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“This is different.”
“You’re right. It is. Think about the kind of caregiving Stirling has done his whole life, making sure all those people in his restaurant are happy, his staff are paid, his mom and sisters are taken care of. Those were obligations, not choices. Being in a love relationship is different. That is a choice and yes, it comes with some caregiver responsibilities, but it also leaves lots of room for other roles.”
“But Mom, being a parent, a step-parent, a whatever parent, is a responsibility, not a choice.”
“It’s a responsibility once you choose it. And yup, it’s your responsibility now. But what is not your responsibility is choosing what another human wants—except for these two for the precious few years they’ll tolerate it.” Mom smiles and I know she’s referring to how pig-headed and willful I was as a kid.
“What if I become dependent on Stirling?”
“Now there’s the truth of it! If Stirling chooses to go on this adventure with you, of course, you’ll become dependent on him. And he’ll be equally dependent on you, darling.” Mom’s eyes get shiny. “I’m sorry you never saw a stable relationship modeled.”
“We did okay.” My vision blurs just a little.
Mom blinks away the show of emotion and laughs. “Call him. Invite him over for dinner. Tell him how you feel. That you’re scared. All of it. Put it all on the table. What have you got to lose?”
CHAPTER18
Stirling
It’s only been two days and Tonya has been secretly texting me photos of Mags and the babies, keeping me up-to-date on how they’re doing, but I feel like I’m missing critical bonding time.
Tonya also told me to sit tight, that unless an idea was her daughter’s, Mags’ knee-jerk reaction would be to reject it. And so I’m waiting until I get word that she’s ready to talk.
In the meantime, I get advice from my three sisters and my mother, about how to approach the new mama bear with my proposal—not a marriage proposal, not yet at least, but a ‘let’s make this work’ proposal.
Jeanette, my eldest sister who was married for five years before she had her first child, advises me to keep my own place until the twins start school. “Those first five years are brutal. Keep your escape route clear.”
Megan, who’s four years younger than me, tells me to go all in. “Get her a ring, make it official, commit fully or not at all.” That is so perfectly Megan, who declared her love for her husband before they’d even met in person.
And my baby sister, Michelle, who, like Mags chose to be a single mom, but after an “oops” night, not IVF treatment, tells me to ask Mags what she wants and not go into the conversation with any preconceived ideas.
“Did you three plan to be so unhelpful?” I ask my smirking sisters.
Ardelle, my mother, is the only one who even asks what I want.
“That’s easy. I want to be the person who makes Magdalena laugh. I want to wake up in the middle of the night and feel her sleeping beside me. I want to be the one who she loses her temper with when she’s actually mad at herself.
“I want to figure out how to make meals that choosy eaters love and secretly sneak zucchini and carrots into their desserts. I want to be the dad who puts his kids first and helps them make exploding science fair projects and teaches them to make unicorn cupcakes for bake sales and cleans gravel out of their scraped knees.”
Mother listens with a small smile. “You say she’s a planner.”
“Compulsive.”
“Well, while you’re waiting for her to realize she made a terrible mistake by pushing you away, beat her at her own silly game. Come up with your own five year plan.”
I think about this and a smile creeps onto my lips. “Yeah … I like that. Thanks, Mom. You’re pretty damned smart for an old gal.”
My Come Into Power journal has already got lots of ideas I can incorporate. I want this to be Mags plan-worthy so I head to the Office Depot and buy five of the largest, annual calendar white boards they have and every color marker available.
I start by naming the months, starting each year with the current month, August. So today is Year 0, Week 1. Then I add a key which indicates what the ink colors mean—I assign us each our own color (red for Mags, blue for me, purple for Kassandra, green for Jason, dark grey for Tonya, light grey for Mom) and colors for special events like trips, birthday parties, first days, and so on.
Eighty percent of what I add to the calendars is utterly ridiculous, things impossible to plan—‘Smiles at jokes’ in both green and purple, Year 0, Week 9; ‘First steps’ in purple, Year 1, Week 14 and in green, Year 1, Week 15; ‘Potty trained’ in green, Year 2, Week 49 and in purple, Year 3, Week 16 …
But some of the items are more than dreams, if not outright plans. Things like, ‘Joint family BBQ’ in silver, Year 0, Week 2; ’Propose to Mags’ in Blue, Year 1, Week 1 (the first anniversary of the day we met); ‘Welcome Thing 3 to family’ in gold, Year 3, Week 12 …
I have to admit, Mags might be onto something with all her planning; creating these calendars is the most fun I’ve had in years. Being focused only on the future—not the story I have to change, just the story I want to write—is energizing. I find myself laughing as I plan our first trip to the principal to deal with a child who says “bum” inappropriately and getting our first dog, a golden retriever who we name Kojak.
Once I’ve got some event noted in every single one of the 260 weeks on the calendar, I text photos to Tonya with the message,
