Page 22 of The Wives of Hawthorne Lane

Georgina

Hawthorne Lane

Georgina pushes the blade of the knife through the skin and watches as her orange falls into neat quarters on its plate.

Listening for the sound of the front door opening, she grabs another orange from the fruit bowl to repeat the process.

Christina and Sebastian will be home from school any moment, and Georgina always tries to have a healthy snack waiting for them when they arrive.

As she fixes a second plate, she’s reminded of how little time she has left with both of them at home.

Sebastian is a senior now, and in just a few short months they’ll be packing his things for college.

The front door opens, and Georgina hears Sebastian’s heavy footsteps stomping down the hallway.

She used to be able to recognize the sound of everyone’s footfalls as they moved through the house, filled it with life: the pitter-patter of Sebastian’s running feet, the light tiptoe tread of Christina’s.

But now Sebastian walks like a man. Like his father. The sound is nearly identical.

He and Colin are close, always going off on their hunting trips, to sporting events.

Georgina sometimes feels a pang of jealousy.

She and Sebastian have never had the same type of relationship, despite her best efforts.

Ever since he was a small boy, he idolized his father, choosing him over his mother.

It had been hard for Georgina to watch the way Sebastian’s face would light up when Colin came home from a long day at work, the way he’d run and jump into his arms. She’d put so much of herself into raising her son.

Everything she had. She’d given up her career ambitions, driven him to every team practice, every doctor’s appointment.

Georgina was always there. And yet Sebastian has never looked at her the way he does Colin.

She supposes it’s only natural. It makes perfect sense that a boy would relate more to his father.

But his rejection of her still feels like a knife to her heart.

“Hey, sweetie,” she says as he strides into the kitchen now. “How was school?”

He grumbles an unintelligible reply as he yanks open the refrigerator door.

“I sliced up some oranges if you’re hungry.” She holds out the plate to him like a peace offering.

Sebastian eyes it dismissively. “Nah, I’m good.” He pulls out a container of leftover chicken piccata from last night’s dinner.

“Where’s Christina?” Georgina asks. “I thought you’d be walking her home.”

Sebastian shrugs. “She got a ride.”

“With who?”

“How should I know?” He grabs a fork out of the drawer. “I’m gonna take this up to my room.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to eat it down here? I could heat it up for you, and—”

“Mom,” he barks with an exasperated shake of his head. “Just stop.”

Sebastian walks away, and Georgina busies herself packing up the untouched orange slices.

She tells herself that he’s just a teenage boy, that his disdain for her is only a phase.

She wonders if Libby and Lucas have had the same growing pains.

Somehow she doubts it. They’re so close.

Georgina hates to admit it, but seeing them together has always made her jealous.

She suspects that this is why her early budding friendship with Libby seemed to wither away after their boys were born.

While Georgina was struggling to connect with her son, it seemed to come so easily to Libby and Lucas.

They’d taken their sons to the park together once.

Sebastian and Lucas couldn’t have been more than four years old at the time, and they’d run around the playground, racing each other down the slide over and over again.

Libby and Georgina sat side by side on a wooden bench watching them play while Christina napped in her stroller.

Georgina noticed how Lucas looked back at his mother from time to time as if seeking reassurance, making sure she was still there, waving from the top of the climbing structure.

Sebastian hadn’t looked for Georgina once.

She told herself it was because she was raising a strong, independent little boy, but even then she wondered…

She’d watched as Lucas ran toward the top of the slide, Sebastian racing up behind him.

It seemed that they reached the landing at the same time, and both boys tumbled down the slide in a jumble of limbs and bumped heads.

Libby and Georgina both sprang up and ran to their children.

Libby stroked the back of Lucas’s head, whispering reassurances into his ear, while Georgina, tending to the practical, examined Sebastian for injuries.

He’d scraped his knee, and his eyes were welling with tears as it started to bleed.

Georgina tried to pull him into her arms, but he shoved her away.

He yanked the leg of his pants over his injured knee, and angrily wiped away his tears with the back of his hand.

“What a tough little guy,” Libby had remarked as Sebastian limped away from them and headed back toward the slide.

Lucas had climbed into Libby’s lap, his tears slowing as he twirled one of her blond curls around his little finger, comforting himself.

What was wrong with Georgina that nothing about her was comforting to her son? That he wanted so little of her?

“Yes,” she’d said, “he is.” That was the last time they’d gone to the park together.

The sound of a car door closing, Christina’s voice calling “Goodbye,” brings Georgina back to the moment.

Curious, she makes her way to the front of the house and looks out the large picture window just in time to see a little red convertible peeling away down the street, Christina jogging happily up the front walk.

—

Georgina knocks lightly on Christina’s bedroom door, the plate of orange slices in her hand. “Can I come in? I have a snack for you.”

“Oh, sure, Mom!” Christina replies. Spying the fruit, she smiles brightly. “Awesome, thanks. I was starving.”

Georgina hands her daughter the plate and watches as she nibbles delicately on an orange slice while folding her legs neatly beneath her pleated skirt. Georgina sits on the edge of Christina’s bed, and Christina scoots over, making room for her.

She thinks, not for the first time, how different her relationship with her daughter is compared to the one she has with Sebastian.

Christina has always demanded so much less of Georgina.

She never made her mother work for her affection, and ever since she was a small girl, it seems that she’s always done everything she could to make all of their lives easier.

If Sebastian was crying over dropping his ice cream cone, Christina would offer to share hers without having to be asked.

If Georgina was rushing to get dinner ready, Christina would take it upon herself to set the table.

She’s the one who never broke curfew, whose school report cards consistently referred to her as “polite and conscientious.” While Christina’s agreeable nature has certainly made Georgina’s life as a parent easier, she hopes she’s somehow managed to instill in her daughter the strength she will need to be a woman in this world.

She hopes she’s raising Christina to be something more than her mother is, to know that she doesn’t have to give too much of herself away, that it’s okay to prioritize herself.

She wants her daughter to know it’s not wrong for a woman to take up space in the world, that she can be loud, that she doesn’t ever have to compromise who she is, dim her light, to make those around her more comfortable.

“Everything okay?” Christina asks, looking at Georgina curiously as she tucks a lock of her golden-blond hair behind her ear.

“Yes, everything is fine, sweetheart, but I was just wondering…who drove you home from school today? I didn’t recognize the car.

” Unlike with her son, Georgina still knows all of Christina’s friends, a reserved group of girls who are more focused on making the honor society than tearing through the neighborhood in shiny red sports cars.

Christina blushes, her cheeks turning a sweet cotton-candy pink. “Lucas.”

“Lucas Corbin?” Georgina can’t keep the look of surprise off her face.

Christina’s blush deepens. “Yeah.”

Georgina is stunned. For one thing, she had no idea that Christina and Lucas were friends, and for another, she can’t imagine Libby buying Lucas such a flashy car. “He got a new car?” Georgina inquires, trying her best to sound casual.

“Uh-huh.” Christina adjusts the black frames of her glasses. “His dad bought it for him.”

“How nice.” Georgina forces a smile onto her face. “Are you two…an item?”

Christina’s eyes drop, and she looks as if she’d rather melt into the floor than continue the conversation. “No, Mom. Lucas and I are just friends.”

“Lucas Corbin drove you home?” Sebastian has appeared in Christina’s doorway. He fills the frame, his arms crossed over his chest. For a moment, Georgina is struck by how much he resembles his father these days.

“Yeah,” she replies, not meeting her brother’s eyes. “So?”

“So that guy is a loser and I don’t want you hanging around him.”

“Since when do you care who I hang out with?” The words, though bold, are spoken to the floor.

“Since now,” Sebastian snarls. “He’s two years older than you. What’s he doing nosing around my fifteen-year-old sister?”

“First of all, I’ll be sixteen in, like, three months. And second, it was just a ride home. Can everyone stop making such a big deal about it?” Christina throws her hands up in exasperation.

“Fine. But stay away from Lucas Corbin,” Sebastian retorts before storming down the hall.

“Christina, honey,” Georgina starts, “I think Lucas is a nice boy, I really do, but maybe we should talk about—”

“I’m not dating Lucas, okay? He’s not even interested in me like that.

I’m, like, not even the kind of girl that would be on his radar.

We’re not exactly in the same crowd at school.

And anyway, I know the rules.” She rolls her eyes and says, her voice dropping into a lower octave, an imitation of her father’s, “I’m too young to date. ”

“Christina, I’m sure plenty of boys are interested in you, it’s just that you’re still so young, and—”

“Please, Mom.” She gets off the bed and moves across the room to her desk. “I really don’t want to talk about this anymore, okay? Besides, I have a ton of homework to do.”

Her back to Georgina, Christina opens a textbook and begins flipping through the pages.

Georgina’s heart sinks in the silence. She tried, she really did, to create a home for her children that was different from the one she grew up in. And yet, for a moment, it’s like she’s back there, drowning in the loneliness she’d felt as a little girl.

She sees herself alone in her bedroom, hears the sounds of her parents arguing through the thin walls: “Do you think money grows on trees? Jesus Christ, Joan, look at all this shit! And you got the kid a new coat? How much of my money did you spend on that ?”

They always spoke about Georgina that way, as if she weren’t a person but a burden they’d been reluctant to take on. Rarely did they ever speak to her.

“I had to, Gerry. Her teacher called home. Said it was too cold to be sending her in without one. You want CPS showing up at our door?”

“If they did, they’d take one look at the place and have it condemned!” Her father’s voice grew to a roar. “Do you think I work like a dog so you can keep collecting your…your garbage?”

Their house was full of her mother’s “treasures.” Bloated boxes of junk, piles of old newspapers that grew larger by the day.

They were an oppressive presence, always looming, taunting Georgina with their dust and disorder, threatening to consume her.

It made her feel dirty; like her home life was a permanent stain that she was sure everyone around her could see, despite the fact that her mother never let anyone else inside their house.

There were no playdates, no birthday parties, no sleepovers with giggling school friends.

Her mother’s hoarding had all but condemned Georgina to a life of solitude.

She’d itched to throw it all away, to scrub and scour every inch of that suffocating house, but she knew her mother would never allow it.

She seemed to love her things, her garbage, more than her own daughter.

And so Georgina did the only thing she could.

She weaved between the dusty boxes and teetering piles of garage-sale trinkets, shut herself in her room (which she kept clean with military precision), and did her best to stay out of the way.

Georgina shakes away the memory. Reminds herself that she’s not that little girl anymore. But sometimes she worries that a part of her never escaped that place, that her life there damaged her, her ability to connect with other people. Even her own children.

Georgina hasn’t been a perfect parent. She knows that.

But she hopes they see how hard she’s tried to give them more than what she had, to connect with them in a way her parents never did.

When they go off into the world, she wonders, will they look back on this home she’d created for them and see the love she’d poured into the home-cooked meals and polished floors?

Or will they too remember the silences that she never learned how to break through?

Georgina watches her daughter for a moment more, searching for the right combination of words that will shatter the invisible barrier between them, but they don’t come. And so she quietly leaves the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.