Weekend (9 page)

       
JOE

Joe came blearily awake to Elliot talking in the kitchen. Where was Scout? She couldn't see her baby, who surely had been sleeping right next to her, and stumbled up in a blind panic, pajamas askew, hair no doubt a mess. She found the baby tucked over Elliot's shoulder in the kitchen, trying frantically to chew her fist—relief, a flood of it—while Elliot poured coffee for … Who the hell was she pouring coffee for? Some butchy teenager wearing a tool belt and a half-clean T-shirt with rolled-up sleeves, someone Joe might've been hot for twenty years ago. Joe was acutely aware that her pajamas were wet from a let-down; she probably stank.

She backed away, sticky and gross, reluctant to make a bad impression.

“This is Scotia,” Elliot said. “Scotia's spending the summer north; she's here to help me fix the siding.” Elliot in paint-streaked pants and a tool belt.

“How do you do?” Joe said, wishing she had a robe to pull around her. “Ell, can I talk to you, please?”

The girl said, “Pleased to meet you, Ma'am.”

Ma'am?
Joe thought.
Ma'am?

Elliot grinned at the carpenter. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Elliot, a minute?” Joe yanked Elliot into the hallway, taking Scout off her shoulder. “Why the hell are you having work done now, with the baby brand new, and why didn't you give me a heads up?”

“I told you a few days ago,” said Elliot. “Anyway, we won't be long.” She held her stomach. “I won't work long; I'm
still
sick.” Peeved voice.

Joe hissed, mad but quiet. “Carpentry, for god's sake. This can wait, Ell. This can be done next month. Next
year
.” Joe's mind went to sex, Elliot and Scotia. Because apparently she was the worst poly-partner
ever.

“This was Scotia's only open window. Don't get your shit in a knot. You know it's not good for you, and it's not good for my baby. You know stress hormones go right to your milk.”

“Did you honestly just say that?” Joe opened her mouth wide in outrage. “
My
baby? I am so tired of being patronized. And Scout is just as much mine as yours.”

“I'm not patronizing you, and I'm perfectly aware of Scout's parenthood. I'm just saying you could monitor your moods. You're hormonal, so why not just let a few things slide?”

Joe's mouth dropped open.

“If you need me, I'll be outside. You can text me, and I'll be at your side in thirty seconds. That's fair. You have to admit, that's fair.”

Scout let out the piercing but wobbly cry of newborns, but Joe ignored her and whispered fiercely, “This is not about being fair, Elliot. She won't be little for very long.”

The house was already warm, the sun laddering up the sky, a yolk in its sizzling blue frying pan.

“I was keeping Scout quiet so you could sleep in. How about just saying thanks?”

“You want an award? For mothering your child?”

“So should I tell Scotia to leave? Is that what you want?” When Elliot got angry, her mouth changed shape, the middle of her upper lip plunging.

“Please go fix the siding,” said Joe. “Because that's what our lives hinge on. By all means.”

“We'll work fast. We'll be done by three with two of us.”

Joe wanted to give Scout back to Elliot to tend now that she was crying. “Just take her for a few minutes while I pee and brush my teeth.”

“What? I can't—”

Joe passed her the baby and walked away. Elliot went back to Scotia; Joe heard her laugh self-consciously over the baby's wails.

All day long she heard sawing and nailing; it felt like Elliot and Scotia were hammering into Joe's skull. She looked around: diapers, wet wipes, baby powder, zinc cream, sleepers, breast pads in nursing bras, leaking tits, the smell of the baby, the baby's fine red hair, the whorls of the baby's ears. A glass of water on the TV stand. Tousled blankets. Bird song. Heat. Thermometer. Fan. Half-eaten breakfast. Half-eaten lunch. Half-eaten apple. Half-eaten peach. Banana peel. Coconut cream for her sore nipples. Lactation tea. Wasps and flies buzzing. Stink bugs. Flour moths. Facebook and IMs when the Wi-Fi worked. Doing pretty much everything one-handed because she had hold of Scout in the other arm. Outside the window, hummingbirds dipped into
nectar; around the feeders were spotted towhees and chickadees, and, sometimes, the long sharp call of a flicker demanded suet. As the day wore on, Joe got more furious instead of less.

Why had Joe married someone poly to begin with? Because Elliot was Elliot, with her ready laugh, her confidence, her intelligence, her spark, and, let's face it, her wealth and the comforts and safety it brought. Poly was the deal—take none of the package or take everything. Poly had seemed like freedom to Joe. If she hadn't used it but the once, did that mean she should expect or demand that Elliot change? This week, since the birth, and for a few highly pregnant months, she had needed Ell to become someone she was not. She needed Ell to be sloppily romantic in a way she never could be.

Joe had changed, not Elliot. This was not on Elliot.

Joe put on her baby wrap and tucked Scout inside. The baby seemed positively octopedal—all those limbs—Joe in her flip flops picked her very careful, slow way down to the dock, glad that they had put in railings the year before (carpentry, yes, carpentry they had actually needed). For the first time, she realized she was a mother in the world with an infant to protect, and this state of affairs wasn't going to go away. She tucked the two of them under the floppy green umbrella, then fretted about whether refracted sunshine could hurt Scout's tender skin. Could you even use sunscreen on newborns?

Except for the banging up at the house behind her, the morning was lovely. Ravens poked through the boughs of the cedars imparting the raucous news of the day. In the rookery a
little farther around the tip of the island, herons squawked and gabbed, and the young, nearly fledging, assumably fan-flapped their wings. In the shallows, frogs leaped. From where she sat, Joe could see minnows and trout fry circling in murky lake water. Blue jays screamed through the branches.

Something made her turn. Logan and Ajax picking their way down to the dock, Toby a small horse behind them. Toby stayed on land, refusing to step onto the dock, and sometimes woofing his abandonment. Joe's breath caught when she saw Logan.

“I'm so glad you came down,” said Ajax. “May I?”

Joe hadn't even realized her arms were sore until Scout was out of them. Ajax situated herself so that the sun wouldn't touch Scout's fragile skin and crooned, “Oh my god, Scout, you are the sweetest. She's so small and perfect, Joe. Logan, honey, look how adorable this baby is.”

“And strong,” said Joe, “and capable.” How could a newborn be either strong or capable? But it seemed important to surpass stereotypes.

“Strong, yes!” said Ajax. “Ferocious! Look how solid her neck is! Linebacker shoulders, I can tell. You can see her moms work out. Totally.” She winked at Joe.

“What on earth is Elliot hammering at now?” said Logan, spreading out a towel. They shucked down to a sports bra and swim trunks, slathered on sun protection. “It's Saturday. July. Can't she and her friend just come join us?”

“I completely don't know the answer,” said Joe.

“Let me get that,” said Ajax. She handed Scout back to Joe before spreading lotion across Logan's back.

“Elliot's at loose ends,” said Joe apologetically. She watched the tenderness between the couple enviously. Would they make it? Logan a playboy and Ajax old and, from what she'd heard, fragile. Logan a bald eagle; Ajax a mouse. Joe doubted that Ajax was likely to stand up for herself against the high-rise that was Logan, the force of nature that was Logan. Maybe Logan hadn't been upset with Ajax yet, but they had a sizeable temper, a sarcasm that unwound mortal women, and Elliot had once implied they were capable of physical violence—whatever she meant by that.
Did they hit you?
Joe had asked, but Elliot had gone mute. “Ell can't handle pat leave. Three weeks and she's already snaky.”

“You guys here all summer?” Ajax asked.

Joe nodded. “Some idiot's romantic idea of a home birth and forty days of keeping the baby close.” She grinned and shrugged. “Okay, my idea, though why I thought labour could be romantic completely escapes me now. I thought of it as warm and candlelit, the babelet delivered to the waiting warm arms of her moms. Ha! It was nothing like that. Abso-freaking-lutely nothing.”

Ajax laughed, moved on the dock. In the lake, a fish jumped, striped bass or carp, maybe.

“Plus the romance of parenting went out the window pretty quick when I couldn't figure out how I was supposed to pee. I can't even pull my pants down carrying her. Maybe if I had
a kangaroo pouch. Scout would fit with a little redesign”—she grabbed her postpartum paunch—“but alas.” She kissed Scout's head. “I'll bet you Ell wants to go back to the city by next week. She'd probably build a suburb here, if she could, just to have something to do.” But the problem was deeper inside Joe's wife than that, more serious than restlessness, Joe suspected. She just didn't know what it was.

“I'll eat my hand if I ever see that woman satisfied,” said Logan.

“Well, Logan, you don't have to shake on the salt and pepper at this point. Problem is, I go around feeling like I've got an anchor in my stomach. Something heavy thrown overboard. I've been weepy and sad and needy, and the baby cries, and it's all a big mess at our house,” said Joe. “I caught Ell watching sex tapes last night, and I blew up at her.” She did not say:
Sex tapes of you.
“I don't even know what I expect from her. I really don't even know. And could she give it to me if I did? All those years in fertility treatments—we've both been wacko, I know. Now I'm in a mash-up of jealousy, registering some threat, and it drives me
crazy
that she's got Scotia here, because, is
that
it?”

“Elliot is not easy,” said Logan.

“
Hard but worth it
is how that goes, right? This is not a good week.” Joe tried to bring logic to bear. “I mean, obviously, except for having had a baby. Scout is pretty great.”

The sun was high overhead and hot even through the umbrella. A fringe of water lilies bobbed beside the reeds, and
far out on the water a Canada goose paddled with its chain of goslings.

“Ell ought to smarten up,” said Logan.

“I'm sorry to be dumping on you,” said Joe. She moved her nose across Scout's head, the soft red hair like feathers. “But Ell's an idiot.”

“You know you probably have a touch of postpartum blues, right? She pretends that she's so tough, but she wanted that baby.”

“We tried to get ready, but we weren't actually. We weren't prepared. We had no freaking clue what it would really be like.”

Ajax said, “Adapting takes time, is all. Six months from now, when infancy is over, you two will probably feel like you were always mothers.”

Ajax crossed to kiss Joe's cheek. “Too hot,” she said. She dove, broke the surface, and yelled for Logan to join her.

Joe and Logan watched Ajax. Joe whispered, “Ell told me about tonight. We'll make ourselves scarce. Congratulations. So awesome.”

Logan smiled. “Hey, she didn't say yes yet.”

“Think she might not?”

Dragonflies motored through the water lilies. There was a weight to the heat now. Logan moved back under the umbrella.

Laughter silted from the cabin; Elliot and Scotia.

“I can understand why she wouldn't.” Logan pushed back in the chair, arms behind their head, puffs of armpit hair. They didn't have their binder on, and Joe could make out the outlines
of breasts through the sports bra. Thought,
Don't go there.
“But I really like her, Joe. I've never felt like this.”

“I can see that,” said Joe. “The way you look at her. It
feels
different.”

“I guess … I never thought I'd feel love, Joe. I got pretty used to that, one superficial relationship after the other. You know me. I carouse. I drink too much. I give women a rough time—I choose the wrong ones, I never call them when I say I will. I lose interest. I don't seem to choose people I'd want to take to firm events—they don't travel well. Ell was the best of the bunch, which is saying something since all we did, I think, was drink and fight. But Ajax is different. She's not a pushover, but she's kind. She's smart, she's funny. But she does what I do—keeps choosing people who treat her poorly. I think she's easy to treat badly because she's guileless. Even at fifty. I guess I'm not that far behind her, but—fifty. It seems so old.” Logan waved to Ajax, who was now out in the middle of the lake. “I'm just—I'm sweet on her. Sweet on her like a teenager. She's sick, is the thing. She might just say no to save me from that.”

“Sick how?” Joe had heard, but only in vague terms. A dragonfly took a nip out of Joe's leg and she cursed, jerked with the baby in her arms, which half-woke Scout. She jiggled her back to sleep.

“She doesn't want me to try to save her, and she might think that's what the proposal is, and what the fuck do I know, maybe it is, in part. I really do want to look after her. She's had a lot of rotten luck. Enough bad luck for four people.”

“She's fifty years old though. She's not twelve, Logan.”

“No, I know, and she'd say that too. She would.”

Scout cried, her neck slick against Joe's arm, and Joe lifted her top, worked at getting Scout latched. “I guess I mean, be realistic. She has vulnerabilities, but you have to feel she's your equal or forget it, it won't work. Do you?”

Logan watched her nurse. “I hope Ell knows what she has with you, Joe.”

“I don't know why she let
you
go, frankly. Or why you let her.”