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‘It’s just…’ Grace takes a quick breath, stepping even closer to me and lowering her voice to little more than a whisper. ‘It’s been seven years, Heather. That’s a long time. And I think now it would be be
tter for Isaac, for me, and even for you, if we visited… less.’
‘Less.’ I feel the first flare of rage, masking a far worse hurt. It’s one afternoon a month, I’m hardly dominating their lives.
‘Yes, less.’ Grace sounds strident now. ‘Maybe every three months, for a little while? And then, maybe every six?’
‘And then what?’ I snap. ‘Never?’
‘This isn’t sustainable, Heather. I’m sorry, but it isn’t.’ Grace folds her arms, looking stubborn and mutinous, and suddenly I hate her with a viciousness that curls my hands into claws, makes me itch to slap her. She has everything, and she still wants more. This was how I felt seven years ago, and it’s how I feel now. Nothing ever changes, no matter how hard I try.
Looking at Grace, I realize she’s been waiting for this moment, and in a totally different, awful way, so have I.
Fifteen
GRACE
Three interminable hours later I climb into my SUV, Isaac scrambling into the back. I rest my forehead on the steering wheel, feeling too exhausted even to start the car.
‘Mom.’ Isaac huffs out an impatient breath. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Okay.’ I raise my head and turn the ignition, pulling away from the curb and the McClearys’ house with a sigh of relief. As always, I’m happy to leave, but tonight I feel an uncomfortable prickling of guilt along with the vast relief. When I told Heather I wanted to curtail our visits, she looked, for a second, as if I’d just ripped her heart out. And the truth is, I knew I had.
I pretended to myself that she would be expecting it, maybe she’d even agree. But I knew I’d blindsided her with my request. She’s been deceiving herself so desperately all along, that these visits work, that Isaac enjoys them. And, to be fair, he has had some good moments through the years. It hasn’t all been an endurance test for him. Just for me. After I told Heather my intention we didn’t talk about it at all. She just lifted her chin and went on her merry, determined way, chirping to Isaac about the pizza and the cake, which looked like a complete disaster. When Heather brought it in so proudly, icing the color of cement sliding off the top, Isaac looked horrified, although he tried to hide it.
‘Minecraft,’ she explained proudly, because I’m sorry, it wasn’t obvious.
Isaac glanced at me uncertainly; it was clear he didn’t want to eat it.
‘It looks delicious,’ I said, giving him a pointed look. We’d all have to try a piece. That’s how these visits always went.
‘You still play Minecraft, don’t you?’ Heather asked in that same chirpy voice. She’d started cutting the pieces and they were falling apart, gray icing oozing everywhere like glutinous cement.
‘Umm…’ Isaac glanced at me, looking for instruction, but I wasn’t sure what was wrong this time. ‘I play Clash of Clans now,’ he admitted in a low voice, a hint of apology in his tone.
‘Oh.’ Heather’s face fell. I would have felt more sorry for her if she hadn’t basically shut down my request for limiting visits.
Isaac pushed his cake around on his plate and didn’t eat more than a bite, despite Heather’s repeated urgings.
‘Sorry, Mom,’ Lucy said as she pushed her own plate away. ‘But it does look kind of gross.’
Kevin, who hardly utters a syllable during these visits, gave his daughter a glower. ‘It’s delicious, Lucy.’ He glanced at me, just as pointedly, and I looked away. I’d eaten the damn cake, or at least most of it.
Heather rose from the table, her lips trembling. ‘I’ll get some ice cream.’
On and on it went, everything stilted and awkward and wrong. Emma came out after we’d finished eating and gave Isaac an awkward wave; it was clear she’d been hiding in her bedroom the whole time. Right as we were leaving, Amy swanned in, fifteen years old and smelling of cigarettes and beer. I’ve watched her get wilder and wilder over the years, and Kev and Heather don’t seem to notice. Maybe they don’t care.
‘Hey, Isaac,’ she smirked, ignoring me, and then flounced past us into the kitchen, where she took a carton of juice from the fridge and swigged from it. Eventually we were able to scuttle out, breathe silent sighs of relief. Another month down.
Neither of us talk on the way home; we’re always subdued on this drive, exhausted by the emotional energy Heather drains from us both. Isaac reminds me of my promise for ice cream, but since he had some at Heather’s I tell him he can have frozen yogurt instead. He accepts, and I pick up some from the Pinkberry on the corner before we head thankfully home.
After our frozen yogurt, Isaac disappears into his room with his iPad and I try to think of my next steps – refuse a visit? Contact my lawyer? – but I already feel defeated. This is one battle I know I will have to fight, just as I know it will be painful and exhausting, and not just for me. I feel almost as badly for Heather, knowing the pain I will cause her. Knowing I will have to cause it. And what about Isaac? The last thing I want him to feel is as if he’s in the middle being pulled in two directions, and yet of course he is.
I go to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of wine. I close my eyes and take a long sip, savoring the cool crispness. I finish the glass and pour myself another one. I deserve it, at least today: the one day a month I always dread and somehow survive.
I wander into my study, the little cramped maid’s room that used to house the boxes of my father’s stuff, and sit in front of my laptop. I can’t quite summon the energy to turn it on, check my emails, find out how the markets are doing. I’ve come a long way since those days when I was so driven and determined to be at the top. A long way down, but it’s a price I’ve always been willing to pay.
After I lost the partnership to Jill, I was, predictably, shunted to the sidelines, condemned to a lifetime of searching out the next big deal so someone higher up could take credit. It was a demotion, no question, and Bruce and all the other partners were just waiting for me to leave. The trouble was, I couldn’t. Not with Isaac. No way could I start over, log all the hours again, fight my way back up.
