24: Family Life
Originally emailed on May 11, 1999
The morning after Ed moved in, I was at the kitchen table reading the paper and drinking coffee when Harriet knocked on the front door. She came in, carrying a paper grocery sack, and said, "I've come to fix the two of you brunch, as a housewarming, and to apologize for being so nasty to Ed yesterday at dinner."
"Ed is at church," I said.
"Well, you and I can have brunch, then," Harriet said, "and Ed can eat when he gets home, if he wants. First, let me get some coffee started."
"I already made coffee," I said, waving my cup at her.
"Maxwell House," she said disdainfully, and emptied the pot into the sink. She reached for my cup, but I held onto it. I said, "This is my first cup."
"Suit yourself," Harriet said, reaching into the grocery bag and pulling out her coffee grinder and a brown bag with a handwritten label: "Colombian Organic 11.79 lb." She poured beans into the grinder's cup.
"So why the big show of support," I asked, "after you were so nasty yesterday?"
"What?" she said, turning the grinder off.
"I said, what changed since yesterday?"
"Well, he moved in. I figure you're committed now, so I should be supportive. Do you want french toast, an omelet, or scrambled eggs?" She was rinsing the coffee pot repeatedly to remove all Maxwell House taint.
"I want french toast and scrambled eggs," I said.
"So when did you decide to let him move in?" she asked. "Do you have any bottled water?"
"On Wednesday," I answered. "I just use tap water for coffee."
"I know," she said. "I've had your coffee. And he moved in three days later?"
"He'd been ready for months," I said.
"Well, I knew he was ready emotionally," she said. "I just hadn't thought he'd gone so far as to pack."
"He hadn't, really," I said. "But he doesn't have that much stuff."
"You could have fooled me," she said. "I saw your living room. It's like Boxes R Us in there."
"We're unpacking this afternoon," I said.
"You sound a little defensive," Harriet said. "Are you sure you're not having second thoughts about Ed moving in?"
I said, "I thought you'd decided to be supportive."
Harriet shrugged. "Second thoughts are normal." The coffee was brewing by this time, and she was rooting around in my pan cupboard. "Does Ed have decent pots and pans?" she asked.
"I have decent pots and pans," I said.
Harriet raised one eyebrow. "Sure you do. Hang on, I just have to run out to the car."
She came back two minutes later, carrying a large orange frying pan. "I'm glad I thought to toss this in the car. You can't make decent french toast unless the pan is heating evenly. This is enameled cast iron. Nona gave it to me for Christmas last year. It's the only thing. You should get some. I'll lend you the catalog."
"No thanks," I said. "When I have a few hundred extra dollars, I prefer to put it towards, oh, the kids' college fund."
"I thought Sam was going to pay for college," Harriet said.
"If he does, I'll use the money to go to Hawaii. And/or Europe," I said. "But I'm saving just in case."
Harriet poured fresh coffee into two mugs, added half-and-half, and handed me one. "Can I dump the Maxwell House now?" she asked. I surrendered my half-empty mug.
"Let's sit for a minute before I start cooking," she said. "We should savor the coffee." She sat down across from me. "I have two questions: how do the kids feel about Ed moving in, and what did you tell poor May?"
I said, "I talked to poor May this morning, and before I could say a word about Ed, she told me she thought we should just be friends because she met some woman and is totally in love and just knows this is the real thing and they'll be together forever."
"I haven't heard a word about that!" Harriet said. "When did they meet?"
I said, "Friday," and we both laughed. "I wished her well, and she told me sincerely that she hoped I'd be as happy someday as she is, and then she had to get off the phone and go back to bed."
Harriet grinned at me. "This is priceless."
I said, "It gets better: they met on a committee to plan a Beltane ritual for May 1."
"Ancient fertility rites!" Harriet said.
"They're getting a little jump on things, apparently," I answered.
"Well, what about the boys?" Harriet asked. "How do they feel about Ed living here?"
"Who can say?" I said. "Sammy seems pleased, especially because with Ed home during the summer he won't have to go to daycare after the school year ends. Mark says he doesn't care, and I can't tell if that means he's happy about it but won't say so, or hates the idea but won't say so. But they both consented."
"Any word on the possibility of Sam and Michael pushing for custody?" Harriet asked.
"Nothing yet. But Sam asked me to set aside some time to talk to him when he brings the boys home this evening, so there may be some news then."
"How do you like the coffee?" Harriet asked.
"It's good," I said. "But the truth is, it tastes just like the Maxwell House to me."
"That's your tap water, ruining a good brew," Harriet said.
"Of course it is," I answered. "It couldn't be that you wasted twelve bucks a pound on some cleverly marketed brown beans that are indistinguishable from supermarket grind."
"I can tell the difference," Harriet said.
"You sound a little defensive," I answered. "But probably it's just the residue from my cheap shampoo distorting the sound waves as they pass through my hair into my ears."
Ed came home in time to have french toast, grilled to perfection in the world's most expensive frying pan by the world's best amateur chef (though not without some griping about the imperfections of my stove). Harriet ate crow and humble pie, but of course as she'd prepared the meal herself it went down like pate de foie gras and french pastry. I suspect her fast turnaround had a desire to be in control as its motivation. Ed took Harriet's whiplash-inducing attitude adjustment with more equanimity than I could muster. I smell a hypocrite, but Ed says Harriet is just trying to be a good friend. Time will tell.
That evening, as Ed and I were sweatily working our way through box after box of his junk--and arguing about whose coffee pot, or blender, or plates, or flatware, we should use, and whose we should store in the basement--Sam arrived with the boys. Ed took the boys upstairs to help them unpack, and Sam and I settled on the couch for our talk.
"Louella," he started, "Michael and I have talked about it, and we've agreed we still want to have the boys, if not half-time, then at least more than our current agreement allows for. They're growing up very fast, and we don't want to miss it."
I said, "So, are we going back to court? Do we need to get our lawyers together?"
Sam said, "I told Michael you'd want to fight this. Please, Louella, don't put us through the expense of a court battle."
I said, "I don't think there needs to be a battle, but I do think we need to create a new legal agreement if we're going to make changes in our custody arrangements."
Sam said, "But, Louella, think about the trauma to the boys if this gets nasty."
I said, "Why should it get nasty? I understand your desire to be with your sons more than you are, and I'm willing to work with you if I can be sure you'll be responsible about their care (which I do question after your recent behavior). In any case, I do think we need to do things formally. I'm sorry if you begrudge the lawyers' fees, but I insist on having enforceable documentation of any new agreement we make."
"You still throw my one mistake up in my face! You insist on fighting it out in court! You probably want to put the boys on the stand, make them choose between us! I knew you'd be unreasonable!" Sam exploded. "Well, if you won't think about the boys, I will. Michael will be crushed--I'm crushed--but I'm going to put my sons' well-being ahead of my own. You've won, Louella. Your threats have worked. Custody arrangements stay as they are." He stood up and huffed toward the door.
"Wait just a minute," I said, getting up and going after him. "I see what's going on. Michael wants custody, and you don't, so you're trying to make me the fall guy. Pretty crappy, Sam. Yet sly. I wonder if you set up that one mistake--deliberately forgot the boys at school, and refused to take calls from their teacher or me--to create a plausible reason for me to refuse to change custody, because otherwise Michael wouldn't believe I'd be so inflexible."
Sam was silent.
"Am I right?" I asked.
"No, you're not right," he said. "At least, about not picking them up from school. That was real. Work was just too important that day for me to be bothered with the kids."
"Sam, why not just tell Michael you don't want to have the boys half-time? Why stage this stupid little drama with me?"
Sam sighed. "He really wants to be a father, Lou. He wants to cook wholesome dinners, and read bedtime stories, and put little surprise love notes in with their school lunches. He wants to stay up with them all night when they have the flu, and be a room mother and a band booster and a chaperone at middle school dances."
"And you don't," I said.
"Why do you think I left you?" he said.
"Ouch," I said. "I thought it had something to do with discovering the true nature of your sexuality."
"Yes!" he said. "It had everything to do with discovering my true nature: unfettered, free to do what I want when I want."
"And yet you have chosen to be in a relationship with Michael, who wants something very different from that," I said.
"I love him," Sam said. "I want to be with him. I just don't want to be married to him with two kids."
"And you can't tell him that?"
"He wants to be married with two kids. He'd leave me if he thought he couldn't have that with me, if he thought I didn't want it, too."
"So you're pretending you want it, but I won't let you have it," I said.
"Go along with me, OK?" Sam said. "You'll get what you want, to keep custody of Mark and Sammy, and I'll get what I want, which is to keep Michael. What harm will it do?"
"Plenty," I said, "if you lie to your lover and I lie to my friend."
"But he'll be happy!" Sam protested. "He'll have me, and the boys on alternate weekends and Wednesday evenings, and for half the major holidays. And I already agreed to take the boys with us on vacation this summer, even though that means going to Yellowstone and camping instead of taking the gay cruise to Alaska like I wanted."
"The boys would like Alaska," I said.
"There's no room for children on the boat," Sam said. "And I wouldn't want to be on it if there were. Louella, please help me out."
I thought for a minute. "Sam, I won't tell Michael about this conversation, at least not yet. But I encourage you to be honest with him, and if you won't, eventually I may decide to tell him. And I will tell him for sure if you lie about me. Just tell him that you and I agree it's best for the boys if we keep custody as is for awhile. That much is true."
Sam kissed my cheek. "Lou, you're a peach."
"You're not off the hook," I told him as I closed the door behind him.
Ed came down when he heard Sam drive away, the boys right behind him. "Any trouble?" he asked me.
"No, everything's fine," I said cheerily, but giving him a meaningful glance. He nodded, knowing he'd hear about it later. "Why don't you have a shower while the boys and I start the charcoal and make burger patties? Then I can shower while you grill, and after dinner we can all go to Dairy Queen."
Mark said, "I'll set up the charcoal in the chimney," and ran off.
"But don't light it until there's a grown-up there!" I called after him. "Sammy, go tell your brother he's not to go near the matches, and holler like crazy if it looks like he's going to." Sammy ran after Mark, yelling "Don't touch the matches! Don't touch the matches!" In the yard, Hot Rod started barking in response.
Ed kissed the top of my head. "OK, I'll go take a quick shower." He hugged me, and then kissed me on the lips. I kissed him back, and just then pandemonium broke out on the back deck. I could hear Mark and Sammy yelling at each other, but the only word I could understand was "Mom! Mom!" in Sammy's desperate high-pitched voice. "I'd better check on that," I said.
"Yep," Ed said. "You know, I really like family life."
© Copyright 1997-2001 Su Penn. Design by David Dierauer.
Previous issue | Next issue