Page 26 of Retrofit Analysis

“There’s only one winner, but every participant receives a keychain,” he says, his eyes looking hopeful.

“Right. A chess piece keychain,” I assure him. “Just like last year.”

“But last year’s pieces were red. And they were green the year before. So it’s not just like it.” Jake tugs at the collar of his polo shirt, frowning. We’ve been working very hard to find him an outfit that meets the parameters for the tournament but doesn’t bother his sensitive skin. “This itches,” he says. “It’s burning. I can’t wear it.”

“Jake,” I squeeze his arm. “Hear me out for a minute. What if you wear one of your preferred t-shirts under the polo? Then you’ll have a nice soft collar but still meet the dress code.”

“That sounds sweaty,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ll be sweaty.”

“I’m sure they’ll keep the temperature reasonably low in the library,” I try to assure him. “Event planners usually set the temp lower when they’re expecting a crowd.”

As Jake ponders the potential of this tidbit, I concentrate on my breathing. When he’s anxious like this, worried about something, the energy of it fills the room. Everything feels tight. My temper gets short. He and I have been working on it. We’re always working on everything. Repeating the expectations helps him feel more in control because there are so many things he can’t control, like the outcome or whether someone at the tournament will show up wearing strong perfume that will make him gag and derail his concentration.

Jake concedes my point and sets out a t-shirt, a polo, and a pair of pants with the least itchy seams I could find. “And I have good news about the socks,” I tell him. We subscribe to his preferred brand of socks since he’s so hard on them and they wear out quickly. “I was able to bump up the delivery, so your new package will arrive tomorrow.”

I don’t tell Jake that I never got through to his father and I have no idea whether he will turn up at the tournament as Jake requested. I can’t tell if Jake actually wants to see Todd there or if he feels like he needs his dad there in order to fit in. Dhruv will have two parents present, so Jake might fear he will stand out if he does not.

“I don’t like competing against Dhruv,” Jake says.

“Oh, I know, sweetie. But if both of you play your best, that’s the important thing. Building skills, right?” Jake looks at me like I’m naive, and I laugh. “Okay, okay, I know you both really want to win. But learning how to lose gracefully is also an important life skill.”

He stomps off to his room to study, and it’s unclear to me whether he’s studying chess strategies or school assignments.

I pick Jake up from school early the next day, leaving my walking boot at home. I keep telling myself it’s not my modesty that keeps me from wanting people to stare at my leg. I just want as much as possible for Jake to feel like I’m not distracting him. He and the kids from his regular chess club are competing against teens from all throughout the county. It’s such a nice tournament, from my perspective anyway, because the atmosphere seems friendly.

We find Lisa, Ashish and Dhruv and get ourselves checked in. The boys don’t look up from their phones to greet each other as they normally would, and Lisa and I share facial expressions communicating that we’re both going through the stress of our kids’ anxiety.

After the boys check in and go off with their coach, Lisa and Ashish and I try to find some seats. The players are broken into brackets and the first match kicks off. The parents all sit around sipping drinks, speaking in hushed whispers as the brainy teens compete. “No Todd, eh?” Lisa wrinkles her nose. I shake my head.

“It’s probably better this way,” I tell her. “Lord knows I don’t want to sit near him and his presence might distract Jake, you know?”

She nods and our conversation drifts between each of their jobs—stressful—and my job search—stalled. “But hey,” I say with a shrug. “I didn’t have to use any PTO to be here today!”

No sooner are the words out of my mouth than we hear a commotion at the door. I groan, knowing before I turn my head fully that Todd is the source of the racket. I groan louder when I see that he’s brought the strumpet with him.

“Oh no, he’s not trying to come over here,” Lisa huffs, following my gaze. Todd and the tramp are noisily weaving between spectators. They’re dressed to the nines, clearly en route to a formal event and thinking they’d make some sort of pit stop for appearances.

I glower at them, suspecting they’re heading to one of the grand hotels nearby for a fundraiser. “There’s not even a valet,” the tramp says, flouncing into a seat a few rows behind me, deliberately avoiding eye contact with both me and Lisa.

Lisa can’t help herself. She turns in her seat. “Of course there’s not a valet,” she hisses. “It’s a teen chess tournament at the library.” Some other parents sitting nearby chuckle. Tramp makes a duck face and squints at my friend.

“Elizabeth,” Todd says, his voice devoid of emotion. “Your description of this event was misleading.”

Is he trying to get a rise out of me? I trace a finger along my slacks where they hide my ivy tattoo. Persevere, I think as I turn in my seat and force a smile on my face. “Which part?”

“Pardon?”

“Which part of my description was misleading?”

He rolls his eyes. “You suggested this was a prestigious opportunity for our son. You indicated a full showing from the county.”

I will not react strongly, I tell myself. “I believe my exact words were ‘Jake is competing in the county teen chess tournament at the library.’”

Ashish gives me a thumbs up from the other side of Lisa. And then we all turn our heads because one of the players roars. I know it’s Jake before I locate him. And then I see him, tugging on his hair and muttering, “No, no, no, no, no.”

He meets my eyes and I bite my lip. Should I go up? Is this salvageable? It seems too soon for him to have lost the match already, and I know each teen plays two matches before elimination.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, firm and uncomfortable, and I whip my head around to see Todd’s enraged face an inch from my own. “Are you going to let him humiliate himself like this? What have you been doing since you decided you were too good for our marriage?”