15. PHO KIT

PHO KIT

T he reclaimed wood table in my dining room was crowded with paper cartons and soup bowls from a local restaurant comically named Pho Kit. Olivia pretended that a Triceratops was eating her soup noodles, and Victoria tried to master her chopsticks, picking up two or three noodles, then growling in frustration when half of them plopped back into the broth. I tried to master my nervous system, stay calm, and not have a complete fucking meltdown over the insane mess they were both making.

"You're trying really hard!" I said to Ria, drawing from an article I'd read that week on the importance of positive reinforcement and the advantages of praising effort. I'd tried to remember it all and employ it when I could, along with a laundry list of other tips from an essay that should have been titled, "How To Not Screw Up Your Kids Like We Were Screwed Up (But Different!)."

"Seriously," Jess was saying, "it's absolutely barbaric out there, and I already had trust issues to begin with, but now I don't believe anything. If I'm chatting with someone on the app and they claim to be a zoologist, what I picture is a person living in their parents' musty garage with a massive reptile collection, including a Python bestie named Kyle. And I can't tell you how many people have asked me over to watch them play video games on their vintage Nintendo in a poorly furnished studio that reeks of farts and old beer."

I huffed a laugh.

Jess nodded in agreement.

"I'm never dating a Zoologist," Ria mumbled.

Jess and I erupted in laughter; wine dribbled out of my mouth, beading down my chin.

"Well played, Ria," Jess winked at her.

"Well," I said to Jess, "I guess that's one good thing about getting married right out of college. I never had to use a dating app. And that's all anyone uses now, right?" Ack, what would I do now that we were splitting up? I'd have to vow to never date again, which seemed easy enough at this point, or be forced to meet someone like that. I pressed my thighs together to keep all of that reptile-loving phantom dick at bay.

I reached for the box of wine and held it over Jess's glass before filling my own. Thanks to my sister and her random security connection, the comically large monitor on the far wall now displayed live feed videos from each security camera, twenty-four-seven: A black night landscape, a cat sauntering past the house, our shaking aspen tree swaying in the breeze.

"What band is this again?" Jess asked.

"Vampire Weekend," I responded, "we used to listen to them in high school, remember?"

The music played softly in the background, a pretty male vocalist singing, "Look outside at the raincoats coming, say oh, look outside at the raincoats coming, say oh."

Jess smacked the table. "Oh, that's right! Sorry, I blocked out most of high school, and pretty much everything that led up to it." She sighed and adjusted the collar of her white blouse.

Wine swirled in my glass. It burned sweetly all the way down my throat with every sip. Smiling wryly, I joked, "What? You didn't want to cling to the billion hours of studying? Or mom and dad's soul-crushing expectations? Or all of the…very specific teasing?" I was alluding to the endless taunts about mom murdering dad, careful not to say too much in front of my kids.

Jess rolled her eyes and blew a raspberry.

The security system came alive with a low "beep, beep," and my head jerked towards the screen as a tall, lean figure entered my yard through the iron gate, closing the distance to the front door in determined strides. My stomach twisted until the figure glanced up at the camera, and I recognized my husband's square chin and short, light hair. I exhaled a large gust of air, realizing I'd been holding my breath the whole time.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" Ria began to chant.

"Daddy!" Liv joined in.

Steven came into the dining room, slowly, wearily. "Hey," he said, eyes red, face blotchy and lined with exhaustion. His gaze met mine, and he winced an apology as if saying, "I'm sorry I wasn't here." He set his bags down at the front door, rubbed his jet-lagged eyes, and went straight to the table where the girls sat, kissing each of them on their curly heads, lingering for just a second. Then he unexpectedly went to Jess to hug her awkwardly from behind, causing her eyes to flare wide. She smiled tightly and patted his shoulder. He said, "thank you, for everything," and she dipped her chin just a little in a silent "you're welcome." Steven walked over to me. I craned my neck up at him, "Welcome home." I said. He smiled tightly, then put his hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently, as he leaned down to kiss my cheek. It was the first time he'd done that in more than a year. He sat next to the girls and made eye contact with everyone, his brown eyes sincere, searching, as he looked around the table at each of us. Then he cleared his throat,

"How is everyone doing?"

"We're okay," Jess said gently. The softest voice I'd ever heard her use with him, absent of the usual edge of contempt and challenge.

"Good," he said quietly. "Danny? Will you pass me the potstickers?"

I grabbed the takeout box and handed it to him. He took a big bite and smiled widely. Despite my efforts to fight it, my lips curled up at the corners in response. I'd filed for divorce and things were underway, but maybe we could be friends? I imagined a wand bonking him on his sandy brown head in a sort of Cinderella moment. But instead of a ballgown and an updo, he would get his fucking priorities straight.

***

Steven's soft snoring woke me. He slept in my room, not as my husband, but because the guest room felt too far away after what had just happened. Then, the birds outside of the window kept me from falling back asleep. I rolled over to face him. His long eyelashes quivered as his eyes twitched behind his eyelids. Pushing up into a seated position, I started to slide my feet gently into my slippers when large hands grabbed me around the waist, dragging me back under the covers. I barked out a laugh and rolled over to face Steven, his hair matted from sleep, and a wide toothy grin that made his brown eyes wrinkle at the corners.

"Are you okay?" He whispered.

"Yeah."

"When Jess texted me what happened, I felt sick at the thought of losing you and I couldn't sleep, or eat. I just needed to get here. I still can't believe it. And the girls in the house...I'm just so glad that the police got here as fast as they did and that the girls somehow slept through it all. I'm going to invest in that sound machine company, those things are life-savers." He buried his head in my hair and held me tight. It felt nice to have a warm body hold me again, to connect, but it also felt all wrong.

"Yeah, thank Gods for the police," I agreed.

I hadn't told him who had really saved us because it sounded absurd and unbelievable. I didn't really understand why, but I didn't want Andras and Steven to meet.

A long wave broke free from my hair clip and fell across an eye. I tucked it back behind my ear, and let myself relax into the bed, into him, just one last time, just to see.

Steven turned his face towards me, his dark brown eyes transfixed on my lips. And I shrank away from him. I'd just been horribly traumatized and he wanted to get laid, the only confirmation I needed to know that I'd made the right decision in choosing to end the marriage. Hurt flashed in Steven's eyes but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"Do you want coffee?"

Steven sat up, twisting to glance at me over his shoulder.

I nodded that yeah, yeah I did. After throwing on a black fleece lounge set, I met him in the kitchen to make coffee and pancakes together. While I whisked, he told me about the business deal he'd been working on, and I caught him up on the girls, the weird things Olivia had said recently and Victoria's favorite game that week. He even laughed a few times and added to the conversation. Our interactions felt like they did when we were dating, when we were friends. Back then, he wanted to know me, really know me, and at the time I needed that more than anything. I needed to be known for me, for who I was, unattached to my family and the things that had happened to us. Back then, I'd started a new chapter of my life with Steven and now I'd start a new one again, alone.

As the time went on, I began to feel a flutter of something in my heart, a warmth, an ease. Could we forgive each other, start over, and be friends again? Was that even possible after divorce?

Victoria and Olivia came around the corner and pitter-pattered toward us with sleepy red eyes and frizzy curls shooting in all directions. Ria climbed into her daddy's lap and smashed her cheek into his chest. He kissed the top of her head while taming her waves a little with his hand. Olivia padded up to me and laid her head on my knees face down, and I wondered how she could breathe like that. It brought back memories of waking up every ten minutes when Liv was a newborn, making sure she was still breathing, still okay. So tiny, so fragile. I still worried about her, about them, but I worried over different things. Was I being too strict or too permissive? Did they feel loved? Did they feel safe? What was I supposed to say when my child was being bullied? How could I explain the socio-economic complexities of homelessness in a way that was age-appropriate but taught compassion? Should we tell them that a scary man broke into our house, or not? For fuck suck, was anything ever an easy answer?

The home invasion awakened my worst fears, and my anxiety had become a living thing, palpable, charging every nerve in my body, as though human skin had been stretched over a thunderstorm.

"I want pancakes, too," Olivia announced into my leg.

"Pancakes?" I asked, caressing her back. "Perfect! That's what we have! Sit at the table and I'll grab your plate.

After getting the girls settled, I plopped down at the table. Steven rubbed his hands together, "Let's dig in!" My lips kicked up at the corners and I couldn't help but beam, and beam, and beam. This was the scene I'd imagined when I'd found out I was pregnant with Ria. Sunlight in a breakfast nook, the whole family seated together, telling stories, laughing. The smell of coffee and maple syrup hanging in the air, a potpourri of wholesome morning memories.

My phone buzzed in my robe pocket and I slid it out absentmindedly to check. A message from Jess read, "So I did some light stalking, and Andras lives like two blocks from you in that big white house we've walked by a million times. The one you love."

So close. He was so close. That's why I always saw him walking in front of my house, that's why he always took our street to get to the restaurants, cafes and bars, and why he was probably walking by the other night when the man…

"But why are you stalking him, you creep?"

"You wanted answers. Let's go talk to him."

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and reached for my coffee but it tasted like ash in my mouth. I did want to know what happened the other night. But the thought of walking over there and knocking on his door made my insides knot up. Knowing where he lived changed things, somehow. He went from a mysterious gorgeous God who I couldn't stop daydreaming about to a fellow neighbor, a man who mows his lawn (or at least hires someone else to do it).

"Everything okay?" Steven asked.

"Yeah," I said, noticing that I was staring at the table intensely, brows heavy in thought. I tried to push it out of my mind, to stay present, to enjoy the lovely breakfast with my family, but try as I may, I couldn't stop thinking about him .

***

So Andras lived in my favorite house in the entire city. A large, white, two-story home with a huge porch and two rocking chairs, straight out of a t.v. show. The second story had a large, black-rimmed window that looked out over the street, and every time I jogged past it, which was often, I'd imagine myself up there with an easel, looking out over the oaks and maples.

I bent down to tighten the laces on my running shoes, grabbed my black bomber jacket from a hook on the entryway, and yelled to the kids and Steven, who were playing in the living room.

"I'm leaving for a run guys," I called, peaking around the corner to make sure Steven heard me. He stayed focused on the crooked block tower he'd been constructing with the kids, "okay, have fun."

I burst from the front door and ran in the opposite direction of the big white house while I worked up the courage to go there alone. Jess wanted to go together, but I couldn't wait, couldn't keep wondering what had happened that night, how he'd disappeared into thin air, and why. I wanted to thank him, truly thank him, because he could have ignored the sounds coming from my home, could have made the choice to stay out of it like so many did. The "bystander effect," they call it, is where we're conditioned to mind our own business so much that women are taught to scream "fire" instead of "rape" to get help.

I took a sharp turn at the corner and headed east, pushing for the hills, gritting my teeth through the burn so my head would stop spiraling. A mile, two miles, three miles, up, up, up, then right, and right, back down, and full speed until I gasped for air and nearly puked. Then the flooding stopped and my thoughts felt like my own again. My eyes swept over the house in front of me, the black window frames and white shingles above the massive second-story window, and the looming oak trees.

I panted, holding my side, taking in the newness of the place. There were two spherical porch lights on either side of the new glossy black front door that used to be red. The drapes behind the large windows were new, too. The dark green floral pattern that used to scream "Traditional French" was now a more modern heavy gray linen. I could see inside the house, see movement as someone crossed a window. Thoughts eddied out of my head as the front door swung open and a distractingly beautiful man in gray slacks and a navy blue sweater stepped out.