It's interesting playing mom to both Jonathan and Samantha, I mean in Tony's absence. Obviously, there have been times when I've looked after my son without assistance, but never anyone else's child. And I'm again reminded what a difference there is between a two-year-old and a six-year-old.
It's not that Jonathan doesn't have his own personality and interests, but he's still not very good at communicating them, while Sam is highly verbal. Also, he couldn't care less about the upcoming wedding (two weeks from tomorrow!), while it has become Sam's favorite topic.
"Do you wear white or another color because of Mr. Bower?"
"Um, I think I will wear a nice beige or yellow dress."
"Do you want me to go shopping with you or should we find something in your closet that you already have?"
I should note that despite Sam's interest in more "girly" topics lately (to Tony's confusion), she still loves sports and monster movies.
"Hm, let's go see what I have in my closet. Or maybe I can bring things down from the attic."
"Oo, can I go up there? Or is it haunted?"
"It's not haunted. But let's put Jonathan to sleep first since it's his bedtime."
"OK. Can I stay up till Daddy comes home?"
"I don't know, Sweetheart. That might be pretty late." After all, he does have to take the train back from New York. I'm just hoping that his buddies won't decide to throw him a spontaneous bachelor party.
"OK. We'll just pick a dress for you and then I'll go to sleep."
She's so grown-up in some ways. She even sings "Five Little Monkeys Swinging from a Tree" for Jonathan. It seems a little macabre, with the crocodile eating all the monkeys, but Jonathan loves it, especially the "Snap!" part.
As soon as he's asleep, I take her hand and lead her up to the attic. If I were Mother, I would know how to be just spooky enough. But I figure Sam has had enough scares in her life. (Including Michael a couple nights ago of course.) So instead I do my best to reassure her.
It helps that the attic is immaculate. It must be Tony's doing, because it was cobwebby and dusty the last time I was up here. He's even organized the Christmas decorations alphabetically!
We have fun digging through boxes for my old non-fat clothes, not that there are as many as I'd like. Then we do our best to clean up, although I'm sure Tony will say, "This place looks like a pit!" when he sees the attic again.
We take the dresses down. I grab a few more from my bedroom.
"Angela?" Sam says shyly from the doorway.
"Yes, Sweetie?"
"Um, when you get married, will Daddy sleep in here? Or will you sleep in his room?"
Someone must've told her that married people share a bed. Or maybe she's thinking of her parents.
"I think we'll sleep in here because then we can share my bathroom." Tony and I haven't discussed it, but it makes the most sense. (And I think he's only come in here to clean since I walked in on him last week.)
"Oh, OK. You don't care that he snores?"
"Well, when grown-ups really like each other, they don't mind things like that."
"Do you think I'll get married someday?"
"Yes, if you want to."
"Boys are dumb sometimes."
"Yes, but so are girls."
"Yeah."
"You'll have to grow up and find a boy who's not too dumb."
She laughs. "Then I'll be an old lady!"
I laugh, too, for reasons she can't understand.
We stagger downstairs with all the dresses we can carry. I ask if it's too much, but she says she's fine. She really does remind me in Tony in some ways.
We spread the dresses out on the couch and chairs in the living room. We narrow it down to our three favorites, not that we completely agree. Her tastes are more streamlined and, well, edgier, than my old-fashioned, frillier ones.
The first one I'll try on is the prom dress I never wore. I'd hoped to lose enough weight in time but I didn't, so I had to wear another, and then I ended up being stood up anyway. It's the sort of thing Audrey Hepburn would've worn in the early '60s, sleek and elegant, rather than the nerdy frocks I was wearing in the mid '60s. It's not in Audrey's signature color of black but instead a yellow between lemon and butter, yet softer.
I change in the downstairs bathroom. I'm surprised how good I look in the dress, although the mirror is small in here so I can't see everything. And the dress fits me perfectly, which obviously I couldn't have planned twelve years ago, and three years after kissing Anthony.
I go back out to get Sam's approval. She gasps and says, "Wow, you look super pretty!"
"Thank you, Sweetie." I look in the entryway mirror. Yes, I think this will make a fine if non-traditional wedding dress. I hope Tony will like it.
Then I hear footsteps coming up the front path. Oh, Tony is coming home sooner than I expected? Has he even had time to go to Brooklyn and back?
I peek through the curtains, but I see Joanne Parker! "Oh, no, not her!"
"Who?" Sam asks.
"It's Mrs. Parker, the President of the Parents' Association."
"Oh, no!" Sam says, but she's apparently not just annoyed on my behalf, since she dashes into the kitchen. Hm, I wonder what that's about.
Well, I'm about to find out, since Joanne knocks briskly but insistently on the door.
Feeling a little ridiculous in my prom dress but knowing there's no chance to change, I sigh and then open the door. "Why, Joanne, what a pleasant surprise!"
"Is it, Angela? Is it really?"
Oh kay. I try again. "What brings you by?"
"You really don't know?"
"Sorry, I don't."
She sighs huffily. "May I come in?"
"Of course."
She does and then double-takes at all the dresses scattered about. "What's going on?"
"Oh, just cleaning out my closet, seeing what fits and what doesn't."
"Oh, that explains your outfit."
"Um, yes." I take an ecru minidress (the one I wore my first day at Wallace and McQuade, before I got shyer about showing my legs) off of the nearest chair and say, "Won't you sit down?"
She looks like she resents my politeness, but she does sit. I make space for myself on the couch.
"What's this about, Joanne?"
"So your housekeeper didn't tell you?"
I'm annoyed by her referring to Tony that way, even if it is one of his roles in my life. But I just say, "No, Tony and I haven't discussed you." Lately, I silently add.
"Well, it wasn't really about me. It was about Dwight, my son."
"Oh."
"You really don't know about Samantha hitting him?"
"No, I'm sorry, I don't. And I'm very sorry that that happened."
"Perhaps your housekeeper didn't think it was important. I'm sure fighting is much more common in Brooklyn."
I'm sure of that, too, but I don't think that's all that's going on here. "Yes, but I know that Tony doesn't approve of Sam fighting."
"So she has done it before?"
Damn, I can't fight, I mean verbally fight, as well as Mother, especially against an opponent like Joanne. The best I can do is ask, "Why didn't the teacher put a stop to it?"
"It happened on the walk home."
"Oh. Do you know what provoked it?"
"Are you blaming my son? The victim? 'Little' Samantha is almost a year older than he is and probably ten pounds heavier."
I doubt there's that much weight difference. Despite growing up on Italian cooking, there isn't any excess on Sam's trim little body. Not with all her energy.
"No, I'm not blaming Dwight, I'm just wondering how the fight started."
"I don't think it matters why she hit him. And it wasn't exactly a fight. I've told Dwight to never hit girls and to walk away from fights anyway."
I agree with that and will raise Jonathan the same way, but I hate agreeing with Joanne. "Thank you for letting me know about this, Joanne. I will talk to Sam about it."
"Isn't that more her father's job?"
"He's not here right now." I almost say that he's in Brooklyn, checking with his friends on our wedding, but I know what a can of worms that would be.
"Oh? Well, I suppose he does deserve a night off every once in awhile."
On the surface, the words are harmless if a bit snobbish, but I catch the undertone, meaning that he needs a night off from my bed.
"Yes, he does. He works very hard. And I'm happy to take care of Sam, especially since she's my, she's going to be my stepdaughter."
"So you really are marrying your housekeeper? It's not just a rumor?"
"No, it's not just a rumor. I'm sorry we can't invite you to the wedding, Joanne, but the guest list is full."
"I'm sure I'll be busy that day."
"Yes, you are quite the busybod— busy woman, aren't you? Thank you for taking the time to tell me about Samantha."
She looks taken aback at my dismissing her, but she's clearly said most of what she came here to say. And we will meet again, at the Parents' Association meeting next week.
"Well, goodnight then," she says, getting to her feet.
"Goodnight, Joanne. Lovely to see you, as always."
When I close the door behind her, I feel proud of myself for standing up to her but in a polite way. Then I remember that I have to talk to Sam. I could wait till Tony gets home, but I am the parent tonight and it's up to me.
I find her sitting at the kitchen table, eating Halloween candy. (She must've found one of Tony's hiding places. I haven't been able to find them since the first night.) She jumps guiltily when I come in, and I know it's not just because of the candy.
I sit down and she silently offers me a Mini Mars Bar.
"Thank you."
"Welcome."
"So, Sam, how's kindergarten going?"
"Oh, I love my teacher, she's so nice! And some of the kids are nice, too."
"Some of them? Not all of them?"
"Um, no, but Dad says that life is like that, not everybody's nice, but you have to get along with everyone."
"Yes. But some people are harder to get along with than others, aren't they?"
She nods fervently. "But I have tried!"
"I know, Sweetie. But I do need to ask you. Did you hit Dwight Parker?"
She scowls. "Yeah, I hit him," she mutters.
"But, why, Sam?"
"He says bad things."
"I know it's not nice when people say bad things about you, but you can't hit them."
"It wasn't about me."
"Oh." Even before she explains, I know where this is going.
She whispers, "He said his mom says you and Daddy do dirty things together."
"She said that to him?" I whisper back.
"No, he heard her talking to her friend. He didn't understand all of it, but he said you and Daddy are bad people and 'a disgrace to the neighborhood.' "
That sounds like Joanne's phrasing. I hate the idea that she's spreading her poison where a five-year-old child can hear it and repeat it to a six-year-old. Maybe even to their classmates!
"It's not true, is it?" She looks at me tearfully.
"Oh, Sweetie!" I hug her. "No, it's not true." Even if Tony and I had made love by now, it would not be dirty or bad. I think it would be lovely. But of course I can't say that to his daughter. I don't even know if she knows where babies come from. Would Marie have told her? I can't imagine Tony finding the words. And Mrs. Rossini would probably talk about storks or cabbage patches or whatever they say in the Italian culture.
"Why do people say mean things?"
"Sometimes they think it's funny. Or they feel bad about themselves and they try to feel better about themselves by making other people feel bad."
"Yeah, like when I hit Dwight, I felt better at first. But then I felt bad because I knew Daddy would be dispointed."
"Did you tell him?"
She shakes her head and pulls away. "He wants me to love Fairfield and get along with everyone."
So much pressure to put on a little girl! Although I know Tony means well.
"Do you like Fairfield and get along with some people?"
"Oh, yes! I miss Brooklyn and my friends, but I like Marci and you and Jonathan and Mrs. Robinson."
"Good."
"Angela," she says shyly, "I feel bad, a different kind of bad I mean, because I think I'm starting to love you. Do you think Mommy is jealous in Heaven?"
"Oh, Darling!" I kiss the top of her head, the same brown hair as Marie's. "No, your mommy loved you so much that she wants you to have all the love you can get."
"Oh, good." She sounds relieved.
"I think I'm starting to love you, too."
"Good." She snuggles back up against me.
Why is it so easy with Sam, and so difficult to say these things to her father? Why is grown-up love so complicated?
I eat my Mars bar and she smiles.