Amy Frazier - Independence Day

She knew this was how he showed love. By being responsible.

Crossing the room, she stood in front of him. “You are a wonderful provider, Nick.”

“Then where have I failed you?”

“It’s not a matter of failure.” She placed her hands on his cheeks, felt his warmth. Gazed into dark eyes that had always mesmerized her with their depth and intelligence. “We’ve drifted into a relationship that’s convenient. I want to rediscover the romance we shared when we were—”

“Hey, no time for gooey, guys.” Gabriella burst into the room. “Mom, I need your hooded sweatshirt. It’s getting chilly.”

“Excuse me.” Irritated, Chessie faced her daughter. “This is our bedroom. Please, knock. And you may borrow my hooded sweatshirt when you return the two tees you took last week.”

“They’re dirty…and out on the lawn.”

“Then I guess you have yard work and laundry to do before the fireworks.”

“Dad?”

“Your mother’s asked you to do two things.” Nick stood firm. “You have time before dark to start both. I suggest you get busy.”

The bathroom door swung open. “Are you guys fighting?” Isabel stood wide-eyed in the doorway. Chessie knew this was her seventeen-year-old’s biggest fear, that something would separate her family as it had too many of her friends.

“We’re not fighting, love,” Chessie denied. “We’re having a discussion.” Seizing the moment, she reached for the sheet of paper on her nightstand. “And I’ll take this opportunity to explain our new cooking schedule.”

Gabriella stepped to her father’s side. “Dad, she’s got that look in her eyes again.”

Chessie ignored the perplexed expressions on her family’s faces. “For a year now I’ve wanted to take the Art Guild’s figure drawing class. Call it career advancement.” She shot Nick a pointed glance. “But it’s Wednesday right while I’m preparing dinner. So I need help. To that end, I’ve made up a meal schedule.” She extended the paper to them, but the other three recoiled. “Each member of the family will be responsible for dinner on two assigned days of the week. Izzy and Gabby, you count as one person. I’ll take the extra day, but never Wednesday. That should free me up to attend class, starting tomorrow. Girls, you begin the rotation.”

“You expect us to cook?” Gabriella, her mouth working, looked like a beached fish gasping its last.

“You can start simple. Peanut butter sandwiches and milk. Carrot sticks. I’m not fussy.”

“Honey…” Nick assumed his official negotiator voice. “They’re just kids.”

“And they’ll remain children indefinitely if they don’t begin to take on some responsibility.”

“Tomorrow Mrs. Weiss promised to take Izzy and Keri and me to the mall.” Keri was the neighbors’— George and Martha’s—daughter and Gabriella’s best friend. “Dad, switch days with us.”

Nick’s eyes widened in dawning recognition. He spread his hands, palms up to Chessie in a conciliatory gesture. “You can’t expect me to—”

“Takeout. As I said, I’m not fussy. Now, I’ll post this schedule on the refrigerator and then I’m assuming fireworks position on the terrace while you girls take care of the laundry in the yard.” Amazed at how light she felt after this first transfer of duties, she smiled broadly. “Dibs on the hammock. But I’ll share with a like-minded romantic.” She could only hope.

Not waiting for further reaction from her shell-shocked family, she made her way downstairs, hoping she would draw Nick to her, not push him away.

“Maaaa!” Gabriella wailed behind her. “You’ve ruined the Fourth of July!”

“Oh, no, my dear,” Chessie called from below. “I hope I’ve honored the spirit of the day.”

“Well, I’m not watching any stupid fireworks now.” Her younger daughter’s grousing wafted down the stairwell, followed by an indistinguishable response from Nick.

Second thoughts stabbed her as she rummaged in the living room for her John Philip Sousa CD. Had she ruined a holiday with unreasonable demands? Had she mistaken wants for needs?

No, dammit.

She hadn’t behaved selfishly today. She’d merely issued a wake-up call for Nick and the girls’ own good, as well as her own. Growing up, she’d observed her workaholic father drive himself to an early grave. As an adult, she’d watched as too many of her friends had spoiled their children to the obnoxious stage. She’d seen husbands and wives grow to be strangers. If she lay down and became a doormat, what kind of a match was she for Nick? What kind of a role model for Izzy and Gabby?

Having found the desired CD, she headed for the furnace room where she tripped over the cat litter box, out of place and full to overflowing. Normally, she would stop what she was doing to clean it for the sake of the cats her daughters had begged to bring home from the shelter. (“We’ll take care of them. Promise.” Right.)

The new Chessie found a scrap of paper, a marker and a broken tomato stick. Skewering the paper with the stick, she wrote, “Yo! This ain’t no toxic waste dump. Clean it up! The Cats.” She jammed the stick in the corner of the litter and left the box in the middle of the floor.

Highly satisfied with no-holds-barred Chessie, she hunted up sparklers, the beach boombox and bug repellent, then forged ahead to the darkening terrace where she immediately began slathering on lotion. Despite the fact that the mosquito seemed to be the Maine state bird, she wondered if her family—should they choose to join her—would think to lather up without a motherly nag.

Ah, but she’d washed her hands of nagging, negotiating, coercing, reminding. She’d now moved into the fluid rinse cycle of mature communication. In the future, she would treat her family as individuals—as she wished them to treat her. She only hoped she hadn’t hung herself out to dry.

Content that she’d protected every exposed inch of skin, she flipped on the Sousa CD. Perhaps if she seemed happy, her family would be lured to join her. She hadn’t meant to drive them away. On the contrary, she was searching for a way to draw them closer. In a more equitable fashion.

She struck a match to a sparkler. The slender wand sprang to life, adding its cheery glow to that of the myriad fireflies dancing in the dusky gardens. Chessie raised her little torch to the heavens.

“Huzzah,” she said softly, not sure whether she felt the proper revolutionary or one rather isolated wife and mother. An exile by her own design.

Footsteps crunched against the stones on the terrace. She turned to see Nick standing behind her.

“Truce?” he asked, his voice weary.

At the sight of him, her heart beat faster. “Care to join me in the hammock?”

“Sure.” He smacked the side of his neck with the flat of his hand, a clear sign he hadn’t put on bug lotion. Oh, well, he was a big boy.

As Chessie sat in the hammock, Isabel called from the kitchen window. “Mom, what did you do with my Zinc Noze Boyz CD? It was in my portable player.”

The sharp pain in Chessie’s backside told her exactly what someone had done with the player and headphones. “Isabel, you left it in the hammock. I hope it wasn’t here overnight when it rained.”

“Criminies!” The teenager’s footsteps echoed through the house.

“Zinc Noze Boyz.” Carefully sitting next to her in the hammock, Nick chuckled. “Now there’s a recording I wouldn’t want ruined.”

Isabel burst onto the terrace, her arms outstretched. “Thanks,” she mumbled, grasping the player and jamming the headphones over her ears. Leaning against the house, she quickly became lost in the music, with only occasional swats to various body parts. No bug lotion. Like father, like daughter.