3. “Another Story”

3

"ANOTHER STORY"

THE HEAD AND THE HEART

R oxy danced the four-step at my side, always up for company, especially from Grandma and Grandpa Turner. I could hear the soft pleadings of my bed calling to me as I trudged through the hallway toward the round, beaming face of my mother, unlocked the door, and swung it open.

My parents stepped into the foyer, and my father, ever the chivalrous gentleman, held the storm door to let my mother through first.

"Hi, Mom," I said as I hugged her. It was no mystery whose height gene I'd received.

"You feel thin," was her reply.

My dad patiently waited his turn, and when my mother released me from her grasp, he stepped into the space she'd made for him, bent severely at the waist, and wrapped his long, slender arms around me. "Good morning, Tiger," he rumbled into my ear. "Your mother insisted we stop by." As he unfolded his body, he gave my shoulders a squeeze and kissed my cheek. At that moment, I realized they were here to talk—at close range—and I hadn't brushed my teeth .

"I'm just getting out of bed. Let me put Roxy outside, run and brush my teeth, then we can sit in the kitchen. Sound good?"

We three made our way to the back of the house, where Roxy danced at the door. Mom began pulling mugs down from the cabinets she knew as well as her own. "Go right ahead and do what you need to do, and your Dad and I will take care of…" Her eyes scanned the room with a bit of sadness and a dash of judgment. "...everything down here."

My gaze traveled to the counter still strewn with last night's takeout menus, paper food containers trying to escape from the garbage can in the corner, and coffee cups in the sink piled as high as the Statue of Unity, and felt the burn of shame on my face.

"Ok, sorry about the mess. I was going to clean up a little today." I couldn't even meet their eyes before I turned and bolted up the stairs to the safety of my bedroom. I wondered how long I could hide out there before they came looking for me. That shoulder squeeze from my dad felt like a pre-apology, and I knew they weren't there for the lousy coffee.

After a quick run-through of my lengthy oral hygiene routine, I took a good look at myself in the mirror and found I was in a state similar to that of my kitchen. Somewhere along the line, the short brunette pixie cut I'd been so grateful for years ago had grown out to resemble the Gary Busey-inspired hairdo of a sheepdog that had escaped his groomer. The signature shock of white hair that had grown out above the center of my forehead after my son was born was down for the count, hanging limp like a white silk flag in a rainstorm. It had always given my round face some dimension, but after months of neglect, it just looked sad.

I sighed as a sad realization struck me. I'd stopped caring how I looked while no one was really looking at me.

For my first trick of the day, I stripped out of the comfortable, threadbare pajamas I'd had high hopes of staying in all day when I put them on the night before, then dragged my arms through the straps of a bra that had been hanging on my bathroom door knob for weeks. Next, I dug through the clean laundry pile that took up the ‘other' half of my bed.

Wearing the first pair of sweats and t-shirt I found, I stood in front of the dressing mirror in the corner of my room and tried to get a sense of what my parents would see when I went back downstairs. Dressed to the nines? Ummmm no. Just the right side of homeless? Possibly. " Good enough for whom it's for, " I said to my reflection, hoping it agreed.

When I returned to the kitchen, the garbage had been taken out, the coffee mugs that had been vying for my attention for days were drying on a clean towel next to the sink, and my parents were already sitting side by side at the table, their hands strangling steaming cups of coffee. A third cup waited for me, marking my place directly across from them.

Clearly, this was going to be one of those visits. Perfect.

I sat where I'd been subliminally directed, picked up the mug, blew on it, and took a sip while peering over the top to see if my delay tactics were working.

Nope.

"So, what brings you to Casa del Rhiann this fine morning? Everyone is so chipper at eleven a.m. on a Sunday."

"I like what you've done with the place, honey," my dad joked. Much like me, he preferred to mask discomfort with humor. It irritated my mother endlessly to have both of us trying to clown our way out of every uncomfortable situation. Her voice of reason could only cut through so much sarcasm and ill-timed humor.

"Your Dad and I are worried about you, Paige. Your house is a state. You rarely go further than your front porch. Sometimes, I wish you worked in an actual office so you'd be forced to go out and socialize. It sounds like you've been going to yoga?— "

Oh, so they've been talking to Kari. Nice.

"—but what else are you doing with your free time? These are the days we wish you had a sibling."

My mother paused and looked at my dad, who swallowed whatever thought was trying to escape and washed it down with a sip of his coffee.

"We love you, Paige. We understand what a huge adjustment it is when your last little bird leaves the nest," she continued, (I knew the "but" wasn't far behind) "but you can't lay idle in the feathers they've left behind. Anna left for school three years ago, and you need to get up and start making strides toward finding who you are now. You'll always be a mother, no matter where your children are. That doesn't end. Sure, they require less of your time, and you don't get to see them every day like you once did, but they need you as much as you need them . More, actually. The dynamics of your relationship have changed. Not the love."

I sat there trying so hard not to cry in front of my parents. Not that I couldn't. More so because I knew it would delay the conclusion of their little ‘Come to Jesus' speech. The backs of my eyes were burning with the effort of holding it all in. I knew I couldn't trust my voice.

"Y-o-u gu-u-ys," I warbled in an off-key rendition of All by Myself . I cleared the blocked tears from my throat and tried again. "Ok, that's better. I appreciate you coming here, cleaning up my kitchen, and telling me what a mess I am. I'm sure that was difficult to do. I'm fine, and if I'm not fine, I'll be fine. I just need a little more time."

I looked at my dad, who was thoroughly inspecting his coffee to avoid making eye contact with me. I was certain none of this was his idea. While my mother had always been all business and to-do lists, he was more of a dance-around-the-topic when not reading a romance book kind of guy. In fact, he'd bruised his shins numerous times walking into furniture while holding some steamy bodice ripper in front of his face and simultaneously avoiding one sticky subject or another.

When I shifted focus to my mother, she looked me square in the eyes. "You're not fine. Anything but. However, we have seen the great things you can do. You're the most tenacious person I know when you put your mind to something, and I know that something is right around the corner, but sweetheart, you're never going to find it floating through your house like a ghost. Is there something you're interested in? Can we help you brainstorm some ideas?"

I wasn't really in the frame of mind to start airing my dirty laundry, but if I didn't, it would be dragged out of me regardless.

"I've been working on another book?—"

Both my parents turned to look at one another, then back to me. The look they exchanged was as familiar to me as our current dialogue exchange was to them.

"—and it's not going as well as I'd hoped. I feel so uninspired, and I'm struggling to come up with much of anything. I don't even know if my idea is going to work. I am feeling a little blue about that, I guess."

"Well, Tiger," my dad chuckled, "you know I have a little bit of experience with literature. Maybe you could let me take a look at what you've got. If you're open to it, I have a few published friends from the English Department I could reach out to. Do you want me to see if someone has some time to sit down with you? I'm sure any one of them would be happy to."

"Thanks, Dad. I really appreciate that. Can I let you know when I get a little further along? It feels like pieces and fragments everywhere. I need to start pulling it together a little bit, and then it's a definite maybe. I appreciate it, though." I wiped an escaped tear with the heel of my hand and sat back in my chair. From this height, I felt like a kid again, sitting at the dinner table discussing our days—my dad sharing a tale or two about one of his English Literature students at the University of Madison, my mom chatting about who she ran into at the grocery store earlier, or a new recipe she was going to try out that week, and me trying to feign interest long enough to get back upstairs to whatever book I was reading.

Those were the easy days. My parents told me often enough when I was grumbling about some minor inconvenience or another, but back then, I was too kid-headed to listen. Why didn't I heed their warnings before it was too late to appreciate them? Fool that I was.

My mom wasn't finished, but I could tell she was starting to de-escalate based on the height of her shoulders. They were beginning to relax a little.

"We just worry. We're your parents. You understand, I'm sure. We want nothing more than for you to be happy, and if there's some way we can make that happen, we're all over it."

"Like hair on soap," my dad quipped.

I had always loved his sense of humor, especially at a moment like that. No one wants their parents to see them falling apart, and no one definitely wants their parents to come over first thing in the morning to point it out.

"Thank you. Sincerely. I do understand, and I know how all of this looks from the outside?—"

"Since you mentioned it, your front yard is quite a sight."

"Thanks, Dad. Thank you for noticing. I have a feeling Kari's boys will be headed this way for some penance yard work soon. Anyway, I know how this all looks. I am taking everything you're saying to heart. I promise. I'm going to take some online quizzes, try a few new hobbies, and pray that, by some miracle, the path forward lights up in front of me. I know it will. I have nothing but faith that my days of wallowing?—"

"Years."

"Yes, thank you, Mom. Ok, years of wallowing are almost over. Maybe a few more days. Maybe a week. A month, tops. "

"Good grief. Another month of this. Baby Jesus, pray for us. Ok, we've said our piece, drank our coffee, and laid our eyes on you. Your dad and I are going to the fabric store. I'm making new curtains and a valance for the front room. I'll wash these mugs, and we'll get out of your hair. Theo, are you ready to go?"

"Oh yes, MaryBeth, I cannot wait to get to the fabric store. Can we spend hours there touching everything but leave with nothing?"

He handed my mom his empty mug, and as she got up from the table, she threw him a dirty look for good measure.

"You'll thank me when they're finished, and all the neighbors are stopping by to ask where I bought them."

I immediately sought out my dad's expression. He mouthed, "Pray for me," while his eyes betrayed his true feelings of contentment. Everyone knew there was nothing in the world my dad loved more than to spend a lazy afternoon with his wife. Lucky them. Lucky me.

My mom had finished scrubbing and drying our mugs and was standing by the front door with her purse under her arm before my dad and I had even risen from the table.

"Well, I better hurry up, Tiger, but promise me you'll call if you want to brainstorm some ideas. There's a big, wide-open future out there waiting for you. An adventure! I know you'll figure it out. I'm your number one cheerleader, and I can't wait to see what I'll cheer for next."

He ambled toward the door, and after bending to give Roxy a generous ear-flopping scratch, he opened the storm door, and they were off.

And I was once again alone with my dog and my thoughts.

"How do you feel about a walk, Rox?"