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I don’t think he’s grown out of Minecraft, though. I’ve asked Lucy and she said kids still play it, like it. It was all he wanted to do the last time he was here; Grace let him have his iPad – he has his own – in the house, which annoyed me because I could barely get him to look up from the screen. The cake is starting to topple forwards, the icing sliding off in a gloopy avalanche, and I hurry to right it, before I turn to the oven to get the frozen pizzas ready.
‘Emma, can you get the paper cups out?’ I call, but she’s already drifted away, probably hiding in her room. Two years ago we could finally afford to move from the two-bedroom house that was so tiny for us. We now rent a three-bedroom duplex on First Avenue, a little bit away from the old neighborhood, new schools for the kids. We needed the change, and the space is great. I’m proud to have Grace and Isaac in this home, with its wood floors and fresh paint – well, once, anyway – and the back porch with the swing. It’s a nice house, a good home, even if Grace’s is far better.
The doorbell rings, and as always my heart tumbles inside my chest. I’m so nervous and excited for these visits, every single time. It never gets old; it never feels familiar.
I hurry to the door, past Kevin, who is sitting in his chair, the same old La-z-Boy I wanted to throw out when we moved, but he wouldn’t let me. It was good for his back, he said.
‘Grace, Isaac!’ I give them both big smiles; Isaac is standing a little bit behind Grace, who is holding a gold carrier bag with rope handles. She always comes with gifts – wine or chocolate or cheese, things that are too expensive to taste good. She brought artisanal chocolates once that the girls all spat out, right in front of her, brown drool dripping down their chins. I apologized for them, but the chocolates did taste bad, like dirt. It almost feels as if she is showing us up, pointing out again and again how we’re different.
‘Hi, Heather.’ As always, Grace sounds dutiful. She puts a hand on Isaac’s shoulder and steers him forward. ‘Say hello, Isaac.’
‘Hi,’ he mutters, hanging his head, his hair sliding into his face, and I act like he’s just given me a big hug. What else can I do?
‘Hey, Isaac. I’m so happy to see you.’ And then, because I can’t not do it, I lean forward and gently put my arms around his skinny shoulders. He’s so like Kev, with the same floppy brown hair and hazel eyes, the slight build – although he might muscle up later. Kev did, at least a little bit.
I wonder if Kev has noticed the likeness; he hardly ever looks directly at Isaac, except when I urge them to do something together, like play a board game or go outside and throw a ball. I flap my hands, pushing them toward each other, and they obey, hesitantly, silently, but my heart still sings.
And it nearly bursts when, on rare occasions, Kevin and Isaac relax into a game of catch or checkers, and I catch Kev’s slow smile, the flash of pleasure in Isaac’s eyes. I feel then that I almost have everything I’ve ever wanted, and yet I know it’s nothing more than a moment. Amy, in a spate of fury, once demanded what I wanted from these visits with Isaac. ‘Do you want him back?’ she asked. ‘Or do you just want us gone?’
Typical of Amy, to make it about her. Of course she’d feel slighted when this has never been about my girls. I’ve given my whole life to them; Isaac only gets a couple of hours. Such a small amount of time; I just want it to feel like enough.
Grace hands me the gold-corded bag and Isaac shuffles inside, head ducked low.
‘Amy’s gone out, but Lucy and Emma are here,’ I say brightly. Too brightly. ‘And Kevin, of course.’ Early on, I tried to get Isaac to call me Aunt Heather and Kev Uncle Kevin, and while Grace didn’t refuse, she never insisted or introduced us that way, and somehow it’s fallen by the wayside, like a thousand other things. It doesn’t feel right to try for it now.
‘Emma,’ I call. I peek in the gold bag and see a bottle of sparkling wine, something Kev will never drink. I tell myself Grace means well, but sometimes I wonder. After seven years, has she not noticed that Kev only drinks beer and I barely drink at all?
Lucy skids into the room and gives Isaac a challenging look. Nearly five years apart, they’ve had an on-again, off-again friendship over the years. When Isaac was a cute baby, a chubby toddler, the girls couldn’t get enough of him. They’d plop him down on the living room carpet and lie on their bellies all around him, handing him toys, enraptured by his cuteness.
Then he got older, and older still, and everything started to get more and more awkward. The girls drifted away. I tried too hard. And Grace continues to endure.
‘Let me get you a drink,’ I say in the same too-bright tone I can’t seem to ever switch off when they visit. ‘Coke? Mountain Dew?’
‘I’m sorry, Isaac’s off soda,’ Grace says firmly. ‘He needed a filling at the dentist a couple of weeks ago, so we’re really trying to limit the sugar.’
‘Okay.’ How many moments like this have I endured, having to bow down to Grace’s over-the-top dictates? No sugar. No soda. No peanut butter, just in case he had a nut allergy. He didn’t. No screen time, except when she brings in his iPad. No violent games, never mind it was only a couple of water pistols on a hot summer’s day. No PG movies, even though I’d checked, and there was nothing too bad in it.
I grit my teeth and go along with it, because I know I don’t have much choice. I don’t have any choice. ‘Would you like something else, Isaac?’ Of course I don’t have anything else. ‘Water or milk?’
Isaac shakes his head. He’s kicking his feet in his hundred-dollar Nikes, head still bent, refusing to look at me. I try not to mind. He’s still little, still so small. I suppress the ache to slide my fingers through his hair, his bangs out of his eyes.
‘The pizzas are in the oven so dinner shouldn’t be too long.’ He’s been here five minutes and I’m already feeling like I need to fill up the time. ‘Lucy, why don’t you get some games out?’
Lucy shrugs and then goes to the living room cupboard that’s stuffed with board games, most of them in tattered boxes, missing pieces or dice, or both. ‘You wanna play Monopoly?’ she asks Isaac, who shrugs right back at her.
I turn to Grace, determined to remain upbeat. ‘Grace? Something to drink?’
‘I’m fine.’ She never has anything to drink. Whatever food I make, she barely nibbles. It’s like she can’t get out of here fast enough, and while I accept that, she could try a little harder. Pretend, at least, for Isaac’s sake if not for mine.
‘So, how are you?’ I ask as I move into the kitchen, one eye on Lucy and Isaac, who are setting up a battered Monopoly board on the living room coffee table.
‘I’m fine.’ Something about Grace’s tone makes me turn to look at her, waiting for more. ‘Actually, Heather, there is something I want to talk to you about.’
‘Oh?’ Already I don’t like the sound of this. Her voice has gone all officious, like she’s at a board meeting. She glances back at Isaac and Lucy playing their game, Kev in his chair, then she moves closer to me and lowers her voice.
‘The truth is, I’ve been thinking about our visits here, mine and Isaac’s, and how… productive they are, and I think perhaps it’s time to… disengage a bit.’
‘Disengage?’ My heart thumps in my chest. ‘What do you mean, exactly?’
