Part Thirty-six
The Vaughns sit in silence for a moment after Jack leaves. Of course, Emily is the one to break it.
"What's a housekeeper and nanny?" she asks, her little face troubled.
Sydney sighs. The entire exchange had lasted only a few minutes; in the heat of the moment, she hadn't thought of the repercussions of what her children were hearing. Now, she wished badly that someone had taken them out of the room. "A housekeeper is someone who cleans houses," she tells Emily. "And a nanny is someone who takes care of children."
"Oh." A beat. "Is it bad to clean houses and take care of kids?"
"No, sweetheart."
"A-cause Grampy made it sound like it was bad," Emily insists. She's right. Sydney's father had spit out the words housekeeper and nanny in the same tone of voice he would have used to say the word whore. Don't forget trophy, Sydney thinks bitterly. She wonders why he didn't go one step further and call her Michael's slave. Clearly, that's what he thinks.
"It's not bad," Sydney says firmly. "Your grandfather just thinks we should hire someone to clean our house and take care of you so that I can go to work, like your daddy." Was she telling her too much? She hated that she had to even have this conversation.
"I don't want you to go to work like Daddy." Emily looks absolutely horrified.
"I'm not going to," Sydney assures her.
"Don't you have to do what your daddy says?"
"No, because I'm an adult."
"When will I be an adult?"
"He shouldn't tell you what to do," Jack speaks up, looking just as troubled as his younger sister. "And he shouldn't say bad things about Dad."
"Look, don't worry about what he said," Sydney says. She wants nothing more than to put an end to this. "All you two need to know is that your grandfather loves you very, very much, okay?" She turns accusing eyes on Marguerite. "Why did you have to press him about the flight arrangements?"
Marguerite regards her coolly. "At first I merely assumed there had been a misunderstanding, since Michael had made it clear that he intended to buy our tickets. Then it became quite evident that he found Michael's offer to buy the ticket insulting, and I simply wanted him to admit it," she says. "It's very simple, Sydney. Money equals power to your father. The way he sees it, Michael supports you financially, therefore he controls you."
"Oh, that's what his problem is?" Sydney snaps. "Thank you so much for clearing that up."
"It's not her fault that he feels the way he does, Sydney," Michael speaks up for the first time. And, for the first time since the argument with her father began, Sydney realizes the impact her father's words must have had on him. "And anyway," he continues. "It's not like there isn't some truth to what he said."
Sydney gapes at him. "Oh, really?" she responds incredulously. "Which part did you agree with? The part where he implied that I have no mind of my own, or the part where he diminished my role in your life to that of a servant or a possession?"
"I didn't--" Michael breaks off, glancing at the children. "Let's not do this here."
"Fine." Sydney rises and follows him to Marguerite's guest bedroom; he closes the door behind them.
"Nothing your father says about you is true," he says firmly once they're alone. "You are definitely more than capable of thinking for yourself, and he has a really skewed idea of motherhood if he would dare call you a housekeeper and a nanny. I should have punched him for saying that."
"I'm glad that you didn't," Sydney says with a half-smile. "And I hope you understand why I cut you off when you tried to talk. His problem is with me, not you."
"No, Sydney," Michael says softly, the pain visible in his green eyes. He runs a hand back through his hair. "He definitely has a problem with me. He thinks I hold you back." He sighs. "Maybe I do."
"How can you say that?" Sydney asks, horrified.
Michael sinks down on the bed, biting his lower lip as if not sure whether to say what's on his mind. "I love it that you stay home with the kids, do you know that?" he asks, his voice low. "You probably think that I don't care whether you work or not, but the truth is, I really love that you don't, at least while the kids are little. Not because I think you're incapable of working, or because I have some antiquated idea that women shouldn't work, but because I just-- feel safer, knowing that the kids are with you, and not some stranger, because I know that you love them more than anything in the world and would never, ever let anything happen to them. And I love it when you stop by my office or call me in the middle of the day and tell me that Emily ate a bug or let it slip to your father that you're having a baby or did some other adorable thing."
Sydney smiles softly. "No nanny would remember to tell us all of the wonderful things she says and does."
"Exactly," Michael says with a smile. She sits next to him on the bed, and he takes her hand and kisses it.
"Liking having your wife home with your kids doesn't make you a horrible person, Mike," Sydney says quietly.
"But is it what you want, Syd?" Michael asks with a worried frown. "Because I know you would never do anything you didn't want to do. But I also know how much you love to make me happy, and I would hate it if you were staying at home just because you thought it was what I wanted. Because if you're miserable, it's not what I want."
"Do I act miserable, Michael?"
"No," Michael says. "Frustrated, sometimes, overwhelmed, sometimes, but never miserable. But your father seems so convinced that you can't possibly be happy that--"
"My father doesn't know anything about me," Sydney says firmly.
Michael sighs. "I also really love that you always come to my parties and dinners looking so beautiful and perfect," he confesses. "I love that you're charming and sweet and that all of my colleagues think you're incredible." He finishes the statement sheepishly, as if he has just confessed to something horrible.
"Good," Sydney says, brushing his hair back from his face fondly. "Because I put a lot of effort into looking beautiful and perfect and making you the envy of your colleagues."
"You don't feel like a trophy?"
"You don't treat me like a trophy, Michael," Sydney says softly. "That's the thing my father doesn't get."
Michael doesn't look convinced. "You bring out the best in me, Sydney. You really do. Before I met you, I always kept my relationships light, casual," he says with a rueful smile. "Don't get me wrong, I loved my father." His smile fades. "But he was always working, and I saw how frustrated and hurt that made my mom. Then I went into law, too, and all of a sudden I was always working, and-- I just didn't know if I was even capable of giving a woman the love and attention she deserved. You changed that." He shakes his head as if to clear the thoughts from it. "Anyway, I'd hate it if I didn't bring out the best in you, too."
"I can't believe you can't see that you do," Sydney says. "After the way my father was, I think it's pretty amazing that I was ever able to open up and love someone at all. And I'm a mother," she says, awed. "The fact that I actually have children that I have, thus far, not profoundly screwed up, is pretty incredible, when you think about it."
"You're an amazing mother," Michael says firmly. "If your father can't see the value in that--" He shakes his head.
Sydney smiles gratefully at him, then stands and reaches out to pull him to his feet. "You ready to go back out there?"
Michael returns her smile. "I love you, Syd. So much."
"I love you, too, Michael."
