Earning my Place

(Excerpt)

Heather

June 10, 2016 Fredericton, New Brunswick

You are good enough. You can accomplish anything. The world respects your sacrifice.

Once again, I think my reflection is lying to me. My mantra, I chant it every day; maybe one day I’ll believe it. For now, I cover up my insecurities with a coat of lip gloss, a spritz of hairspray, and my best practiced smile. Today is a new day.

“Mom, are those my jeans?” Anna is mortified.

“I don’t know. Are they?” I laugh.

“Your mother is the only woman in town who could get away with that,” Louie slaps my ass with one hand, balancing a mug of coffee, newspaper and his car keys in the other. “Looking gorgeous, babe,” he kisses me on the cheek before disappearing out the front door. No one would believe we’ve been together since we were kids. Thirty years later we still act like newlyweds.

The kids go off to school, Louie is at the bakery, and I’m alone. Again. Just me, my past and my never-ending quest for self-love. I should work on my book, but feel the need to wander the house; procrastinate; top my second coffee up with a bit of Crown Royal. At least I’m not smoking anymore.

Anna is sixteen now. Where did the time go? Her room is a mess, but I resist the urge to clean it. There’s a fine line between helping and snooping and I can’t deal with it when she’s mad at me. She’s already so much more than I was at her age, more than I am now. Daddy’s girl, I couldn’t imagine a better role model than Louie. I hope both my kids always know how lucky they are to have him.

The pink wallpaper she picked out when she was eight is still on the walls, but family photos and childish drawings have been replaced with posters of Nick Jonas and her own artistic images. She’s becoming quite a talented photographer and I hope she sticks with it.

I run my hand over the white princess dresser. It was mine as a kid. Her whole bedroom set was mine. She found it in my parent’s basement a few years ago and just had to have it. “It’s so retro!”

I pick up a framed photo of Anna and Jacqueline, her best friend. I’ve never seen this one before. When did she become so private? She used to share everything with me. They’re dressed the same, arms spread, sincere smiles seemingly laughing at each other or themselves. Anna is tall, almost up to my five foot eleven stature, her dark skin and hair looking more exotic than a small town like this deserves. She towers over Jacqueline who she once had to look up to. I try to place it back in the exact spot; eliminate any evidence that I was here. 

Her bed is unmade, but I lay down in it anyway, desperately trying to get closer to my daughter who’s too cool to hug me anymore. Puffy, the stuffed penguin she’s had since the crib is by her pillow; proof that she’s still my little girl. I bury my face and breathe it in, searching for remnants of Baby Anna, but they’re gone. I know I have to let her spread her wings. The last thing I want is for her to end up like me.

Sami’s room is neat. Beyond neat. His bed is made with military precision, bookshelves packed, but organized more efficiently than the library. He’s 18 and will be going off to Western University in September. Last year he wanted to renovate, “bring his room into the 21^st century” was his reasoning, so we obliged; gave him free rein. He wouldn’t let us in until it was done, excited to surprise us.

Surprised, we were.

The walls are dark slate grey and devoid of any art; bare. The baseboards and ceiling painted black. The bedding, two more tones of grey. The area rug; grey. Shelving and desk are glass. The only semblance of colour being the spines of the books and the globe beside his laptop. His choice of décor mimics my thoughts; the way I see the world. I hope I haven’t passed the worst of me on to my son. I feel like I should check the contents of the stacked manuals on his desk, but knowing him he has them booby trapped – something so discreet that only he would notice. I back out and close the door, checking for a fallen matchstick. Smarten up, Heather. He’s a kid, not a character in one of your novels.

I’m feeling nostalgic; missing my children even though I saw them thirty minutes ago. I haven’t really seen them for years. They’re growing up; apart. They don’t even watch TV together anymore. Both are so busy that family meals have become reason to celebrate. Reason for me, anyway. Was I like this at their age?

I wander out to the sunroom with my 1989 Fredericton High School yearbook, coffee topped up, more whiskey than java now. Louie had this room built to help inspire me in my writing. That was his excuse, anyway. I’m sure he just wanted me to have a project – keep busy for a while. He’s always putting me first, even after all of the pain and strife I’ve caused. I know he’s better than I could ever deserve and I have vowed to never take him for granted.

We left home straight after college. Louie was offered a position in Calgary that was too good to pass up. It was the ground floor of a software start-up and computer engineers were few and far between in 1992. They paid a decent salary and shares in the company. Within three years, at the ripe old age of 25, we were able to purchase a penthouse condo overlooking the Bow River. I was content to spend my days as a barista, throwing away my expensive education. Louie was so smart and made all the right investments. By the time Sami was born, we were set up for life. I was free to spend my days playing grown-up, without the worry of financial hardship. I volunteered at the food bank and the free-needle clinic. I fundraised for the arts. I became a lesser known pillar of the community, riding on the coattails of my successful husband. I had everything I could ever want, but was never fulfilled.

In 1999 when I was pregnant with Anna, I told Louie I was homesick. Three months later we were back in Fredericton. He bought out his father’s bakery and that has been our life for the past sixteen years.

I lay on the wicker sofa, bright orange - Louie had picked it out - and flip through the yearbook. I have a bit of a buzz, but my tolerance has grown throughout the years. I open it to my grad photo. I was nothing special. Cute, blonde, but freakishly tall. Anna is so much prettier. The secrets behind my eyes seem to pour out of the picture, reminding me who I was; who I’ve spent the last 27 years trying to erase. There’s a heart around my face and an arrow drawn in red marker. It leads to the bottom of the page and flowery, adolescent writing. “You’re my best bitch for eternity,” it said. Signed, “Tatiana Spencer xoxo”.

Best Bitch, I mutter to myself. Bitch.

She wants to talk about what we did to Teddy all those years ago. I've spent my life trying to earn forgiveness, but I will never speak the words.