Page 33 of Two Friends in Marriage
It’s weird to think of my father randomly visiting me.Even if he lived in the Toronto area, I can’t imagine it.Would my mom have done something like this?
We fill our plates with warm food and eat at the kitchen table, and then Evan goes to see his cousin.I cut the grass, text Yvonne about our new purchases, and watch a twisted psychological thriller that I know Evan has no interest in.It’s a bit weird to watch a movie like this when it’s light out, though it’s still suitably creepy, and the shrimp chips—courtesy of his parents—are tasty.
And when the movie is over and my husband has yet to return, I realize, with a start, that I miss him.I was glad to have some time without him, but now, I wish he’d return.
A moment later, as if I’ve summoned him—which, to be honest, is a rather disturbing idea, given what I just watched—I hear a key in the lock, and I have to hold myself back from bounding to the door.
What’s with this excessive enthusiasm?I see Evan every day.We used to goweekswithout seeing each other, even if we’d text every few days.
Still, it seems polite to greet him, so I walk to the front door.
“How’s Isobel and her family?”I ask, and he regales me with stories about Nolan, who’s currently obsessed with nail polish and Batman.Evan shows me his right hand, which has some awkwardly applied black nail polish on three fingers, and I chuckle and say I’ll go with him the next time he visits his cousin.
Yeah, married life is rather nice.
Sunday morning, Evan still isn’t up when I finish my shower, so I start the coffeemaker, and for some reason, I find myself pouring my coffee into a mug with a cartoon rabbit.I truly don’t know what’s come over me; it doesn’t feelbad, though.
But when I head outside, I check social media and my heart plummets.
You know those people you follow on social media, even though you haven’t talked to them in a decade or more?Gina Bloomberg is one of those people.We were good friends in elementary school, and not so close in high school.We still got along well enough, and I remember sitting next to her in Grade 11 math, but we didn’t hang out with the same people, and we didn’t stay in touch after graduation.
Yet despite the distance between us, I’m not unaffected by the post announcing her mother’s death.
“Is something wrong?”
I jerk my head up, remembering where I am.I’m usually very much aware of my surroundings; I wouldn’t normally be startled by Evan sitting down next to me.But I was recalling that day in Shoppers, all those years ago.The sleepovers in Gina’s basement.
“A friend from elementary school…her mom died.”For some reason, I hold my phone toward Evan, as if he needs to see the evidence that it’s true.
He wraps me in his arms.He must assume that I’m sad for someone who was once close to me, and that hearing about the loss of a mother is complicated for me.
But it’s Gina’s mom, so there’s more to it.
“When I was in grade seven,” I begin, “my relationship with my father went downhill.Well, it started earlier, actually.Maybe grade six…” I’m not terribly articulate right now, but that’s okay.It’s just Evan.
Except “just” seems like a silly word.I don’t mean that he’s inconsequential; no, I mean that I don’t need to turn myself “on” around him.I’ve developed a new level of comfort with him, one I don’t have around anyone else.
“Anyway,” I say, “my dad pulled away when I started going through puberty.The changes made him even more uncomfortable than they made me.The summer before grade seven, the older sister of another friend was giving away some old clothes.When she asked if I wanted any, I took a black tube top.I didn’t think at all about how it would look on me; I just thought it would be comfortable to wear in our hot house.The a/c was broken and my dad hadn’t called the repair guy.But when I came downstairs wearing that shirt, he flipped out.I assured him that I had no plans to wear it outside, but he made me throw it out.Anyway.”Yeah, I’m really not very articulate right now.“When I got my period near the end of grade seven, he drove me to Shoppers, gave me twenty dollars, and told me to get what I needed.”
“He didn’t come in with you?”
“No, he waited in the parking lot.And I was twelve, I had no fucking clue.I mean, I’d had sex ed, and I knew in theory what I needed, but there were so many options.I also felt like it was something your mother was supposed to help with.Or failing that, an older sister or aunt.I knew my dad didn’t really know, but he could have at least been there with me.I felt so alone.”I’d stuffed toilet paper in my underwear, and I was miserable.“I started bawling my eyes out in the feminine hygiene section, and that’s when Gina’s mom found me.”
I’ve actually never told this story to anyone before, and it doesn’t feel weird that I’m telling it to Evan, even if I can’t look at his face as I continue.
It was obvious to Gina’s mom what was happening, and she knew my mother was gone.I clearly remember she had a package of toilet paper in one hand and some soap in the other.I’m sure she had better things to do than help me, but she stood there for fifteen minutes, calmly explaining all the different products.She wasn’t appalled by my changing body or upset that I was causing a scene.She also told me to ask my dad for any painkillers if I needed them.When I questioned why I’d need painkillers, she discovered that no one had ever mentioned the possibility of cramps to me.She went to another aisle and picked out a hot water bottle.
“Twenty minutes later,” I say, “when I had everything I needed and wasn’t quite so overwhelmed, I begged her not to say anything to Gina.Some girls might have felt comfortable with their friends knowing about such things, but not me.I was thankful, but I wanted this to be something that no one else ever knew about.She promised not to tell, and she gave me her cell number in case I had any other questions.”
And I did.One other time, many months later, I had questions about bras, and she was very helpful.But when I saw her at Gina’s, she never mentioned it, which I appreciated.
It was also reassuring that she clearly didn’t approve of my father’s actions.I felt like I had to make excuses for him because he was a man, but from her reaction, even if she didn’t say much about it, I could tell she had higher expectations.
“Anyway,” I say, yet again, then drain my cold coffee, “she was a mother to me when I needed it.Few people ever did something like that for me.”I sob on the last word and realize I’m crying, just as I was crying that day in the drugstore.
Evan moves his chair closer to mine.
“I haven’t seen Gina in fifteen years, but I could send her an email.”I don’t know if she still checks the email address I have for her, but if it doesn’t work, I can DM her.“It wouldn’t be weird if I told her a version of that story, would it?The rare times it happens, I appreciate when people have memories of my mother to share.”
