Melanie Gideon - Wife 22

“You may call me Alice, although I appreciate you asking. It’s a West Coast thing,” I explain to Bunny. “All the kids call adults by their first names out here.”

“Except for teachers,” says Peter.

“Teachers are called ‘dude,’ ” I say. “Or maybe ‘du.’ Is the ‘de’ silent these days?”

“Stop showing off,” says Peter.

“Well, I am Mrs. Kilborn and you may call me Mrs. Kilborn,” says Bunny.

“And you are?” I ask the boy.

“Eric Haber.”

Eric Haber? The Eric Haber I thought Peter had a secret crush on? He’s adorable: tall, eyes the color of peanut brittle, obscenely long lashes.

“Peter talks about you all the time,” I say.

“Stop it, Mom.”

A look passes between Eric and Peter, and Peter shrugs.

“So what are you two up to? Just hanging out?”

“Yeah, Mom, hanging out.”

I stack the scripts in a pile. “Well, we’ll leave you to it. Let’s go out on the deck, Bunny. Eric, I hope to be seeing more of you.”

“Uh-yeah, okay,” he says.

“What was all that about?” asks Bunny when we’ve settled out on the deck.

“I thought Eric was Peter’s secret crush.”

“Peter’s gay?”

“No, he’s straight, but I thought he might be gay.”

Bunny takes some sunscreen out of her bag and rubs it on her arms slowly.

“You’re very close to Zoe and Peter, aren’t you, Alice?” she says.

“Well, sure.”

“Mm-hmm,” she says, offering me the tube. “Mustn’t forget the neck.”

“You say ‘mm-hmm’ like there’s something wrong with that. Like you don’t approve. Do you think I’m too close?”

Bunny rubs the excess sunscreen into the back of her hands.

“I think you’re-enmeshed,” she says carefully. “You’re very intense with them.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Alice, how old were you when your mother died?”

“Fifteen.”

“Tell me something about her.”

“Like what?”

“Anything. Whatever comes to mind.”

“She wore big gold hoop earrings. She wore Jean Naté body splash and she drank gin and tonic all year round, didn’t matter the season. She said it made her feel like she was always on vacation.”

“What else?” asks Bunny.

“Let me guess. You want me to go deeeeeper,” I sigh.

Bunny grins.

“Well, I know this sounds funny, but for a few months after she died I thought she might come back. I think it had something to do with the fact that she went so suddenly; it was impossible to process that she was there one minute and gone the next. Her favorite movie was The Sound of Music. She even looked a little like Julie Andrews. She wore her hair short, and she had the most beautiful, long neck. I kept expecting her to suddenly pop around a tree and sing to me, like when Maria sang that song to Captain von Trapp. What was the name of that song?”

“Which one? When she realizes she’s fallen for him?” asks Bunny.

“ So here you are standing there loving me. Whether or not you should,” I sing softly.

“You have a lovely voice, Alice. I didn’t know you could sing.”

I nod.

“And your father?” asks Bunny.

“He was absolutely wrecked.”

“Did you have help? Aunts and uncles? Grandparents?”

“Yes, but after a few months it was just the two of us.”

“You must have been very close,” Bunny says.

“We were. We are. Look, I know I’m too involved in their lives. I know I can be overbearing and intense. But Zoe and Peter need me. And they’re all I have.”

“They’re not all you have,” says Bunny. “And you have to start the process of letting them go. I’ve gone through this with three children already-believe me, I know. Fundamentally you have to make a break. In the end they’ll turn out to be exactly who they are, not who you want them to be.”

“Are you ready, Alice?” Caroline comes bounding out on the deck, dressed in her running gear.

“Speaking of,” says Bunny.

Caroline frowns and looks at her watch. “You said two, Alice. Let’s get going.”

“She’s a taskmaster, your daughter,” I say, getting to my feet.

“Alice-that was a nine-minute mile!”

“You’re kidding!” I gasp.

“I’m not. Look.” Caroline shows me her stopwatch.

“How the hell did that happen?”

Caroline bobs her head happily. “I knew you could do it.”

“Not without you. You’ve been a wonderful trainer.”

“Okay, let’s cool down,” says Caroline, slowing to a walk.

I give a little hoot.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Do you think I can get down to eight?”

“Don’t push it.”

We walk quietly for a few minutes.

“So how’s Tipi going?”

“Oh, Alice, I couldn’t be happier. And guess what? They offered me a full-time job! I start in two weeks.”

“Caroline! That’s wonderful!”

“It’s all falling into place. And I have to thank you, Alice. I don’t know what I would have done without your support and encouragement. You and William letting me stay here. And Peter and Zoe. Really, just incredible kids. Being with your family has been so good for me.”

“Well, Caroline, it was truly our pleasure and our gain. You’re a lovely young woman.”

When we get home, I pick up a laundry basket full of clean clothes that has been sitting in the middle of the living room floor for days and bring it upstairs into Peter’s room. I place the basket on the floor, knowing full well that it will now sit there for a week. He’s been petitioning for a later bedtime. I told him the day he started to put his clothes away and take a shower without me asking him to was the day I’d consider a later bedtime.

“You have so much energy, Alice. Maybe I should start running,” says Bunny, poking her head into the room.

“All thanks to your daughter,” I say. “And congratulations, by the way, to the mother of the recently gainfully employed. It’s incredible news about Tipi.”

Bunny’s eyes narrow. “What news?”

“That she’s been offered a full-time job?”

“What? I just got her an interview at Facebook. I pulled major strings to get it. Did she accept the job at Tipi?”

“Well, I think so. She seemed deliriously happy.” Bunny flushes red. “What’s wrong? She didn’t tell you? Oh, God, was it supposed to be a surprise? She didn’t say that. I just assumed she would have told you.”

Bunny shakes her head vigorously. “The girl has an advanced degree in computer science from Tufts. And she’s going to blow it all away working for some nonprofit!”

“Bunny, Tipi is not just some nonprofit. Do you know what they do? Microfinance. I think last year they gave away something like 200 million dollars in loans-”

Bunny cuts me off. “Yes, yes, I know, but how is the girl going to support herself? She’ll barely make a living wage at Tipi. You don’t understand, Alice. Your kids haven’t started to think about college yet. But here’s a piece of advice. The liberal-arts education days are over. Nobody can afford to major in English anymore. And don’t get me started on art history or theater. The future is math, science, and technology.”

“But what if your kids are bad at math, science, and technology?”

“Too bad. Force them to major in those subjects anyway.”

“Bunny! You can’t be serious. You of all people, who’s made a living in the arts all her life!”

“For crying out loud, you two,” says Caroline, stalking into the room. “Yes, Mom, it’s true. I’ve accepted the job at Tipi. And yes, it’s also true, I’ll be making basically minimum wage. So what? So is half the country. Actually, half the country would be lucky to be making minimum wage, to even have a job. I’m the lucky one.”