Well Californiagirl did it so I have to because I have to have the last word. I'm petty like that. ;) There are bits in this which will make more sense if you read her epilogue (in "Once More With Feeling") first. And leave her a review!
Rated for a tiny bit of rather vulgar language. Ahem.
Critical Path - Epilogue
It's bad timing really, a January baby. Living in Chicago I mean. There's snow on the ground, it's freezing and the sky is the colour of lead. No parties in the garden for us.
365 days. Doesn't sound like much does it, but if you measure time by what's happened rather than by hours and days it's a very long time indeed – it's a lifetime – her lifetime. And after only 365 days since I first met her I sometimes have trouble seeing that baby in her, that baby whose unfocused eyes slid around in her head alarmingly and who needed me even if she didn't know me and who I didn't know but needed all the same.
She knows me now, she smiles when she sees me, reaches for me, cries sometimes when I have to leave her. And yeah, her first word was "Mama". Well, munamum if we're being totally accurate and OK it's what she calls her toes now, but we both knew what she meant. Luka though, he's Tata … after he stopped being munamum. What?
The tree he planted for her next to Jasna's and Marko's is looking a little sorry for itself right now. I was a little sorry for myself too for a while. It's surprising how soon you get used to wearing pyjamas all day, running out of tea cups because you never have the chance to load the dishwasher and learning not to care too much what your hair looks like after it's not been washed for 6 days.I felt like a cow, this little parasite literally sucking the life out of me, and at four months I put her in the car and went to the store for formula. I know, I know, but jeez, a happy mom makes for a happy baby, right?
Up to then I really only lived when Luka was home. He'd run me a bath or tell me to take a shower while he took care of Rosa, and the housework and the cooking. How do women on their own do this stuff? Do they just strap the kid to their backs or something? I'd have died without Luka, I swear I would.
But then he'd seen it all before, and in a tiny apartment with not much money. And isn't it funny how knowing that there are lots of people worse off than you doesn't help one little bit.
Middle of March and it was still cold but Luka had lit a fire and I listened on the monitor to the sounds of him settling her. She was sleeping better but it was still a lottery. When he eventually came downstairs he dropped onto the sofa beside me like he was dead, eyes closed, needing a shave, the weight he'd lost more evident. For two minutes we sat and listened to the fire crackle and then the monitor crackled too and emitted a long, high pitched wail.
"Fuck it!" I grabbed the goddamned thing and hurled it as hard as I could against the wall and there was silence with only the half heard ghost wail that came from upstairs. He looked at me then, eyebrows raised, his expression mild.
"Better?"
"Much".
"She's still crying."
"I'll go".
"Be my guest."
When I finally got back downstairs he was stretched full length on the sofa and I just let myself topple onto him, and he laughed a little and held me.
You know," he said, "This too will pass".
And it did.
oOo
So, 365 days. She'll be one tomorrow and we're having a party and if the food's terrible it won't be my fault because the guests are all bringing it. I don't do catering. And the guests – work people, Kerry even, Professors Mr and Mrs Backhaus and their cat hair, Robin the lawyer, who will try to shake hands with Rosa and smile bravely if she gets food on his perfect cashmere sweater that I covet. They'll all be there to congratulate us on still being alive, still being together, still being sane. Well, no, maybe not that. And it's a party for me too as I very conveniently arranged to give birth within a week of my own birthday.
But there's more.
Maggie arrived yesterday, loaded with presents for Rosa who had lost interest in ripping paper off Christmas gifts after about the 300th package.
"It's no fun having a birthday so close to Christmas is it sweetie?" she cooed over Rosa who took the line of least resistance and smiled and pointed at her nose and said "Nah".
So now I'm thinking, what am I, chopped liver? I don't remember her having quite this approach to my birthday. My 7th for example was particularly memorable. We spent it in a motel in Minnetonka after Maggie decided she hated our house and dragged me and Eric away in the middle of the night with not enough clothes and no real plan. We went home after a week. A few months later dad left. That was a busy year.
New starts though, we've all made new starts since then so I smile and make tea and chat about Eric who spent Christmas with us.
And there is yet more.
Ivica.
Luka is collecting him from the airport today and she's nervous.
"Will I like him?"
"That's kind of … redundant."
"What?"
"He's – a force of nature. You might as well worry about liking the sky – "
"Will he like me?"
" – or the sky liking you."
"What's he like?"
"Tall like Luka, same eyes, grey hair, stained fingers, dirty laugh." I stop there thinking the picture I'm painting is maybe not selling the old guy real well.
"No, I mean – what is he like?"
"You know what, he is what he is. He'll charm the pants off of you or you'll hate him. Que sera. But whatever happens don't take any bullshit from him, and I'm telling you now he'll probably dish it, and on no account feed him any because he'll eat it up with a spoon and a shit eating grin and hand it right back to you. Stand up to him and he might not like you but he'll respect you and for him that's more important. "
"Are you trying to scare me? It's working."
"Be yourself."
Oh God. She looks at me levelly for a moment and I look right back and then she nods slowly and says deadpan "Well, that's always served me really well in the past." It's a second before we both snort with laughter and then she shrugs "I'll just have to hope he's so besotted with Rosa that he doesn't notice me."
"Not a hope in hell."
oOo
"Hey, we're home!"
Maggie nearly drops her tea cup and she glances round the kitchen like she might be able to make a run for it.
"OK, shoulders back, head up – we're on Mom."
Ivica grins and there's that avalanche of a hug. He's all gallantry and telling me how motherhood suits me and I'm more beautiful than ever. "And you are still full of shit" I whisper in his ear.
"Where is my granddaughter?"
"Sleeping." I prise myself loose and I can her that my voice is tight as I introduce Maggie. Oh please, Oh please.
"It is lovely to meet you Maggie. Now I know where Abby gets her looks". She's totally blushing and I catch Luka's eye. He grimaces and rolls his eyes at his father's blatant flattery. Maggie's telling Ivica how much she loves his paintings and that she's a bit of an artist herself. Those eyebrows go up. "Tell me." He reaches for her arm and steers her into the living room.
There's a moment's silence. "Is it just me or are they being a bit too chummy?"
He lets out a breath he probably didn't know he was holding. "Throwing themselves into the part anyhow".
"She – " I don't get to finish because the 365 day old upstairs is calling for us. He tells me he'll go and while he's dealing with her I look past my own reflection into the darkening garden and then make my way to the living room to await the arrival of the star attraction. Luka and Rosa make their entrance, Luka speaking softly to her in Croatian. I hope he's telling her that her grandfather is a pushover for a pretty female so she should flash those pearly whites and flutter those eyelashes, oh, but don't ignore Maggie. This kid has responsibilities.
Ivica's in love from the get go. I don't think I've ever seen his eyes so soft. Rosa is as entranced by his pocket watch as he is by her and he tells Luka that she's beautiful. Of course she is. Maggie bolts for the kitchen, flapping her hands and telling no-one in particular that she's cooking dinner tonight and she hopes we all like Italian which I think is a rhetorical question. When I make to follow her she turns me out of my own kitchen. She's hiding. Great.
Well, dinner is OK although I'm too tense to taste it let alone enjoy it. Ivica continues to behave impeccably. He picks his way through the chit chat about his flight (crowded and uncomfortable) and the weather (cold in January – hold the front page) but thank God we have Rosa as a conversation piece. She obliges her artistic grandparents by producing her own Jackson Pollock on the table and her clothes and Maggie laughs when I say I'm sure she derives most of her nutrition by absorption but Ivica doesn't get it and Luka has to translate. He still only smiles politely which is freaking me right out. Where are the lewd cackles, the sly looks, the completely inappropriate flirting with me? My mom doesn't notice because she doesn't know that stuff but I catch her looking at me like she doesn't understand what all the fuss was about.
They continue with the Polite Game while Luka puts Rosa to bed. He takes his time, always sits watching her. On the nights I put her to bed he waits until we're sure she's staying down and then he goes in to her, sits down by the crib, watches; just watches. And sometimes I watch him watching her.
When I can't stand it any more I tell Ivica to get his coat and go outside for a smoke. He looks as though he might weep with gratitude and Maggie chirps that she'll go with him. When Luka gets downstairs he's puzzled, and assumes they were too much for me when I tell him I sent his dad outside.
"Not exactly. He's just acting so . . . weird".
"Well, you know my father".
" I do, that's what I mean. He's being so nice. He must hate her."
"Nah, it's because he loves you." I raise my eyebrows. "And, ah, I told him to . . be nice."
"Well tell him to stop it, it's driving me nuts".
"Only trying to help."
"I know. Me too."
"What?"
"I told her to behave."
We consider our ill judged attempts to control our unruly parents for a moment or two before deciding that maybe we should just roll with the punches, relax a little.
"Think we should go and talk to them?"
"Let them off the hook you mean?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know. Maybe we should make them work just a little longer."
"Abby."
"OK, OK, get my coat and we'll go set the poor guy free."
They're cosied up on the garden seat, smoking, and the Polite Game seems to have been abandoned because they're laughing, Ivica's cackle drowning out Maggie's giggle. It seems we've been played and Ivica reminds us that they're grandparents, not idiots. No shit.
oOo
Ivica, having travelled some several thousands of cigarettless miles to get here, is bushed, although he isn't quite so nice with his adjectives. They try and argue about who sleeps where and Maggie says she'll go to an hotel so we can have a bed rather than the pullout downstairs and she even means it. Persuading them to go to their allotted rooms is harder than getting Rosa to bed but they give in eventually. Parents. And once they're gone Luka confides that for what he has in mind it would be better if we were downstairs rather than next door to either one of them. It occurs to me, not for the first time, that he is his father's son and that I am very glad of it.
oOo
Rosa looks like an Inuit. All that quilting isn't helping with the walking project she has in hand. Still, she has Maggie eating out of her hand and seems happy playing in what's left of the snow in the garden while I sit inside and drink thick coffee with Ivica.
"Good legs."
"What?"
"Your mother. She is very pretty and she has good legs." Oh yeah, Ivica is back. "She's well these days?"
"She's always well until she . . . isn't."
"Cynical Abby?"
"Realistic."
He makes a little sound of disgust. "Cynics always say this."
"What can I tell you, too many years of expecting the worst."
"You were going to stop doing that."
"Can't do it all overnight. I didn't get a personality transplant."
"Good. She's happy for you. She loves you."
"I know. She always did."
"But . . . "
"Love isn't always enough is it?"
"No. I think never." His face brightens suddenly. "She told me last night something about you." Oh God, what now. "She tells me you could have married millionaire."
"Not really."
"No?"
"He never asked."
"You would say yes though?"
"Maybe. I don't know. It didn't happen, it doesn't matter."
"All that money," he sighs, "could keep horrible old foreign guy in paints and cigarettes in his old age."
"If I'd married him I would never have met you so that point is moot."
"Moot?"
"Not relevant."
"Oh. Still, he's coming here today, yes?"
"Ivica . . . "
"Maybe he adopt me?" We don't get any further with this surreal line of conversation because Luka joins us, showered and shaved.
"At last," says his father, "what time of day is this to be getting up?"
"It's 9.30, Tata, you have a watch", but Ivica is standing by the piano, running a hand over it. A sudden, vivid memory shoots fierce heat through my face and when I look at Luka he's studying me, the barest ghost of a smile in his eyes. Oh no, don't you dare.
"You play?"
"I – tinker on it." He's answering his father but he's looking at me. The heat in my face intensifies.
"Tinker for me now." Oh dear God.
"I don't think I'm ready for a public . . . performance." I can feel myself smiling now and I shake my head at him.
"What's public? I'm your father!" He looks between us, confused.
"How about some more coffee?" I ask too brightly and as I bolt for the kitchen I think I see an inkling of understanding in Ivica's expression. No-one could look at the grin on Luka's face and not get exactly what kind of five-finger exercises he was thinking about.
oOo
See I expect in about 16 years to be checking up on what's going on on the back yard bench when I hear giggling and simpering. I didn't expect to have to do it today.
"Mom, can you help me with the lunch things . . . now". She's flushed, excited . . . girlish. "Things not going so bad with Ivica then."
"He's charming! He's a gentleman, I don't meet many of those." I don't think my laugh is very pleasant. "What?"
"Oh, Mom, just … just …" listen to yourself I want to say, but I don't.
"No, come on, let's have it. You're going to tell me to dial it down, behave myself, don't make a fool of myself and embarrass you in front of your friends."
"No, I'm not." Boy, do I want to. Oh great and now she looks hurt.
"I was having fun Abby – is that a crime?" My blood drops a couple degrees at that, like she's looked into my memories and found just the right one. I feel a little ashamed. "I'm a grown woman Abby having a little fun with a charming, attentive man. Sound familiar? "
"I – "
"What did you think, that we'd start making out while you all sing Happy Birthday?"
"I – "
"Well you know what, if we make out that's my business and his but if it makes you feel better I promise we'll wait until your guests have gone". She's smiling but there are tears in her eyes. She hands me the jug of water for the table and makes to walk past me, but I catch her hand and she stops, not looking at me.
"I worry, Mom. I look for signs and sometimes I . . . "
"Overreact."
"I guess."
She frees her hand from mine and leaves the kitchen, but she's back a moment later with her purse. She takes out a pill bottle and hold it up, tells me the date, tells me the dosage and rattles it so that I can see that the pills are gone. I nod.
"Are we good then? Am I free to smile at him again?"
Another nod. "Sorry." I really am.
"Come here." She hugs me and then pulls back and looks into my face, brushes my hair from my eyes. "You have to trust me. I won't do anything stupid." I nod again. "Unless he asks".
oOo
OK, so I have Ella and Rosa in the family room hurling gifts around while Elizabeth more or less joins in, The Professors Backhaus are just pixilated by the whole event and Robin from next door is talking to Frank and giving every appearance of enjoying it. I love Robin. He's the best baby sitter we have as he talks very seriously to Rosa about the law and 18th century porcelain in a sing-song voice that has her captivated. And he makes the best salad dressing I've ever tasted.
I see Carter catch my eye over Frank's head and then he heads back outside with Luka. I prefer not to think about that but a few minutes later he's back and heading for me and Maggie and Jing-Mei stands next to Luka looking tiny and ridiculously beautiful.
Carter is all smiles, sort of proud of himself. "Wait 'til you see what I got Rosa!"
"Where?"
"Outside."
"You did not buy her a pony."
"I did not buy her a pony. Hey Maggie," and he turns and hugs her, she congratulates him because I've told her that he and Jing-Mei are to be married and he's all smiles again as he turns to me. "So have you thought – "
"No, Carter.
"But – "
"She can barely walk. Have you given even a moment's thought to what she'd do with a basket of flower petals?"
"Eat them?"
"Frankly that's the best you could hope for."
"But you haven't changed your mind about the other thing?"
"No."
"Other thing?" Maggie asks.
"Your daughter" – and here he slips his arm through mine – "has consented to be my best man."
"She has?"
"She most certainly has. My parents will fall in a dead faint, there will be a horrified gasp through the cathedral and I shall enjoy every minute of it."
"Wouldn't you rather be enjoying marrying your fiancée?" Maggie isn't smiling.
Carter's smile slips a fraction. "Of course … " He's floundering.
"I'm just teasing, silly. Is she here? I'd love to meet her."
Carter glances over at Luka just in time to see Jing-Mei lay a hand on his arm, her head thrown back as she looks up at him. He's moving toward them fast now and takes Jing-Mei's hand, steering her back to us. But as he does I catch the wink Jing-Mei sends Luka. I leave Maggie to talk to them and slide up close beside him.
"What was that about?"
"Collusion."
I want him to tell me but he won't but he asks if I'm jealous, and because he wants me to be I am. Just a touch.
"Where is your dad?"
It seems that Ivica holds to some rather particular notion of good form that has arriving at parties – even his own – anything less than an hour after everyone else as unforgivably gauche. Within a half hour of him putting in an appearance I think he knows the age, political affiliation, marital status and probably shoe size of everyone there. He seems to spend a long time talking to Carter and then suddenly seems to be done with him, walking off toward Luka. Carter looks a little stunned and I take pity on him. The nursery is the only quiet room in the place so we go up there and sit on the floor and talk, Carter diligently arranging building blocks by colour before piling them carefully into a tower. He sits back proudly. "I was always good at this."
I extend a foot and topple the whole thing with a clatter.
"Hey, no fair!"
"I was always good at knocking down the efforts of the kids who were better at building than I was. It's mean and I'm not proud of it. Well maybe a little. Guess your skill and my skill are mutually incompatible."
"I'm starting again and you just keep your feet to yourself or I'll tell your Mom."
"So … Ivica seemed mighty interested in you."
"Is he on something? He scared the shit out of me."
"What did he say?"
"It's not what he said, it's how he said it. I could feel him creeping down my neural pathways."
"He's Croatian, not Vulcan."
"You never felt that?"
"Me? Nah. Well, maybe. Yeah. I guess I should have prepared you. He's a sweet guy."
"Sweet . . . sweet," he intones as though trying out the word against his image of Ivica and finding them a pretty poor match. "No, not sweet". He sets the last brick on his tower and looks up at me, beaming. "Hey, you never saw what I got Rosa! Come on before it gets too dark!" He stands up and holds out a hand to pull me to my feet.
"If it's a pony …"
"Wait and see!"
I knock down his tower as I pass. "Oops!"
oOo
"It's a Hummer!"
"I can see that."
"Isn't it the greatest thing you ever saw?"
"No. It's horrible. What does a 1 year old want with a Hummer?"
"She'll grow into it. Come on, it's great!"
"Yeah, if you want your kid to grow up a total asshole."
"You don't like it?"
"You don't really need me to answer that, do you?"
"Aw, come on, work with me. Luka hated it."
"Well, you know, when he's right he's right."
"I can't believe you two! I would have completely loved this when I was a kid."
"You probably had a Baby BMW from Bratz R Us".
"Funny. I don't know why you don't like it."
"She's one year old, Carter. Just take it back and buy her some finger paints or something."
"You're really no fun. First you knock my tower down and now this."
"And now you're sulking. Do I have to get Ivica on this?"
"I'll take it back tomorrow."
oOo
My daughter doesn't seem to appreciate the choral efforts of my guests as they serenade the birthday girl and she hides her face against me. I get her to look toward Luka and the camera but she doesn't quite manage a smile for him. But she smiles at her piece of cake and before I can stop her she's up to her knuckles in sponge cake and frosting. She examines her cake covered fingers and then does what she does best, shoves them in her mouth. And then into mine which makes her giggle. I'm pretty sure I have frosting in my hair by now.
"Smile".
See that's not fair and OK I'm not proud of using my kid to get back at my husband but if I have to have cake all over my face so does he. He leans in close and invites me to lick it off, and I'm tempted but instead I just smile and hand him a napkin.
By the time the last of the guests leave Rosa is asleep in my lap, cake and frosting still all over her and smeared on my sweater. Maggie has already gone to bed but Ivica shows no signs of slowing down. He takes my hand and kisses it, and smiles, hugely satisfied with himself and the world in general. Luka disentangles Rosa and says he'll leave the two of us to our evil plans. Ivica feigns innocence and fools neither one of us. I decide that attack is the best form of defence.
"You scared Carter."
"Carter?" he frowns.
"You don't fool me old man."
"He's rich man, huh? So that stick he has up his ass is made of gold."
"Hey, I don't insult your friends."
"You don't know my friends."
"He's a good guy."
"That's what Luka said."
"And if he can say it . . . "
"Eh, he wouldn't have been right for you."
"I think we both figured that one out."
"No regrets? You could be rich woman now."
"I am a rich woman now."
"Hah, yes, you have the truth there. I'm glad you didn't marry Mr Gold Stick, very glad."
"Stop with the stick thing, OK?"
"OK, I stop. Funny though, eh? Shame your mother had to go to bed so early."
"She has a very long bus ride ahead of her tomorrow."
"I like her."
"I noticed. I think it's mutual." He looks puzzled. "She likes you too."
And here he becomes animated, indignant, "Luka warned me to behave myself, like I'm 17 and she's a little virgin."
"I was worried, he saw that."
"Why worried?"
How to explain this. "Sometimes what would be OK with most people looks like the start of something else with her. It wouldn't be the first time she'd made a fool of herself with a man."
"And now you too! You think I would let her do that? You think I would take . . . " he says something in Croatian, casts about for the word.
"Advantage?"
"Yes, you think that? I don't do that, I never have. Well, maybe once. Twice. But with your mother? I'm old but I'm not crazy, I don't shit on my own doorstep."
"Hey, take it easy, it's not – "
"And her, what is she to do for rest of her life, stay home and watch TV, bake cakes? She has right to her life, to a man in her bed if she needs one."
I'm talking to my father in law about my mother's sex life. You couldn't make this stuff up. "I overreacted, OK? I told her I'm sorry, she's OK with it. You know I think you're just pissed because you didn't get anywhere with her."
"How do you know?"
"What?"
"How far I got?"
"Stop right there old man."
"You know this is terrible party, we have no dancing."
"We have no guests."
"So?" He's up and rifling through the CDs and as Natalie Cole strikes up he sashays over to me and whisks me into a pretty good hold, nudges me around the floor.
"Hey, you're good at this!"
"You're surprised. Thankyou so much."
"I just never thought – "
"Elena and I used to dance. Two babies in the house, no money but we had her father's old records and so we danced. She was better than me, of course she was, she had music in her feet as well as her hands". He's quiet for a moment, remembering.
"I wish I could have met her."
He just nods and we dance in silence for a moment. As the song ends he takes my face between his hands and kisses me.
"May I cut in?"
Neither of us had seen Luka watching us. Ivica hands me over, implying that Luka wouldn't have had such an easy time of it if he hadn't been ready for his bed. He doesn't leave straight away but watches us from the doorway; I don't hear him leave and it's only when the sound of his footsteps on the stairs reaches me that I look and see the doorway empty.
My mother, his father, light blue touch paper and – enjoy. No fireworks, no disasters, we came through, all of us. I don't think there's anything we can't do now and tell him so. I'm thinking maybe we could shift this to the horizontal and carry on dancing but then I have to smile and I explain that making out downstairs on the sofa bed while my mom is upstairs reminds me of being a teenager and smuggling a boy in at home and then I remember our conversation in Ivica's apartment about being cramped and anxious. This is neither but the need for stealth and quiet adds a certain frisson to the proceedings and I'm feeling warm and kind of charged all through as he holds me afterwards.
I'm not even sure where I found the bomb I dropped on him next.
"I've been thinking …" He kisses my neck; yeah I can tell what he's thinking.
"I'm serious." He lies on his back and stares at the ceiling, bracing himself.
And here I go. Med school in the fall, what does he think?
He'll think I'm crazy, of course he will and he'll be right, I don't really know why I started thinking about it again.
"You should."
"Are you kidding?"
"No".
"We could make it work?"
"Have to if it's what you want." He looks at me then. "Part of who you are, isn't it? Children grow up, marriages cool down and in the end the one you have to answer to is yourself. That's my job – to help you to be everything you can be."
Sometimes he sees who I am before I do and sometimes I remind him of who he is when he forgets. It's not a bad combination. At least he's honest enough not to try and tell me it will all be OK, not to worry about it. Instead he tells me that it will be hard but that's a lot easier than pretending.
"Why do we never do things the easy way?"
He shrugs. "Insanity. Runs in the family."
"You don't think . . . "
"What?"
"That they're the sane ones and we're nuts?"
He concedes the possibility and asks me for my plan in the light of this diagnosis; my suggestions meet with his approval, including as they do a full physical exam with the possibility of the use of soft restraints, and he very generously consents to be a teaching case.
oOo
Carter and Jing-Mei were married that spring and in the fall Maggie got engaged to a guy who worked in the Fire Department in St Paul; they aren't married yet but she's on her meds, doing fine. Our summers have been punctuated by Ivica's visits and Damir and Tatijana came over with the kids at Thanksgiving the year Rosa was two.
We're settled now, I'm an R2, Luka made ER Chief, we have more money, things are calmer; we even have time to make love at leisure now and I'm lying here thinking about it all.
God, it seems like such a long time ago. I still don't like to think of the crazy hours, day care, snatched lunches with Luka and Rosa, studying with one eye on my books and the other on my little girl. There were whole days I went to bed and couldn't remember a thing I'd done since getting up.
I don't know how we got through it all.
And I can't believe that I'm about to tell my post coitally sleepy husband that we're about to go through it all again.
END