Two by Two(25)

"Your mom's on her way home," I said. "She should be here in a little while."

"Okay," London said, sounding strangely unmoved.





I put together a salad and grilled the salmon for Vivian while I made  sandwiches for London and me. By the time Vivian walked in the door, the  table was set and the food was on the table.

After a round of hugs and kisses for London, she came to the kitchen and kissed me as well.

"Wow," she remarked. "That's a pretty fancy meal for lunch."

"I had the food here, so I figured why not? How was the flight?"

"Amazing. It's so nice not having to deal with parking or security or  shoving suitcases into the overhead bins. Private jets are definitely  the way to travel."

"I'll keep that in mind when I begin making millions."

"What did you and London do this morning?"

"I got the bike out of the garage."

"Yeah?" she asked. "How was she?"

"She was getting pretty good by the end."

"Better you than me," she said. "It's hot out there today."

"It wasn't so bad this morning," I lied.

"Did you remember to put sunscreen on her?"

"No," I said. "I forgot."

"You have to try to remember these things. You know how much the sun can damage her skin."

"I'll remember that next time."

She kissed me again and as we had lunch, she told me about her weekend  and talked to London about her activities the previous week. Afterward  Vivian and London went to the car while I tidied up the kitchen.

For the first time since Tuesday, London wasn't with me. I would have  worked but there wasn't anything to do, and while I thought I would  enjoy my quiet afternoon, I found myself puttering around the house and  thinking about London, surprised by how much I missed her.





Vivian and London got back home around five, carrying department store  bags. There wasn't a smudge of dirt on my daughter's hands or face.

"Did you go to the farm?" I asked.

"No," Vivian answered, setting the bags on the table. "It was way too  hot out there this afternoon. We ended up going to the mall. London  needed some school clothes."

Of course she did.

Before we could speak more about it, Vivian breezed past me to the  kitchen. I followed and tried to engage in conversation, but it was  clear that Vivian was edgy and in no mood to mumble more than one-word  answers. In the end, she made pasta and sautéed vegetables for London  and me, along with a salad for herself, and dinner was eaten quickly. It  wasn't until we were loading the dishes into the dishwasher that I  finally asked her what was wrong.

"You didn't tell me that you took the training wheels off her bike  today. And that by riding her bike, you meant actually riding her bike."

"Sorry about that," I said. "I thought you understood."

"How was I supposed to know what you meant? You weren't very clear."

"Are you upset?"

"Yes, I'm upset. Why wouldn't I be upset?"

"I'm not sure why you would be."

"Because I wasn't there. Did it ever cross your mind that I might have  liked to have seen London riding her bike for the first time?"

"She's still just a beginner. She can't do the turns yet without tipping over."         

     



 

"So? The issue is that you went ahead and taught her to ride a bike without me. Why didn't you wait until I got home?"

"I didn't think about it."

She grabbed a dish towel and began drying her hands. "That's exactly  your problem, Russ. You do this every time. Our whole life has always  been about what you wanted."

"That's not true," I protested. "And how was I supposed to know you'd  even want to watch? You didn't want the bike in the first place."

"Of course I wanted London to have a bike! Why would you think that? I'm the one who bought it for her for Christmas."

I stared at her, thinking, I had to drag you to the store. Did she really not remember it that way? Or was I going crazy?

As I pondered the question, she turned to leave. "Where are you going?" I asked.

"London needs a bath," she said. "You don't mind if I spend a little time with my daughter, do you?"

She left the kitchen, her words ricocheting in my mind.

My daughter?





After London went to bed, Vivian and I sat on the couch, the television  tuned to the Food Network. Vivian was sipping a glass of wine. I thought  again about bringing up the day care issue, but I wasn't sure whether  or not she still angry about the bike riding incident. Her eyes flicked  toward me with a quick smile, then back to her magazine. Better than  being ignored, I supposed.

"Hey Viv?" I asked.

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry you missed watching London's first bike ride. I really didn't think it was that big of a deal."

She seemed to consider my words and I watched her shoulders drop slightly.

"It's all right. I just wish I had been there to see it. I hate that I wasn't."

"I understand that. I've missed a lot of firsts over the years, too."

"But you're not her mom. It's different for mothers."

"I guess so," I said, not completely sure about that. But there was no need to point that out.

"Maybe tomorrow night, you can show me," she said, her voice soft, and I  saw the Vivian that I'd fallen for so many years ago. It was uncanny,  how my wife never seemed to age.

"I'm glad your event went off without a hitch. I'll bet you already have your boss eating out of the palm of your hand."

"Walter doesn't eat out of anyone's hand."

"How's next week shaping up?"

"I'll find out more tomorrow. I might have another overnight on Wednesday."

"Another fund-raiser?"

"No. This time it's a trip to D.C. And I know London's going to be upset again. It makes me feel like an awful mother."

"You're not awful. And London knows you love her."

"But it's her last summer before kindergarten, and she probably feels  like I've abandoned her. She needs stability and right now, she's not  getting it."

"I'm doing my best."

"I know you are. She told me that she likes spending time with you, but that it's weird."

"She said it's weird for her?"

"You know what she means. She's just used to me, that's all. It's been a big change for her. You know that."

"I still don't like the word weird."

"She's a child. She doesn't have a huge vocabulary. No big deal. You ready to hit the bedroom? We can put on the TV and relax."

"Are you making a pass at me?"

"Maybe."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"How about I finish my glass of wine first."

I smiled, and later, when our bodies were intertwined, I found myself  thinking that as hard as the previous week had been, it ended in an  absolutely perfect way.





CHAPTER 9





The Past Is Never Quite Past


A few years ago, when feeling nostalgic, I reflected on some of the most  meaningful days of my life. I recalled my high school and college  graduations, the day I proposed and my wedding day, and of course, the  day that London was born. And yet, none of those moments had been  surprises, because I'd known they were coming.

I also recalled the memorable firsts of my own life, just as I recalled  those firsts with London. My first kiss, the first time I slept with a  woman, my first beer, and the first time my dad let me slide behind the  wheel of a car. I remembered my first real paycheck and the near  reverential feeling I had as I walked through the first home I'd  purchased.

And yet, there were other priceless memories, memories that were neither  first nor expected, but perfect in their spontaneous joy. Once, when I  was a kid, my dad shook me awake in the middle of the night and brought  me outside to watch a meteor shower. He'd laid a towel on the grass and  as we stared up at the sky, watching trails of white racing across the  sky, I sensed in the excited way he would point them out the love he  felt for me, but so often had trouble expressing. I remembered the time  that Marge and I stayed up all night laughing and giggling as we  devoured an entire bag of chocolate chip cookies, the first night I  really understood that she and I would always have each other. I thought  back to the evening when my mom, after two glasses of wine, spoke about  her own childhood in a way that allowed me to see her as the child she  once was, someone I could have imagined as a friend.         

     



 

Those moments have stayed with me forever, partly because of their  simplicity, but also because they were revelatory. Nor were they ever  quite repeated, and I can't shake the thought that if I ever tried to  replicate them, the original memories would slip through my fingers like  sand, lessening the hold I have on them now.





On Monday morning Vivian was out the door at half past seven, carrying  with her a duffel bag. "I want to squeeze in a workout if I can," she  said. "I feel like I'm getting softer by the minute."