Say When (24 page)

I
n the last days before Christmas, Griffin volunteered for more hours than he’d been scheduled for. He and Ellen continued to “share” Zoe, and the evenings when his daughter was gone were better spent in the company of other people. Otherwise, it was hours of mind-numbing television, bowls of potato chips and bottles of beer, and visits to the bedroom with the Victoria’s Secret catalogue in hand—the mild elevation of mood going in not worth the empty despair he felt coming out, and certainly not worth the abject foolishness he felt washing up. All things considered, better to impersonate a saint.

Daily, the lines of children stretched around the corner, until, from his vantage point, he could never tell anymore how many were waiting. Babies cried and flirted, siblings fought, and parents bent over to whisper admonitions between clenched teeth. Legions of small, solitary figures of varying heights stood quietly holding their jackets, staring straight ahead. Many parents fussed and carried on, preparing their children for the photos—“Smile like we
talked
about, honey; remember what we said?”—but most grandparents relaxed and let the children have a good time. A woman brought her toy poodle, decked out in red ribbons and green nail polish, to be photographed with Santa; Griffin held the perfumed creature while “Mommy” brushed her just one more time.

Three days before Christmas, Griffin drove to Ellen’s apartment to pick up Zoe. It was five o’clock and he was starving—he’d skipped lunch. He wished he hadn’t promised Zoe she could help make dinner that night—he wanted to stop at the Cozy Corner and eat quickly. But in the overly solicitous way of single parents, he decided not to risk doing anything that would disappoint Zoe.

He and Ellen hadn’t talked much since he’d last sat in her kitchen with her. They had exchanged only necessary pieces of information regarding logistics. He didn’t want to intrude, but he was worried about Ellen. She was pale, too thin. Last time she’d leaned over to put Zoe’s head between her hands and kiss her goodbye, he’d noticed her hands were shaking.

Zoe answered the door when he knocked, then put her fingers to her lips. “Shhh! Mommy’s sleeping.” Ellen was stretched out on the couch, an old sweater covering her.

“I’ll get my stuff,” Zoe whispered. “Don’t wake her up; she’s really sleepy.”

Griffin waited, his hands in his pockets, while Zoe collected her things, leashed the puppy, and put on her coat. She tiptoed over to the sofa, pulled the sweater up higher over Ellen’s shoulders, and nodded at Griffin. “Ready,” she whispered.

“I’m going to tell her we’re leaving.” Griffin said.

“Shhhhhhh!”

“No, Zoe, we have to tell her. Otherwise she’ll wake up and you’ll be gone and she’ll be worried.”

“No, she won’t! She knows you’re coming!”

Their argument was settled by Ellen awakening, sitting up quickly, and pushing the hair off her face. “Oh! Oh, I must have…I fell asleep! Is it time already?”

Griffin nodded. “Yeah. Hi.”

“Hi.” That little slice of shyness. She looked around the room. “Do you have all your things, Zoe?”

“Yes. And I
told
Dad not to wake you up. Twice.”

“It’s okay.” She smiled at Griffin. “How are things at the North Pole?”

“Busy. Tomorrow’s my last day.”

“Well, I’ll be here all day—bring Zoe back whenever you want.”

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Griffin asked.

“I…don’t know. I’m not sure.”

“Zoe,” Griffin said. “Can you wait for me outside? Give Nipper a chance to go out before we put him in the car?”

“I know,” she said. “You can’t fool me.”

“What?” Griffin asked.

“You’re going to talk about my presents!”

“How do you know?”

She pulled her stocking hat low on her forehead. “I have my sources.”

“Take the dog out, and after he goes, get in the car and wait for me. It’s warm in there.”

“I don’t get cold,” Zoe said. “I am reptile woman. I shall play in the snow with my companion until you report to me.” She ran out the door with the puppy at her heels.

“Guess we should have gotten her a dog a long time ago, huh?” Griffin said.

“He’s been good for her.”

“You know, I haven’t gotten her anything yet for Christmas. I was thinking of an aluminum bat.”

Ellen nodded. “I was, too. But I’ll get her something else.”

“What are you doing for dinner tonight?” he asked. God, she was thin.

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Come eat with us.”

“I don’t think so, Griffin.”

“It’s not against the rules.”

“I think it would be confusing.”

“Just come and eat. Drive yourself—you can leave right afterward, or whenever you want. Come on, Zoe’s making meatballs.”

She looked out the window, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, considering. Then she said, “All right. I’ll be there in an hour.”

Zoe prided herself on making each meatball exactly the same size. She lined them up on a cookie sheet as she prepared them, inspecting them from above and from the side at frequent intervals.

Griffin made a salad and some marinara sauce, tried to quiet the nervous feeling that had settled in his stomach. He had just put water on to boil when the doorbell rang.

Ellen stood before him when he opened the door. “What, you ring the
doorbell
now?” he said. Then, when she pulled flowers from behind her back with a flourish, he felt bad. She had only wanted to surprise him.

After she hung up her coat, she went to one of the high kitchen cupboards for a vase. It was odd, seeing her perform this familiar chore when she no longer lived here. It tore at him and it pleased him.

“Smells good!” she said, sitting at the table. And then, to Zoe, “Well. There’s some nice work.”

“Wine?” Griffin asked.

“Yes, please,” Zoe answered, then laughed at her own joke. “Hey, Mommy,” she said. “Do you notice anything about these meatballs?”

Ellen took a long swallow from the wineglass Griffin handed her, then said, “Uh huh. They look delicious.”

“But do you notice anything?”

Ellen looked carefully. “Ah. They are all the exact same size.”

“Yes!” Zoe said. “And now, for your grand prize, I will be right back.”

As she ran upstairs, the phone rang. Ellen started to move reflexively toward it, then sat still as Griffin answered. “Zoe!” he called. “It’s Grace!”

He listened until she picked up the phone, then hung up. “She’s got a girlfriend, did you know that?”

“Yes. I’m glad.”

“Could be the beginning of the end.”

“Oh, it’s nice. Grace makes her play dolls a little and Zoe makes Grace play hockey a little.”

Griffin dumped the pasta into the boiling water, then came to sit at the table with Ellen. “Tell me something. Are you okay? Because—no offense, but you look like shit.”

She laughed. “Thank you very much.”

“Seriously, Ellen.”

“I’m fine. I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking. A lot.”

“And?” He swirled the wine in his glass. This was a nice cabernet.

“Oh…you know.”

He looked up. “I don’t.”

“Well, I’ve been trying to understand why I…I’ve just been trying to understand some things, that’s all.”

“And how is that going?”

“How that is going is that I don’t understand much, all right? Except that there is a lot wrong with me.” She nodded as though agreeing with herself. “There really is.”

Silence but for the nearly conversational bubble of the pasta water. And then he said, “Come home, Ellen.”

She sighed. “See, Griffin? You didn’t even hear what I said.”

“I did hear you. I don’t feel the same way about those words that you do, that’s all.”

“What do you mean?”

He leaned forward, took one of her hands in his own. “Ellen. Did it ever occur to you that part of the reason I love you is
because
of your flaws?”

She pulled her hand back. “Oh, Jesus.”

“Just listen. If you would only—”

Zoe clattered down the stairs and bounded into the kitchen. “Here,” she said to Ellen, “is your most excellent present!” She handed her mother a small package, wrapped in the Sunday comics and tied with red yarn. “Open it!”

“Should I?”

“Yes, I
made
it!”

Ellen unwrapped what appeared to be a ceramic plaque. Griffin could only see the back of it, but whatever was on the front was having a strong effect—Ellen, her smile frozen, her eyes bright with tears, hugged Zoe, saying, “Thank you. This is beautiful.” She held the plaque up for Griffin to see. A simple message, written in exuberant script,
Welcome home!!!!

“I
told
you I was learning cursive,” Zoe said. “And this is for you, because you’re coming home at Christmas, right?”

Nothing. “Mom?” Zoe said quietly. “That’s what you said, remember?”

“Yes, I do remember,” Ellen said. And then, to Griffin, “Are we about ready to eat? Because I’m starving!”

“But do you like your present?” Zoe asked. She leaned onto the table, pressed into her mother.

Ellen kissed the top of Zoe’s head. “I love my present. And I love you.”

“And you love Daddy, right?”

Ellen looked quickly at Griffin, and haltingly said, “Oh, now.” A nervous laugh.

“Zoe,” Griffin said, quickly. “Get some plates out of the cupboard, will you?”

“I love Daddy,” Ellen said. “Zoe? I love Daddy.” She put her fingers up to her mouth, cleared her throat. Then, her hands folded before her on the table. “So.”

Griffin did not speak, nor did he move at all; and then Zoe, giggling, said, “I
know.”

“Will you get some plates, Zoe?” Griffin asked, nearly whispering.

She sighed. “Do I have to do
everything
around here?”

Apparently, she did.

Ellen stayed until Zoe’s bedtime, then tucked her in. When she came downstairs, Griffin had started a fire, and he patted the sofa cushion for her to sit beside him.

She leaned back, sighed deeply. “This is nice. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They sat silently for a while, listening to the crackle and hiss of the fire, and then Ellen said, “Griffin, you know what you started to say before, about loving me because of what’s wrong with me?”

“I didn’t exactly say that. I said that your flaws were one of the things I loved about you.”

“Well, Griffin. With all due respect, that’s idiotic.”

“It’s not.”

“It
is.
I mean, I don’t want to be taken home because I’m the ugliest puppy in the box.”

He looked at her. “All right. I’m going to try to tell you something, here. Don’t interrupt.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Don’t
interrupt.”

“Okay!”

“I think that loving someone for their flaws—”

“I think you said,
along with
their flaws.”

He sighed. “Ellen. Jesus.”

“What?”

“You’re
interrupting.
Shut
up. Listen
to me.”

She moved away from him, turned to face him. “Sorry.”

“Listen.
Don’t say anything until I tell you you can talk. Okay? We’ll take turns. I talk, then you talk. Okay?

She nodded.

“Good. Good. Now…Damn it, I forgot where I was.”

She raised an eyebrow, permission to speak, and he said, “No! I’ll remember. In fact, I do remember, exactly. Loving someone for their flaws, that’s what I said. That’s what I started to say. But I believe it makes sense. Because, Ellen, we are all flawed individuals. What people want, I think, is to be known completely. Didn’t you say something like that about Mr. Wheels?” She started to answer, and he held up a hand. “That was a rhetorical question, Ellen. I will tell you when it’s your turn. You’ll know, because I’ll say, ‘It’s your turn.’”

He drew in a breath. “Now. I know you can love, Ellen. I’ve seen how you love Zoe, everyone who knows you sees that. I’ve seen how you love fucked-up people like Dan Swaylow, remember that burnout case you were so nice to in college? The guy with the fried brain, who cried all the time? You were wonderful with him. But the danger for you, Ellen, is when someone your own size wants to love you back. So to speak. You’re so afraid. But you’re also so full of love, Ellen. I know it.

“Not everyone does. You’re a pain in the ass. Most people would wonder why I bother with you. Why I bother with you is I know what
else
you are. I see you, Ellen. You don’t have to hide here, don’t you see that? You’re home.”