AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Ruby
There's an umbrella planted on the sand near the southernmost point of Shipwreck Key, and beneath it Ruby is spread out on a red-and-white striped towel wearing a white one-piece swimsuit. Dexter is standing at the water's edge, talking on the phone to his editor about something that's making his forehead crease with worry.
The boat trip the day before was a turning point for Ruby, and she'd come home feeling like she'd turned a corner and learned something new not just about Jack, but about herself. In addition to the tiny sliver of understanding she now holds about Jack's feelings towards Etienne, she also has a bird's-eye view of the way he felt about her. And, most importantly, she has taken a huge step in the direction of letting him go.
The wind lifts one of the edges of her towel as she sits there, and the fabric flips over and covers her left foot. Ruby kicks it back.
After a moment of watching Dexter, she picks up the journal that's open and laying on the towel next to her.
May 9, 2004--Mother's Day
My own mother is gone, and so this day is entirely for Ruby now. She deserves it. No matter how hard things have been, I can say about her that she's a devoted and caring mother. Athena is four this year, and Harlow is three, and anyone can see that that's a handful for a mother to look after two rambunctious, curious, sometimes maddeningly inquisitive girls.
But getting here has been tough. When Athena was born, I felt as though I'd lost my wife. Of course that's ridiculous, I hadn't lost her, but the moment the nurse placed that bundle in her arms, I saw a change in her eyes. I saw her soften and melt, and suddenly her laser-sharp focus shifted from me to this beautiful little baby. Was I jealous? Does any man want to admit that he's envious of or feels threatened by a helpless seven-pound creature? He most certainly does not want to admit that, but for the sake of honesty, I will do so here: I was green with envy.
The first weeks were filled with tears (both Athena's and Ruby's), and passed in a haze of milky sleeplessness and what seemed like an endless river of spit-up. My wife was a ghostly shell of a person, drifting from our bed to the baby's crib at the first sounds of her cries, ignoring my pleas to come back to bed, to let me hire a night nurse for her, to let the baby cry a little and learn how to soothe herself. All of it fell on deaf ears.
There were days where Ruby didn't shower, didn't dress, couldn't seem to function beyond feeding, changing, and rocking a baby. She looked out the window and cried. She told me I didn't understand her, didn't know what motherhood was like, that she'd never be the same person she was before. Sometimes she cried in her sleep, but I never woke her to offer comfort because those golden moments of slumber were already so precious to her.
And then two months later was our first Mother's Day with a child. May of 2000. Little Athena could look straight at me and find my face at the sound of my voice, she could nestle into her stroller and nap as we took her places, and for the first time, it felt as though the crying had stopped and we'd all begun to find our footing. I bought Ruby flowers for Mother's Day, a gold necklace with a delicate heart that I thought would suit her, and I made plans for a sitter so that we could have an early dinner out. She had not left the baby's side in two months, and it seemed time.
But dinner was a disaster--I think I wrote about it that night in my journal, but I can't help writing it here again. The minute we left the house she wanted to return. She broke into a cold sweat the farther we got from Athena. I tried to help her take deep breaths and relax, but by the time I'd ordered us a bottle of wine at the restaurant, she was in tears. She started to tell me that she felt as though she was raising the baby alone. That I was never there. That I couldn't understand how much her life had changed forever with the birth of this child. I can't ever forget the look of anguish in her eyes, and I will never stop feeling that, in that moment, she loved the baby more than she loved me, and that perhaps that sting of rejection is what made me act like such an idiot.
I'd done these things for her on Mother's Day--to thank her for being such a good mother--and all she could do was tell me the ways I was failing her. Was it true? Had I abandoned her to raise a newborn on her own while still pursuing my own dreams? No more than any man, I would say. I tried (mistakenly--oh, so mistakenly) to argue that much of the childrearing early on had to be done by the mother, as she was the one with the working breasts--she was the "feeding machine" (and yes, I used those words)--but this was a grave error on my part.
Ruby's eyes widened. Her mouth opened. Her mouth closed. The waiter poured the wine, oblivious to the fact that I'd just called my wife a "feeding machine" on Mother's Day, not knowing that she was sitting with me in a booth at an upscale restaurant when what she really wanted to be doing was feeding, rocking, or cooing at our baby in the calm peacefulness of the nursery.
When the waiter left, she was finally able to speak.
"I got an English degree from UCLA, Jack. I have traveled, seen the world, and done everything you've asked me to do with regards to your career." She looked around at the other diners, taking a deep breath and holding in what I know now was simmering rage and contempt. "I'm here, dressed the way you want me to be dressed, having a glass of wine even though you know it means I'll have to pump and dump my milk later, and smiling as though you haven't just insulted me deeply."
"I'm sorry," I said, holding up a hand. All I had was that.
"I want to take Athena to California," she said.
This was a turn of events. "Okay," I said, nodding, thinking. "We can do that. I can plan a trip." I had political connections there and making a trip to the west coast would have been easy to do.
"No. I want to take Athena. Alone. To stay with my mother."
At this point the waiter had returned with a bread basket to take our order. I waved him off.
"No," I said. "Impossible."
Ruby's eyes filled with tears. This dinner was not going the way I'd hoped, and her crying over a two hundred dollar bottle of wine was more than I could take.
"I feel crazy, Jack," she said, leaning forward over the table. "Every single day I feel like I'm losing my mind."
"Why? You're doing a great job, Rubes. Athena is happy, she's growing, she's--"
"No, this isn't about her. She's fine--I agree. This is about me. I spend my days with a baby and I'm up most of the night. I have no one to talk to because you're always busy, and when you're home, you tell me you're tired and nothing is going on that's worth talking about. Look, I don't care what you've done that day or how boring it seems to you, just tell me about it, okay? I need to feel like my only purpose in life isn't to be a 'feeding machine' and to pose for family photos to help with your next campaign."
"That's not how it is, Ruby."
"That's how it feels." She pressed her lips together and clenched her jaw. I knew she was trying not to cry. "I feel alone, and I've never felt this sad or hopeless before. Everything feels hopeless. I'll never leave the house again without someone giving me permission or taking over my duties for a few hours. Do you feel that way, Jack? Does it ever occur to you to ask permission to leave the house? To find out if it's okay with me--that I'm fine watching the baby alone for a bit so that you can step out and have some 'you' time? Because that's how it is for women. If we don't ask for someone to watch the baby, we don't get to leave."
Her voice was getting higher and louder, and I glanced around the restaurant to make sure that no one was paying attention to us.
"Ruby," I said, trying to be quiet. "You can't go to California without me." The thought of it made me wild with frustration. "Take my daughter? Leave me here in D.C. while you go and do what--hang out in Santa Barbara with your mother?"
