Whatever Works

The first time I saw it, I was twelve years old. Ms. Ashley came over in the afternoon, a change from her usual night time visits, but it was just my dad and me at the house that day. My mom and my brother, Craig, were at urgent care getting his ankle examined. He had jumped out of the tree in our backyard and had been limping for two days. He was three years younger than me and always getting into something. Even with his limp, it was hard to keep him still. Dad and I were just hanging around, tossing a softball back and forth in the yard. My dad enjoyed these moments we had to ourselves, with me being a little more focused than my brother, I could be the tomboy that he needed me to be and let him teach me things like sports, or changing oil in the car. Eventually Craig would settle down enough to do all this, and I really hoped it would happen sooner than later as I was starting to outgrow my tomboy stage and was suddenly becoming interested in strange things like nail polish and boys. But for now, I happily took on the role and appreciated the time with Dad.

I didn’t think anything of Ms. Ashley showing up. She had become a good family friend, although I was always fuzzy on the details of how they had met. I liked her back then. She was cool and pretty, and would always stop to talk or play with us for a moment. Dad greeted her at the door as I filled our glasses with lemonade after a long game of catch. The day was humid and we were both sweating slightly and grateful for air conditioning and cold drinks. He seemed kind of goofy when he opened the door to her. He let her in and told me to pour a glass for her too.

“I like your dress,” I said to her.

She was wearing a short, pink dress and low, slingback heels. Although now I realize she was kind of dressed up for a normal Saturday afternoon in the suburbs, at the time I didn’t think anything of it. She was always dressy when she came to our house. As far as I was concerned, it was normal.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling.

She had a magnetic smile. There was something appealingly mischievous about it which any twelve-year-old would be drawn to. Apparently, adults were drawn to it too. I have a vague memory of hearing my parents in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner and talking about how attractive she was and a lot of “What do you think?” questions from both of them. Even then, I thought the conversation was strange. My mom would acknowledge other women being pretty but only briefly and more out of obligation, and she definitely didn’t like it when my dad did.

We sipped our lemonade as Ms. Ashley and my dad sat on the kitchen barstools talking about boring things, catching up on life and gossip the way adults do. I was less than intrigued, so went to my room for a while. I did a little reading but was still hot and couldn’t settle. Needing more lemonade, I went back to the kitchen to find Ms. Ashley standing next to my dad’s barstool, practically in his lap. Their faces were close and they seemed to be whispering. The second they realized I was in the room, Ms. Ashley jumped back about three feet, touching her hair to make sure everything was still in place. She pretended to wipe away a tear.

“Sorry, dear,” she said to me with a rattled voice. “Just getting a bit emotional.”

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yes. Just needed someone to talk to. Your dad is such a good listener,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

This was a lie. I was supposed to think my dad was comforting her for whatever reason but I knew he wasn’t a good listener because Mom complained about it all the time. I didn’t know enough about sex or adult relationships at the time to interpret exactly what was going on but I knew I felt uneasy about it. The air in the room felt dirty and Dad looked concerned, trying to decipher my expression.

“I need more lemonade,” I muttered, looking back and forth between them.

“Oh!” Dad said, jumping up and grabbing the pitcher out of the fridge. “Why don’t you go see if Jessica is around today?”

Jessica was my friend that lived down the street. She was two years older than me but we got along and hung out anytime we got the chance.

“She’s not,” I said. “She’s at her dad’s this weekend.”

Jessica’s parents had split up about a year ago and I didn’t see as much of her as I used to. Her mom, Betty, was “totally over it now” but obviously still bitter. Jessica and I would talk about the divorce. So would our moms. We’d eavesdrop occasionally and hear Betty describe the declining relationship and how their sex life was practically nonexistent. We’d laugh at the word “sex.” For the most part Betty was in good spirits and civil about the whole thing until Rick, Jessica’s dad, started dating a woman ten years his junior. Shortly after these little chats started between our mothers, mine became obsessed with fitness and keeping her hair and nails perfect at all times. She started flirting with my dad in a way that my brother and I had never witnessed before, our faces contorting with disgust as they’d giggle and kiss right in front of us.

Dad, Ashley, and I stood there for a moment while Dad contemplated his next move. My pre-teen hormones started to rear their ugly heads as I raised my eyebrows at him like he was an idiot.

“Well,” he said, “why don’t you just go play outside for a while? Ms. Ashley and I need to have a grown-up talk.”

I hated when he talked down to me like that. “Grown-up talk.” I started to argue about how I didn’t want to go play outside, and why couldn’t they have an adult conversation with me in the house anyway, but I knew that even though he had made it sound like a question, it definitely wasn’t. He gave me the nod and the hand on the shoulder. I knew what this meant. I had had enough arguments and tantrums to know that when paired with these two moves, any questions or suggestions he might be directing at me were actually non-negotiable orders. By now, I had learned when to pick my battles.

And just like that, I was kicked out of my own house. This was not unusual. It was the 90’s after all. Parents were always telling their kids to “go play outside.” It seemed like they hardly ever wanted us inside. As I sulked around the backyard, I wondered what they could possibly need to talk about and thought back to the first time Ms. Ashley came over.

Craig and I sat with our bags packed as we waited for our grandma to pick us up. Mom had spent the last hour making sure the house was tidy and repeatedly changing outfits. She was nervous. Dad opened a bottle of red wine. He seemed oddly cool but energetic. We knew they had a friend coming over, which was strange because on the phone with Grandma, Mom excitedly explained that they were having a long overdue date night. I didn’t understand why they needed a date night, they saw each other every day. Ms. Ashley arrived before Grandma did and Mom introduced us to her while Dad poured three glasses of wine. She was nice and didn’t talk to us like children. When Grandma arrived, mom rushed us out to the car to meet her rather than letting her come inside. Grandma asked whose car was in the driveway and Mom told her it was just a friend stopping by for a bit before they went out to dinner. We went with Grandma and didn’t think any more about it. When we came back the next afternoon, everything went back to normal except that now, Mom and Dad were flirting with and groping each other more than ever.

While Dad and Ms. Ashley had their “talk,” I had wandered down the street trying to kill some time. Mrs. Hoffman was usually out in her garden on nice days and would give me cookies if I helped but her car was gone. I meandered back home, stopping to pet one of the neighbor’s cats on the sidewalk. When I got back home, I peeked in the living room window but I couldn’t see any sign of them there or in the kitchen. I started to go inside but then heard noises towards the back of the house. I sneaked around to my parents’ bedroom window, carefully stepping through the flower beds and standing on my tiptoes to try to see. Even stretching my body up as far as I could, my eyes barely made it above the window sill and the view was mostly blocked by a flower pot that sat just inside the window. The noises were louder. My dad and Ms. Ashley were definitely in there, both of them making noises like they were dying. I could only see some hint of movement at the side of the room. Finally, my curiosity outweighing my fear of being caught snooping, I jumped up just enough to see over the houseplant and caught sight of my dad, pant-less, holding Ms. Ashley on top of the dresser, with her dress hiked up and legs wrapped around him. When my feet landed back on the ground, I immediately crouched down and put both hands over my mouth, as if what I had seen would come pouring out if I didn’t hold it in. At first I wanted to laugh. They were still making the death groans. Then I was suddenly filled with anger. I wanted to cry. I didn’t know all the logistics but between adult conversations I had overheard and the R-rated movies Jessica and I would watch when no one was paying attention, I at least knew what sex was. And I knew my dad wasn’t supposed to be doing it with anyone other than my mom.

I darted around to the front and ran into the garage looking around for something that would make a lot of noise. I eyed the large wooden shelf that held all Dad’s tools and boxes of hardware. I walked over and used all the strength I could muster to pull it down. As I felt it finally tipping, I let out a high-pitched, purposeful scream. A loud bang thundered off the walls and concrete flooring as the it hit the ground, tools and screws scattering everywhere. I knew it would take a minute for Dad to get out there so I grabbed my Frisbee out of the toy box in the corner, tossed it near the fallen shelf, and sprawled myself out on the floor above it all, ready to put on a show. Dad rushed out, Ms. Ashley not far behind him. This time, her hair was messed up.

“I was just trying to reach my Frisbee,” I told them, my voice sounding pitiful as I slowly sat up. “It landed on top of the shelf.”

They made a big fuss over me. Ms. Ashley tried to tend to me but I pulled away from her, asking for my mom. We all started picking things up once they realized I was okay. Eventually Ms. Ashley left and Mom showed up shortly after, my limping brother trailing behind her, no cast needed luckily. Dad wanted to be angry at me. Some items had broken, and there were screws in every corner of the garage but at some point we made eye contact and he saw it in my eyes that I knew. We never mentioned it again. I didn’t rat him out, but I did casually mention in front of Mom that Ms. Ashley had stopped by. This led to a long, private conversation between my parents. I thought surely Mom would have a sense of the insinuation and dad would be in some kind of trouble, even if he didn’t come out with the truth. But a few weeks later, Ms. Ashley was coming over again to join in on one of their date nights while we were being sent off to Grandma’s. I started noticing everything my parents did and began to resent my dad in a way I didn’t think was possible. Mom was so happy and had no idea what was going on behind her back. The hardest part was keeping it all to myself.

Several months later, I happened upon the second life-altering incident. Dad was golfing so it was just Mom, Craig, and me at the house. Ashley (I had resorted to just “Ashley” now and dropped the formalities) showed up unexpectedly. Mom was flustered but invited her in. Whenever Mom was nervous, she would tuck the hair back behind her right ear and pat it down. She did this repeatedly. Ashley explained she was in the neighborhood and thought she’d stop to say hi. Hi to my dad, I thought. Craig and I had been on a mission to find his missing firetruck so I grabbed his hand and took him away to continue the search. As we combed his room, digging under the piles of toys and clothes, I couldn’t help but wonder if there might be some kind of confession getting ready to unfold in the living room. I told Craig to keep looking and that I’d be right back. I crept down the hallway and peeked around the corner just enough to have a view of the couch.

“Oh, I’m a mess!” Mom said to Ashley as she sat on the couch next to her, setting down two glasses of water on the coffee table. “You should have called so I could clean up.”

“You look great,” Ashley responded with a smile. “I wish you’d just realize it.”

My mom laughed nervously. She started to push her hair back again but Ashley beat her to it and gently tucked the hair behind Mom’s ear. She rested an arm on the back of the couch, still holding Mom’s earlobe. I was completely confused but couldn’t look away.

“I was thinking,” Ashley continued, “Maybe you and I could get together to have some fun sometime? Just the two of us.”

“Oh, I,” Mom stuttered.

“You’re a very attractive woman, Carol,” Ashley said, looking into her eyes.

They stared at each other for a moment very seriously. Ashley’s hand moved from my mom’s ear to her mouth and she ran a finger across her lips before leaning forward and kissing her. To my shock, my mom leaned into it. My eyebrows shot so far up my forehead I thought they might leave my face altogether. I heard Craig’s bedroom door open and he started to step out. I ran on tiptoe down the hall and tackled him. He yelled dramatically, as little brothers do.

“Kids, what are you doing back there?” Mom shouted.

Ashley left shortly after that and I spent the day trying to understand what I had just witnessed. Mom was light and giddy for the rest of the day, the way she was when Dad unexpectedly brought home flowers or showed her off in public. Ashley’s visits became more frequent. She would stop by when only one parent would be home, always alternating between the two. Eventually, they, meaning both parents, separately, started timing it so that Craig and I wouldn’t be around either. Occasionally they would each come up with ridiculous excuses to disappear for hours at a time. I always suspected they were meeting her somewhere else, neither of them having any idea that the other parent was doing exactly the same thing. And every now and then, the three of them still had their joint date nights, although they occurred less often over the years. To keep myself from exploding, I learned to ignore this strange situation which still felt wrong to me. I distanced myself from my parents and interacted with Ashley as little as possible.

By the time I was fifteen, I was your typical moody teenager, exploring my own sexuality, counting down the days until I could leave home, and holding onto a family secret that was none of my business. Craig was oblivious to it all and I never told him. I thought it better to let him live in blissful ignorance. So we went on like this. My parents were happy in their weird, little love triangle, Craig was clueless, and I was contemplating my future and wondering how much money I would have to make to afford all the therapy I’d be needing.

Unlike many of the couples we knew, my parents’ marriage has lasted through the years and to this day there is no sign of trouble in paradise. I think the only ones that ever knew or ever would know that they were both having affairs with the same woman, were me and the woman herself. I guess everyone has their own way of making things work. Some of the families in our neighborhood had counseling, some had denial, and others just had divorce. My mom and dad had Ashley.