“But it will come together,” Jess assured her. She knew it would. Clara and Nick would find their own way, and itwould be thoroughly unconventional. They had no desire for a home like Jess and Adam’s anyway. Nick thought modern buildings had no soul, a proclamation Jess had tried not to take too personally.
The water on the stove was boiling and Clara got up to help, adding the gnocchi from a package. With the jar of pesto from the fridge, this would be instant dinner. Some things, at least, were mercifully uncomplicated.
“It’s a lot right now, your life,” said Clara once they’d finished eating. “It must feel like it’s sucking you under.”
She wasn’t wrong, but Jess didn’t want to admit it, because then what? Bella was using the sign for “more” now; they had taught her that at daycare. Signs certainly beat unintelligible screeching. Jess refilled the sippy cup. “It’s just the stress of work, and that article,” said Jess. She sat back down again.
“When’s Adam coming home?”
“Seven or eight. I don’t know. It depends.” She saw where this was leading. “But this isn’t about him.”
“Except that you’re carrying all this on your own,” said Clara. She got up and started loading the dishwasher. “A full-time job on top of another full-time job. Is it any wonder you’re stressed?”
“You don’t have to do that,” said Jess, meaning the dishwasher. But Clara paid her no mind, “And Adam does a lot,” she reminded her. “When he can. He takes Bella to her swimming lessons. Most of the time. He has to work.” She had to defend him.
“You work too.”
“But my job is more flexible. And his jobispaying the mortgage. Adam carries more than his share. He’s supporting us.”
“But you’re supporting him too. You were the one who made that risotto. You bought the pesto, I’m sure. Taking the baby to daycare and bringing her home again after work, day after day. Invisible labour, but I see it.”
“It’s just really hard,” Jess emphasized. “And not because I’m doing it wrong. It’s easy to prescribe solutions. I know, I used to do it. But when you’re in the middle of the mess, there’s no way out. You really just can’t fight it.”
“But that sounds hopeless.”
Jess wiped Bella’s face, then poured Cheerios in her tray for dessert. “It’s not as bad as that,” she said. “But some days are tough. And now it’s like my mind is conspiring to make it even harder. I’m not getting enough sleep. It’s exhausting being back at work.”
Clara refilled their glasses. “Things will get easier,” she said. “I mean, they must. If everybody goes through it.”
Jess took Bella out of the highchair to stop her from hurling the rest of the Cheerios to the floor. She held her close. “There are consolations,” she admitted. “And sometimes when Adam’s home, he does her bath, and I get fifteen minutes, sometimes twenty. And so I sit down and read, I take time for that. For me.”
“Twenty minutes,” said Clara softly, horrified.
“I know how it sounds,” said Jess. “But it’s the greatest. I fell asleep getting my teeth cleaned the other week—sitting back in the dentist’s chair was like being at a spa.”
“Jess, that’ssad.”
“You’ll see,” said Jess. “You think you won’t, but you will.”
Clara said, “I’m not pregnant.”
Jess said, “You will be.” She sniffed Bella’s diaper. “I can’t believe I haven’t put you off the whole baby thing with all this.”
Clara said, “But I want that too. The good, the bad. I want everything.”
“It’s going to happen.” It had to. And then came a splendiferous squelching sound as Bella had her postprandial shit. Jess said with emphasis, “I promise.”
HOME FREE
2009–2010
Jess and Adam’s new house had a backyard with an actual lawn, and a deck big enough to accommodate a patio table. The tumbledown garage beyond would be torn down one day, but in the meantime they marvelled at having an out-building, and so much space besides: walk-in closets and an ensuite, a fully finished basement with a home theatre. The renovated kitchen, perfect for entertaining, had been the thing that really sold them. They’d already taken Nick and Clara on the tour.
“Everything is so gorgeous,” said Clara, perched on a stool at the counter with a drink—non-alcoholic—in hand.
Jess had just drained the pasta in the ceramic sink. “Since the first time I saw this room, I’ve been picturing you sitting right there,” she said, gesturing at Clara with a wooden spoon. “I just can’t believe it took this long to get you to come across town.” They’d moved in three months ago. Bella, beneath Clara’s feet, was stacking Tupperware towers.
The Tupperware had come from a party, but notthatkind of Tupperware party. They didn’t live so far from downtown that irony was dead, Jess explained. No, it was avintageTupperware party, with Pyrex mixing bowls and casserole dishes, stuff her neighbour Nahlah plucked from garage sales and sold on eBay. Nahlah held the party a few times a year, and it was a chance for the neighbourhood wives to get together. Which was ironic too, because Nahlah was a wife who also had a wife, Nads. Nads and Nahlah, the next door neighbours. They’d be stopping by later for a drink after their kids were in bed, because the houses were close enough to be in range of the video monitor. “We do it all the time,” Jess said.
