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Chapter Two
Grace
Idon’t have cafeteria privileges or outdoor privileges or even shower privileges.Those have to be earned, I am told.It seems to me, at least so far, that in and of itself is not easy to do.Not in a place like this, where everything is measured and something as simple as having the wrong facial expression is seen as a sign of disobedience.
I’ve never had the friendliest of faces, therefore I am stuck in this room, which means I spend a lot of time wondering if perhaps prison wasn’t the better option.My predicament affords me a lot of time to think, and, in my opinion, that is enough to make a person insane if they weren’t already.
I wasn’t.I’m still not.
I hope I didn’t make it sound like Charles and I were unhappy before.It wasn’t that at all.We weren’t unhappy, just tired in the way that most new parents are.He was under a lot of pressure at work, and I was under a lot of pressure at home.It’s quite possible that I’d bitten off more than I could chew.I suppose I couldn’t see it at the time, but with all of these hours to reflect, things look a little more clear.
More than one of our friends had thrown out terms like the “baby blues” and whatnot, although it wasn’t that.I was just getting settled was all.Adjusting to the new normal that we’d found ourselves in.But I was not depressed.And to prove it, I made it a personal declaration to go above and beyond in all matters.The opinions of others provided me with a newfound determination.I was going to be the best wife and mother this town had ever seen.I began this undertaking by hosting an at-home cosmetics party, planning it with a fervor those close to me had never seen.
It’s possible this was the start of where things started to go south.
As I looked around at the swarm of friends and neighbors occupying my family room, I was pleased at the turnout.Not bad at all for my first presentation.We hadn’t lived on Willow Lane long, less than three months at that point, and I still felt the sense of being the newcomers, like maybe we didn’t belong.
It was sheer luck and a bit of nepotism that had gotten Charles the promotion at work that eventually allowed us to upgrade from our two-bedroom bungalow to this ranch-style four bedroom, and good thing, as we had just found out we were expecting Phillip.
The pregnancy had been quite a shock.The doctors weren’t sure after Eleanor that we could have another child.I lost a lot of blood following the delivery, and very nearly my life.They warned us I might not survive childbirth again, if we could even conceive at all.
It was fine.We were good with two children; we felt lucky to have one of each sex.After Ellie, we used the natural planning method and were always careful, so far as I could tell.Morning sickness and night sweats soon proved otherwise.
Life has a way of quickly changing direction, I’ve realized.More so now than then.But I digress.
Back to the cosmetics party.All I could think about, standing there up against our fireplace, was how tight my favorite dress fit, and how, if one didn’t know, they might think I was about five months along.I could barely breathe.
I should have worn the dress Charles’s mother had gifted me at her last visit.Sure, it might have been a passive aggressive way of saying I was firmly in the matron’s club.But it was a nice dress, if not a bitmature.It certainly would have fit better and perhaps allowed for proper inhalation.It’s difficult to do anything when you’re constantly holding your breath.
When I’d tried both dresses on for Charles, he’d chosen his mother’s, and I wondered how we got here.Not to Willow Lane, and not to being parents of three children, but to this place in life.Did he now think of me at only twenty-six years of age as someone who needed attire designed to hide her figure?
As the panic set in, and the sweats intensified, I didn’t do what most people would have done.I should have excused myself to freshen up, that or change, but I didn’t.I stood there watching Cathy Robertson across the room with a fair amount of envy.Her, with her tiny waist and full hair.Ten weeks ago, we’d both delivered babies.Yet Cathy was thinner than she had been pre-pregnancy, her flawless caramel hair perfectly set.
Me, on the other hand, had required help just to zip my dress and even then the zipper didn’t go all the way to the top.I had to wear my flat, brittle hair down, just to cover the fact.
“Your hair,” Denise remarked with raised brows.She didn’t have to say more.She’s my best friend.Her expression told the full story.
What used to be buttery blond was now dishwater bland.“I know.I need to have something done with it,” I told her, scooping it into my hands and pulling it into a twist.Then I remembered the broken zipper and let it fall down around my shoulders.I shrugged.“But who can find the time?”
She gave me a sly smile, like the cat that ate the canary.She was itching to get to the punchline, but deep down I could see pity was battling it out with her sense of humor.
“Don’t say Cathy Robertson,” I said.“I know.It was meant to be a rhetorical question.”
Denise was right, even if what she said was mostly left unspoken.I was probably the last person who should have been peddling makeup.Though I made an effort, I hardly had the energy to fix my face anymore.At least, not beyond the basics.This was a shock to me, as much as it was to everyone.
It hadn’t been like this with the others.I left the hospital in my favorite pre-pregnancy shirtwaist dress.I had a natural glow that lasted for months, if not years.Since giving birth to Phillip, I hated to look in the mirror, and it showed.In fact, just a few weeks prior, I’d pulled all the mirrors in the house off the walls and stuck them in the garage.
I hadn’t yet realized that mirrors are everywhere; that they go beyond just what hangs on the walls.
Karen Peterson and Cathy stood by the bar, laughing easily.Were they laughing at me?At my store-bought refreshments?At my now-empty walls?At my dress, most definitely two sizes too small?Maybe.Maybe not.But that’s how it felt at the time.
Suddenly, a dark cloud enveloped me.I dug my nails into the palm of my hand, trying to ground myself.Not that it did much good.I’d picked them, nearly down to the quick.This was not the time to get all hot and bothered, as Charles liked to call it.Eleanor was napping, Toby would arrive home from kindergarten any minute, and the baby was with Charles’s mother.For a moment, I could breathe.Not literally, on account of the dress, but mentally at least.
For the time being, I could focus on just being me, something other than Charles’s wife and a mother of three.
From the sofa, Denise stood and tapped her watch, motioning for me to get a move on.I fidgeted with my dress, then shifted my weight from one foot to the other.Denise picked up a pastry, held it in the air, and then gave me the thumbs up.
She was trying to be funny or perhaps kind, but I did not find it amusing or endearing.I’d confided in her how the afternoon before I had everything set to bake cookies, two cakes and even a banana loaf, because that was Charles’s favorite.Well, you know the saying about good intentions?The kitchen was a disaster, and my dear husband was less than pleased when he arrived home.
