was pleasant, I had an actual light fixture in my ceiling, and a glass of cold white wine by my side.
"Mom-" I heard called from around the corner in a non-urgent tone, but still one where he wanted me to come look. It was astonishing, the thousands of ways children could manage to say the word 'mom.' I grabbed my cup, did a skippy little dance step, and walked to the entry way.
"Mom, what do you think?" My son was at the top of the steps. I peered around the corner to look up at him. "Business casual," he had a green polo shirt on it's hanger hanging over the edge of the railing, "or semi- formal," a striped blue shirt and an untied black tie in the other hand.
"I don't understand where you learn these things." I said honestly, staring, aghast, at my son. "And it's Phoebe, bud, it's fine." I wasn't sure if I wanted to disclose that I, myself, was planning on wearing the black leggings and the Star Wars t-shirt I was already wearing.
"Are you gonna wear that?" He squinted at me.
Damn, caught.
"What if I add a cardigan?" I asked honestly.
He put his palm on his face, and shook his head.
Phoebe came in scrubs, being greeted by my son and I singing a medley of songs from a Muppet Treasure Island. I played it basically since conception, because no son of mine was going to lack appreciation for the Muppets. I heard my front door shut, and I, joyfully, called over my shoulder as I added olive oil to my pan, "Pheebs!" I glanced down to Luke, "go greet her, kiddo."
Luke did as I asked, galloping from the room. I had put on jeans, feeling like it made me look slightly more put together. I added a tortilla to the pan, I could hear Luke and Phoebe walking into the room behind me.
"So you guys were attempting construction this afternoon, I hear?" Phoebe noted, probably, the failed popsicle town on our coffee table in the foyer. We gave up at some point, and now it was mostly a popsicle stick fortress, with nothing having a roof. They dealt with the elements, we were sure, on their own time. It kept them tough. Luke had given them all flat, odd, hats, for the occasion.
"I think we actually created a new form of civilization," I commented, looking over my shoulder at her. "Do you have a cheese preference?"
"I'm all for new ideas of society," Phoebe nodded thoughtfully, "and all cheese is good cheese." That earned a high five from Luke. "Can I help out at all?"
I knew the polite thing to do would be to say 'oh no, I've got it, thank you!' But really, when did I ever give half a fuck about manners? Having big people hands to help-out was a relief.
"Yes," I disclosed, "there's chopped veggies in the fridge and meat in the oven, and would you grab the pitcher so Luke can-"
"So," I began after grilled cheese fajitas were gone, and I ate the left-over cheese with my fingers because I am animal and I love cheese. We spent most of the meal discussing the language and culture of our made-up popsicle civilization, which Luke named "Shark Land." We never got an explanation for the title. There were, as far as I could tell, no sharks there. I gave Luke permission to go watch t.v. in the sitting room after he put the dishes in the wash. It was amazing the way kids flew by doing chores if they were on a time crunch. "How's your life, Pheebs?"
That was the wrong question, because she began talking to me about the hospital and case studies and stuff that put me to sleep in high school and stuff that continues to put me to sleep now. I tried my hardest not to look like I was day dreaming while she talked, because not day dreaming at all was just too high of a goal and I am not an unrealistic person.
"Are you seeing anyone, then?" I asked during a small lull of medical talk.
"Ah, well-" her face was pink. No, no no- bad sign. Go away, blush. "It's kind of complicated."
I took a sip to hide the fact that I was at all invested in this. I was trying to maintain the image of the simply curious old friend. Complicated was hard. Let me uncomplicate it, dump him, so I can stroke my own ego by setting you up and you'll fall madly in love. See, I already made it simple.
"Oh?" I asked, instead of voicing any of that stream of crazy.
"Well, we've been seeing each other for a couple of weeks," Well, stop that. "But lately, well, I'm not sure…" I was, he's dumb. "It just seems like the excitement's gone?" Good, dump him. "But the stability is kind of nice…" Stability is for balance beams and banks, not relationships. "And I really did like him…"
I wasn't sure what got me so hell-bent on this relationship, other than my own amusement at my own cleverness. Gerald was a good man, if a little annoying. But mostly I maybe wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. Maybe I was a little bit bored, and I wanted to get myself involved in a little bit of adult drama, but that was beside the point.
I opened my mouth to tell Phoebe that despite not knowing this man existed two minutes ago that she could do better, when my phone rang on the counter. I whispered an apology, even though the phone couldn't hear me, and crossed over to pick it up.
Mike's name was on the screen.
Ah, right- I did have a bit of my own adult drama to be involved with, didn't I?
a/n ahhhhhhhh i Will get better at updating this i Promise i always have fun writing it its just getting started on a chapter that's the hardest. thanks for sticking with me and reading!
your reviews and comments help a Lot though- so, if you leave those, thank you from the bottom of my heart. it means a lot & i love you a lot!
all the world-
xx, k.