Ann-Marie MacDonald - Adult Onset

“What are you doing up this early on a Saturday?” asks Mary Rose. “Or did you not go to bed?”

“Oh, I went to bed.” The slightest gleam enters her eye.

“The kids have gymnastics at nine, want to come?”

“Does a bear defecate in the woods?”

She has known Gigi for twenty-five years. She is a serial monogamist whose sexual appeal for straight women from every walk of life is as mysterious to Mary Rose as it is irresistible to said women, and is either evidence of Gigi’s internalized homophobia combined with fear of commitment, or simply evidence of Gigi. Mary Rose makes room in the fridge for the pasta pot and reflects that longevity is nine-tenths of friendship — you can’t know, when you’re twenty-three, which friends will be there for the duration.

They walk down to the Jewish Community Centre, where Gigi watches Maggie’s Kid-tastics class in the gym, freeing Mary Rose up to watch Matthew’s swimming lesson. They stop at the park on the way home and play tag, jackets flying open and Sue arrives, a vision of waffle-knit loveliness with her perfect baby and rambunctious sons.

“Sue, this is my friend Gigi.”

Mary Rose watches them shake hands and sees Sue blush. How does Gigi do it? Matthew finds a bird’s nest, Ryan steps in dog poo, Maggie runs after the big-brother Colin and repeatedly face-plants in the sand.

Her cellphone rings. “Saleema, hi … You’re a mind-reader … Perfect.”

Gigi has joined Ryan and Matthew, pushing them on the roundabout. Colin is running around it in the opposite direction with Maggie in hot pursuit. He stops short, causing her to run smack into him and they both fall.

“Colin, be gentle!” cries Sue, making a move, but Mary Rose stops her with a hand on her sleeve, calling, “Maggie, be gentle!”

Sue laughs. Mary Rose says, “He’s a great kid, both your boys are really nice.”

Sue bursts into tears.

“Oh,” says Mary Rose stupidly, and fumbles a gently used tissue from her sleeve.

Sue takes the tissue and blows her nose. “I’m so glad you called this morning, Mary Rose, I don’t know what I would’ve done.” Then she throws her arms around Mary Rose and hugs her. Mary Rose instructs her arms to hug back and waits to find out what is going on. Sue squeezes her and says in a voice taut with emotion, “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what?” Mary Rose sounds in her own ears like a shell-shocked Bob Newhart.

“You’re always so calm.”

Over Sue’s shoulder she sees Ryan and Matthew chasing Colin through the climbing structure with its multiple levels and lookouts while Maggie, stranded on the ground, ululates in frustration at the base of a metal platform which is just above her reach. Colin suddenly leaps from the “crow’s nest,” lands on the platform with a clang and reaches down over the bars of the railing for Maggie. His toes are almost off the platform but he manages to grasp her by the wrists in an effort to pull her up and over the railing. Mary Rose watches. He is not hurting her, nor is Maggie in danger should he let go — her feet are inches from the sand — no, here is what has caused the warmth to leave her hands, and the breath to stall in her chest. He can’t do it. Colin is not strong enough to pull Maggie up over the railing and onto the platform. He is seven. She is two. It’s right in front of her.

Sue has released her, is saying something.

“No, no, come to my house for lunch,” replies Mary Rose — evidently she has heard and processed what Sue has said. Gigi rejoins them, Sue discovers that Gigi knows her brother-in-law from the film industry, and “I love your jacket, Gigi, it looks so authentic.” Mary Rose smiles, strolls over to spot Maggie on the slide. Then who was it?

“Bum down, Maggie, bum down, that’s right.”

Her mother . Caught Mary Rose just in time as she climbed on an overturned bucket, reached up and went over the railing. Then why isn’t it part of family lore? Caught her just in time— Then why is Mary Rose hanging, facing out with her back to the bars? Caught her turning over a bucket in a bid to reach the railing, “I’LL TEACH YOU!” By the wrists, up and over the side, “IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?!”

“Good job, Maggie! Go again?”

Unless it didn’t happen at all.

Back home, spelt animal cookies and strawberry milk. Sue nurses the baby. Mary Rose puts on Raffi and they all dance. Her macaroni necklace breaks. They make a fort in the dining room with three-hundred-thread-count sheets. Colin bodysurfs headfirst down the stairs, Ryan and Matthew follow suit — tears.

Unless it was her father.

Matthew’s hamster gets loose, Maggie sticks a macaroni elbow up her nose, Ryan finds a tube of lipstick, Daisy corners the hamster under the bathroom cabinet, Gigi coaxes it out with peanut butter. Lunchtime. Matthew sneezes and tomato sauce comes out his nose.

No, her father is down there, playing catch with a version of himself … what is this memory made of? What is any of them made of? Did she situate him down there in order to exonerate him? Or to reassure herself that he would catch her if she fell? But in the dream — memory, rather — her fear is that he will look up. And see … what? That she is in danger. That she is … in pain. And she will know that he knows. And she will fall …

Saleema and Youssef arrive with cupcakes — Saleema can’t stay, okay maybe a cup of tea. Her head scarf is a study in strobing hounds-tooth. “You might want to post a warning,” says Gigi. Mary Rose takes her aside. Gigi says, “Sorry, did I offend her?”

“What? I don’t know, I was going to ask if you could stay over tonight.”

“Sure,” she says, and doesn’t ask why.

She knows Gigi will have to arrange doggie care for her black Lab, Tanya — the dog can’t come here because Daisy would eat her. Mary Rose glances at Daisy’s dish — she hasn’t touched her breakfast. The doorbell rings.

“Here’s your mail.”

“Thanks, Rochelle.”

A glut of bills and flyers.

Rochelle doesn’t budge. Is she waiting to be asked in? Does she wish to join the merriment? “Would you like a cup of tea?”

Mary Rose has thought Rochelle socially awkward, but it dawns on her now that Rochelle may be that rare personality type, the Fearless Pauser.

Finally the woman speaks. “Are you all right?”

“… Are you checking on me?”

“Yes.”

“… Thank you.”

“When’s your next book coming out?” Rochelle turns purple.

“I don’t know.”

“There was no package.”

“That’s okay.”

“Say ‘hello Dolly’ for me.”

Mary Rose chuckles, but Rochelle’s affectless expression suggests a joke has been neither intended nor registered. “I will do that.”

“Your dog didn’t bark.”

Mary Rose looks up at the landing. Thwack, thwack . “She’s tired.”

“You’re welcome,” says Rochelle. And leaves.

Mary Rose turns, about to regale her friends with the absurdity of her spectrumy neighbour, when it arrives like the mail in her hands, delayed but dogged: what her mother meant when she said, “Here we are”: Mary Rose is alive. Her mother didn’t kill her. She sets the mail down on the front hall table.

“I’m going out to buy flowers,” she announces. “I’ll be right back. Let’s go, Daisy.”

Daisy’s tail twitches politely, but she remains curled on the landing.

Mary Rose is walking alone; no dog, no stroller, no child by the hand, she hasn’t so much as a bag. Unaccommodated woman.

“Hi, hawney.”

“Hi, Daria.”

Daria is on her porch as usual. “Kids okay?”

“Great, thanks, grazie .”