Page 85 of Woman on the Verge

“Yes, this is Liv.”

Liv copies her sister’s wave.

“Who are you?” Grace says to the screen.

Frank’s eyes flick to mine. He is likely trying to decide how to explain his role.

“I’m Frank” is all he says.

“Hi, Frank,” Grace says.

“Hi, Frank,” Liv parrots.

“Okay, Frank, I’ll plan on seeing you this weekend, then,” I tell him. “But please call or text if you need anything. You have my number, yes?”

“I do,” he says. “Thanks for that. You all have a great day.”

I end the call and close my laptop.

“I like Frank,” Grace says.

“Me too,” I tell her.

Elijah and I text throughout the week. He asks what I’m up to on a daily basis, and I lie on a daily basis. I say I am “swamped with work,” “in back-to-back meetings,” when the reality is that I’m sitting next to Grace while she’s on her little potty, whining because “the poo-poo won’t come.” I say I am headed to the gym when I am really taking the girls to the park yet again. In my defense, I do endure a workout when Grace forces me to sit on the other side of the seesaw from her, pushing us up and down until my thighs burn.

On Thursday afternoon, Grace and Liv jump on the bed as I pack my bag for the weekend, taking tags off more lingerie that’s been crumpled up at the back of my underwear drawer. Kyle comes in with a look on his face that immediately makes my insides flip. Something is wrong. I am not going to be able to leave this weekend.

“Hey,” he says, his voice weak. This is his sick voice. I am screwed.

Since our fight, we have settled back into a relatively calm complacency that many couples must mistake for contentment. It helps that I’m out of town. It helps that I have Elijah. It helps that Kyle has never wanted to dive beneath the surface of our marriage. He might be storing up all kinds of grievances, like a squirrel with nuts before winter, but he is not one to express his feelings—a previous con that has become a pro. In the end, I will have to introduce the possibility of divorce, and he will say he’s shocked.

Kyle flops onto the bed, and Liv jumps on top of him.

“Liv, come on. I’m not feeling good, okay?”

He lifts her up by the armpits, sets her on the bed next to him. He must have pinched her skin or something because she comes to me, her bottom lip trembling, then starts sobbing.

I pick her up because this is what mothers do. They stop whatever the fuck they are doing to make everything okay.

I hold her against my chest, my arms wrapped around her, her legs wrapped around me, her head on my shoulder, big fat tears wetting my neck. I give Kyle a look.

“She’s acting. She knows if she does this, you’ll coddle her,” he says.

A hot flash overtakes me, rolling through my body like a wave.You’re such an asshole,I think. I’ve told him before to stop saying things like this, to stop telling the girls to their faces that their emotions are not valid, to stop being so condescending and dismissive. He says I’m too soft with them, and I say he’s too hard, and this is just one of several stalemates.

Liv stops crying as I bounce her up and down. Grace comes to me, wraps her arms around my hips.

“I don’t want Mommy to leave,” Grace says, looking at my partially packed bag.

Liv starts sobbing again.

“I don’t want Mommy to leave either,” Kyle says.

He is looking at Grace when he says this, not at me. My eyes are full of fury, and he knows it.

“You’re sick, Daddy?” Grace asks, going to him now.

Grace is very much into playing doctor, pretending to check heartbeats and administer medicines. For Christmas, I put several boxes of Band-Aids in her stocking so she could tend to our imagined wounds.