Page 15 of Woman on the Verge

This has been the Fight of their marriage—my dad’s golf and Merry’s disdain for my dad’s golf. I have encouraged Merry to get a hobby of her own, but I think her favorite hobby is complaining about my dad. If she were to get another hobby, there would be less mental energy for the primary hobby.

“Rob, you did go golfing today,” Merry said, irritated.

“What are you doing on the phone, Mer?” It was as if he had no idea she had been there. It took me a second to realize he reallydidhave no idea.

“I’ve been talking to Nicole, and she wanted to talk to you, so I told you to pick up the phone,” Merry explained.

“No you didn’t. I just called her myself.”

It was then that I realized how serious things were.

“Rob, that’s not what happened,” Merry said, getting upset. “And youdidplay golf today! Remember I had to pick you up because you lost your keys?”

“What?” he said.

“Nicole, do you see what I mean?” Merry shouted. She was nearing hysteria.

“Guys, I need you both to be quiet,” I said.

“This is just absurd, Nicole. It isuntenable,” Merry went on.

“Mer. Stop,” I said.

She sighed for the hundredth time in five minutes and then went quiet. My dad made little grunts before quieting himself.

“Why don’t I come up for a visit?”

The last time I’d seen them was Christmas. They’d come to see us, showing up with too many gifts. I had a hard time remembering the last time I had gone up to see them. Was it before Grace was born?

“A visit?” Merry asked.

“Yeah. I could come up, see how things are there.” I tried to sound casual. I didn’t want to alert my dad to my concerns about a brain tumor. He would order me to stay home, to stop being silly.

“It would be nice to see you,” Dad said. He was back to being jovial, perhaps having forgotten the tension of a moment earlier.

“It’s been a long time,” I said.

“Would you bring the girls?” Merry asked.

I thought about it. Flying up there would be too expensive. I’d have to drive. I pictured seven hours in the car with them. I wasn’t confident I wouldn’t kill them or myself along the way, so I said, “I don’t think so. I’ll just come for a couple days. Kyle can watch them.”

The words felt strange in my mouth:Kyle can watch them.

Kyle had watched the girls once overnight before, when I had to attend a photo shoot for work in Los Angeles that didn’t end until nearly midnight. I stayed at a hotel and then drove home early the next morning. Kyle insisted everything had been fine without me, but he looked wrecked, the bags under his eyes assuring me that I wasn’t the only one who found it difficult to be the primary parent.

“Kyle can watch them?” Merry asked.

She made no attempt to hide her surprise. I’ve never complained to Merry about Kyle, never let on that I am in any way disgruntled. She is a bottomless pit when it comes to her hunger for this type of gossip, and I’ve refused to feed her. But a part of me felt validated to hear her surprise, to know that she saw me as the one carrying the weight of everything alone.

“Yes, he’s quite capable,” I said, though I wasn’t at all sure of this. “He is their father, after all.”

Merry is from a generation that does not understand the expectations of modern fatherhood. Modern fathers also do not seem to understand the expectations.

“We’d love to see you, Nikki,” Dad said.

“Okay, I’ll talk to Kyle and let you know when I’ll come. But soon, okay?”

“Thank you, Nic,” Merry said, her voice suddenly saccharine. “Tell Kyle and the girls we send our love.”

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