Just Like Other Daughters (17 page)

“Kitty, kitty?” I call. “Kitty?”

At the top of the stairs, I realize the sound I’m hearing is coming from behind Chloe’s door. It isn’t the cat crying. It’s Chloe. I knock and go in. It’s dark in her room, except for the band of light that shines from the bottom of the lamp on her nightstand—a nightlight for an adult.

“Chloe . . . honey?”

She sniffles. “Leave.”

I hesitate. Do I respect her request for privacy? I take a step toward her and step on one of her sandals. She undressed just inside her door, leaving her shoes and clothes to lie where they hit the floor.

“Want to talk?”

She takes a great, shuddering breath.

“Didn’t you have a good day at the zoo, sweetie? I had a good day.” I walk to her bed and look at her.

Chloe’s curled on her side, hugging one of her pillows. She’s still wearing Thomas’s dirty T-shirt. Her hair is a mess, some of it still in the elastic of her ponytail, but most of it sticking out all over the place. I smell her cherry lip balm as I cautiously ease myself onto her bed. And the suntan lotion I slathered all over her this morning. She has fair skin; she burns easily. Like her mother.

“Can you tell me?” I ask, unable to resist brushing a lock of red hair off her cheek.

She takes another ragged breath. “I miss him.”

I pluck a tissue from the box on her nightstand. There’s enough light coming from the lamp that I can see her cheeks are wet with tears.

“You miss . . . Thomas?” I ask.

That night, I remember that her pain felt so strong that I imagined a crack slowly making its way across my heart. That was before I understood what it truly meant to be heartsick. What the cold seizing of my heart would feel like.

“I . . . I miss him,” she moans. And fresh tears run down her cheeks.

“Oh Chloe,” I murmur, closing my arms around her. I rest my cheek on her shoulder and breathe deeply, remembering what it felt like to hold her in my arms when she was a child.

“My arms miss him,” she cries, clutching the pillow. “They hurt.”

I feel like my heart is lodged in my throat. “You really do love him, don’t you?”

She nods.

“And you want to marry him?”

“Married means you . . . you can sleep together,” she manages. “And kiss,” she adds. She hiccups. “Right? If we get married, we can kiss. Like Ariel and Eric? In the end of the movie?”

I close my eyes and remember the final kiss in
The Little Mermaid
. It’s a wedding scene. My girl knows her Disney. “Yes, you can kiss when you get married,” I say softly. “But only in your room. No kissing at the zoo, okay?”

She snuggles against me. “No kissing at the zoo.”

And for the briefest moment, we’re both content.

T
he night I agreed that Chloe could marry Thomas was certainly a significant moment in my life. That one, I felt when it hit. For a second, I’m alone at Chloe’s window, in the present, my fingers on her fingerprints on the cold pane of glass.

And then I tumble back in time again.

As I leave Chloe in her bed that night and go down the hall to my room, I recognize that, now that the decision has been made, I have two choices. I can be happy about Chloe’s impending marriage and the joy it will bring her, or I can be unhappy about all the bad things I’m afraid might happen. I can try to help my daughter make this transition and support her and her husband in every way I can, or I can hang back and wait to be proven right.

What if I’m
not
right? What if Thomas
can
give Chloe the happiness I will never,
ever
be able to give her? No matter how desperately I want to? I owe it to Chloe. And somewhere, in the deep recesses of my guilt-ridden heart, I feel like I owe it to the child I
didn’t
have.

I wanted that first baby so badly. In my heart. But my head told me it was the wrong time. Even though Randall and I had talked about marriage, he was still married. And I was still a student. It didn’t make sense to have a baby at that point in my life.
We can have another, when the time is right
, Randall had promised. He’d been so sweet, so attentive. I thought he was thinking of me. Only later did I realize it had been all about him. Because it was always all about him. He hadn’t wanted his career or his image to be negatively affected. He didn’t want physical proof of what a shit he was.

Even with all that logic behind me, the decision to have the abortion had been hard. But Randall had gone with me . . . and he’d promised me, as I walked into the procedure room, that our time would come. That we’d marry and I’d have a baby in my arms someday.

At least that part had been true. We did have a baby. We had our Chloe. But my arms never stopped aching for the first child.

As I climb into bed, not sure if the tears I’m fighting are of sadness or joy, I know that I’ll continue to be Chloe’s advocate, just as I’ve been since the day she was born. I’m her mother, and I love her more than anyone else in the world loves her. How can I not do everything I can for her until the day I die?

So I meet with Margaret and Danny the next day. The wedding date is set for December. I want to wait until spring. I think they should date longer, but Chloe wants to get married Wednesday.
This
Wednesday. Margaret is the one who suggests the compromise as we talk on the sidewalk when I pick Chloe up after church.

Margaret suggests that a December wedding would be beautiful in St. Mark’s sanctuary. With all the LoGs present. In my head, I saw glimpses of a garden party wedding in our backyard, but Chloe’s excitement is infectious and I get excited, too. As we stand there on the sidewalk in front of the church, she and Thomas hold hands and jump up and down and call each other
honey
and
baby
.

The second week of September, after my new classes are in full swing, I invite the Eldens to our house to make wedding plans. Margaret and Thomas will be here at seven. Danny is working the evening shift and can’t make it.

I had asked Randall if he’d like to come; his response was typical.
He couldn’t possibly
. He’s all for Chloe getting married, as long as he doesn’t have to be involved. I learn in our brief, awkward phone conversation that he and Kelly have officially separated and he’s moving into a town house. I don’t ask if there’s another woman involved; I just don’t care.

Jin wouldn’t miss the wedding planning session for the world and arrives twenty minutes before Thomas and Margaret are expected. She’s wearing a tie-dye sundress she made herself in a class this summer, and is carrying a homemade cheesecake. Chloe and I’ve made cookies, but we didn’t have a lot of time this evening, so they’re slice-and-bake. At least the kitchen smells good.

“I didn’t have an afternoon class,” Jin explains, carrying the cheesecake, with homemade blueberry topping, into my kitchen. “You don’t mind?”

I laugh. “Your cheesecake? Believe me, I don’t mind.” I take glasses out of the cupboard. I’ve made decaf iced tea, and Chloe has made lemonade from a frozen mix. I keep checking the clock, oddly nervous.

“Thomas is coming,” Chloe announces from her perch on a bar stool at the kitchen counter. She’s busy arranging the cookies on a plate. “We’re getting married, me and him.”

“So I’ve heard,” Jin says, her voice laced with amusement. “Congratulations, Chlo-bo.”

“You can come.” Chloe takes a bite of a cookie, and puts it back on the serving plate.

I reach across the counter, remove the cookie from the plate, and set it on the counter.

“Not everybody can come,” Chloe continues. “Not the lady that works at Food Lion. But you can come.”

“Huan and I are very excited.” Jin grabs dessert plates. “I’ve already put it on the calendar.” She looks at me. “Kitchen table or living room?”

“I was thinking kitchen table. To make it easy to write. To take notes.” I’ve already put two legal pads and two pens there. “Unless you think the living room is a better idea?”

“Kitchen is fine. It’s warm. It’s inviting.”

“It’s warm, all right.” I fan myself with a kitchen towel. “The AC’s on, but it still seems hot in here.”

Jin carries the dessert plates to the table. “It’s fine. You’re just nervous. Why are you
nervous?
”

“People get nervous when they get married.” Chloe giggles. “Because they get to kiss when the guy up front says
I do
. Me and Thomas are gonna kiss in front of
everybody!
I’m getting a new dress. But not with kittens on it.” She slides off the stool, taking a cookie with her. She leaves the one with the bite out of it on the counter. “Thomas is coming. I’m gonna wait for Thomas.” She walks out of the kitchen, munching on her cookie. “He always comes to the door.”

“No kitten bridal gown?”

I cut my eyes at Jin. “Please tell me there’s no such thing. I told her no one makes wedding gowns with kittens on the skirt.”

Jin laughs. Then she glances in the direction Chloe’s just gone. We can hear her singing in the living room. “Under the sea! Down where it’s better and wetter . . .” She’s got the lyrics wrong and the tempo is off, but it’s from
The Little Mermaid
.

“So, you decide how you’re going to handle the whole S-E-X thing?” Jin spells out the word.

I pour myself some iced tea. I wish I were pouring bourbon. “With Margaret? No. I’m not even sure I should.”

“I meant with
Chloe
.”

I groan and begin to fill the other glasses with ice at the dispenser in the refrigerator door. “Sort of. A little. I need to take Chloe to her gynecologist. She’s due for a Pap smear anyway. And we need to talk about birth control.”

“So you think they’ll have sex?”

“If you saw the way the two of them were lip-locked at the zoo, you wouldn’t be asking that question.”

Jin leans on the counter and whispers, “You think they know
how?
”

“I guess that’s what I need to talk to her about, but from what I’ve read on the Internet, even mentally challenged people . . .” I struggle to find the right words. “Figure it out.”

Jin smiles.

“It’s not funny.” I hold one of the cold glasses to my forehead.

“I didn’t say it was. I think it’s sweet, actually.”

“Mom! They’re here!” Chloe screams from the front of the house. “They’re here! Mom!”

They’re early. Margaret is always early. I look at Jin. “I can’t do this.”

“You
can
do it. You’ll be fine.”

 

And I am fine. We go over the initial details that night at my kitchen table. Thomas and Chloe will be married at St. Mark’s at three in the afternoon on December fourteenth. No bridesmaids or groomsmen; it will be hard enough to get just the two of them to stand at the altar long enough for the ceremony. Any friends they would ask are most likely more mentally challenged than they are. We’re keeping it simple.

We divide up the jobs because, obviously, the bride and groom won’t be making any arrangements. Jin volunteers to do all the things she knows I care about, but won’t be good at: the invitations, the flowers, the decorations.

A reception will follow in the church hall. I thought a small, cozy reception here at our house might be better, but Margaret insists on finger foods, cake, and an apple juice toast at the church. She says she and Danny had a church reception, as did both her girls, and Thomas will have one, too. So I agree to the church reception, but offer to invite family and close friends back to my house for a light supper afterward.

Family.
I don’t have a lot of family: an aunt in Boston, an uncle on the West Coast, a couple of cousins. And my father . . . and his wife. I put off calling my dad for weeks after the date with the church is set. Finally, at Jin’s insistence, Chloe and I call him the first Friday in October. The next day, Chloe, Jin, and I are planning on going wedding gown shopping in Philadelphia at one of those warehouse bridal stores. Jin says I can’t buy my daughter a wedding gown without having told my father she’s getting married.

Chloe says she wants to tell Grandpa, so I dial and hand her the phone. Gloria answers. She talks so loudly, I can hear her.

“Hello?”

“Hello,” Chloe says, only the word is a little garbled. “Grandpa?”

“I’m sorry, you must have the wrong number.”

I take the phone. “No, this is Alicia, Gloria. Chloe’s calling. She wants to talk to Dad.”

We’re sitting side by side on the couch. Chloe leans over. “I want to talk to Grandpa! This is Chloe. About the wedding.”

“Wedding?” Gloria says.

I’m now holding the phone between Chloe’s ear and mine so we can both hear.

“Oh my goodness, Alicia! Congratulations. Arnie and I didn’t even know you were seeing someone.”

How would they know? Dad and I talk four or five times a year: Christmas, Father’s Day, some birthdays, but not all of them. Gloria sends cards. Dad sends checks. There’s not much talking. The talking that does take place isn’t as personal as the conversations I have with Chloe’s favorite food-sample lady at Costco.

“No, no, not me, Gloria.” I look at Chloe. “You want to tell Grandma Gloria?”

Grandma Gloria
. It was a concession. Mostly for my dad’s sake. Randall was all for it, too, of course. He was entirely logical about the whole thing. Chloe was born after my mother was already dead. She never knew my mother. Gloria is Chloe’s grandmother. The only one she’s got: Randall’s mother had passed away before I met him. He never knew his father.

“Want to tell me? Tell me what?”

I can hear the uneasiness in Gloria’s voice.

“Grandpa?” Chloe hollers into the phone. “Is Grandpa at the phone? This is Chloe Mae Richards-Monroe.” It’s a mouthful and her speech isn’t all that clear.

It pains me that Chloe can’t say her own name. She must be nervous. I know I am. “Gloria, can we talk to Dad?” I say. “Chloe has a surprise.”

It takes my father a long time to get to the phone. Too long. I can’t hear anything going on because Gloria’s put us on hold or something.

“Is Grandpa there?” Chloe asks me after a minute or two. “Grandpa?”

I’m beginning to wonder if Gloria’s disconnected us (accidentally or intentionally), and then the phone finally clicks.

“Hello?” my dad says. He sounds old. He’ll be seventy-nine at Christmas. He is old. For some reason I feel a lump rise in my throat. I need to call him more often. I shouldn’t wait for him to call me. To call us. I need to let my grudges go. It’s not his fault Mom died. It’s not his fault Chloe has Down syndrome and he’s never known how to deal with that. It
is
his fault that he married my mother’s hospice nurse four months after she died, but it’s time for me to stop rehashing it. “Grandpa!” Chloe grabs the phone. “Me and Thomas, we’re getting married.” Of course she does the Elmer Fudd thing so it comes out more like
mah-wied
. “You can come!” she tells him excitedly.

There’s a pause when my dad doesn’t respond. Luckily, Chloe doesn’t notice.

“I’m getting a dress. Me and Mom and Jin. At the store. No kittens. No Thomas the Train. It’s called Thomas the Tank Engine but we don’t say all of that.”

I wonder how much of that conversation my dad got. He’s hard of hearing, of course. Who isn’t at his age?

Chloe waits. She might be mentally challenged, but she knows enough to know he should say something. A grandfather should say
something
when his only grandchild tells him she’s getting married.

“Dad,” I say finally. I shift the phone closer to my mouth. “Did you hear what Chloe said? She’s getting married.”

“Married?” he says into the phone. Then, “Gloria, did she say
Chloe’s
getting married? I can’t understand them. Connection must be bad.”

I look at Chloe. She’s so excited. And obviously disappointed that her grandfather isn’t.

“Dad?”

There’s another pause and then I hear Gloria again. “Sorry, I think his hearing aid needs a new battery. So, Chloe’s getting married?”

“Yes.” I find myself smiling. It’s a sad smile, but it’s a smile. “To a very nice young man she met at her daycare. His name is Thomas, and they’re very much in love.” I sound like the proud mama. “You’ll be getting an invitation in the mail soon.” Jin’s hand-writing them, of course. She teaches calligraphy. “We just wanted . . .
Chloe
wanted to tell you the good news.”

“Well, that
is
good news,” Gloria says. Her words say one thing; her tone says something else entirely. “Arnie says that’s great news. Your grandpa says that’s great news, Chloe,” she says loudly into the phone.