Flowers On A Tree

 II.

I wonder when or how he will appear. In what form. Perhaps as a casual text: "How are you?" A conversation on the sidewalk. A run-in at the grocery store? No, it will be a private message. As always. "Just checking in on life and kids" which will lead to "By the way I still think of you." I roll my eyes. Oh, I know him. There is a pattern. There is a history from before kids. Before marriage. Over a decade of inaction and action followed by waves of silence. Then action again. We have known each other for over twenty years. Half of our life spiders out in front of me as I stare at my glacially shrinking mummy tummy in the mirror. I cover myself in a nursing bra and a pretty-but-forgiving summer dress. It twirls when I spin around and is covered with red peonies on a black landscape. 

I remember his hands. Large and familiar, his long fingers splayed out. I remember every knuckle; every finger. I can feel his palms on me. I know the pads of his thumbs. I know how he holds a pen. How he carves his food. I can hear his voice when I close my eyes. I can see him when he crosses my mind. Henry stands behind me and is a foot taller. His smile is quiet. He knows me just as well as I know him. I finger the ruffles on my dress that meet in a v-shape around the front, halfway up and in between my thighs. "No," I tell myself, and let go of the dress.

Leaning closer to the mirror, I study myself. My eyes swoop up and down to survey my postpartum body. A short pretty package with curves. The daily cataloguing begins, as I lean forward to inspect the short tufts that have sprung out above the center above my forehead. A benefit from having your second daughter - apparently. I know that my hair will grow back though. Thank fucking goodness. I am pumping all of the collagen into my system as fast as I can. But it takes time. My hair is pretty and is in between brown and blonde. But it is pin-straight and thin. Unless it is short - then it curves into my shoulders, in haphazard zigzags. My eyes are large and round and a dark brown. A vanity point of mine. My face seems to be mine again, mostly, I think, as I try not to poke at it and stare at my nose. I wonder if it looks different or if it's just my imagination playing tricks on me. I look down and investigate my chin. "There shall be no chins plural in this house," I say in my best Ian McKellen voice. I stretch and jut my neck out and stare up at the ceiling, repeating the move a few times to prevent the chins from invading. My breasts are the size of two planets now but at least they do not leak much. Then I feel my stomach and frown at it. The lower mummy tummy that didn't used to be there. So much has been given and taken away by having children. I wonder if Henry saw me now, would he recognize the girl in me is still here or the woman he knew in her twenties? Then a small and dangerous thought. Would he still want me? 

"Oh shut up," I tell myself. "You look beautiful," I say, which is true, although I suck in my stomach as I say it. I let it hang where it lays, then suck it in again, and twist myself from side to side. I believe what I say most of the time. Some of the time, I think, as I poke my belly button, and assess the curtain of stomach that remains under it, parting in the middle like a lowercase w for 'welcome to 40.' But, my feet are no longer swollen, and that is wonderful. I stare at them and wiggle my toes, inspecting my high arches - another vanity point. The ankles seem to have become ankles again and are no longer giant white bananas. They might be ready for high heels and pumps again. The shoe lover in me does a happy shuffle ball, ball change tap dance. I rotate my ankles while I think about the dream for a moment longer, then glance up at my face in the mirror.

"Well," I tell myself with a smile, as I turn to the right, "I still have my ass," giving it a friendly pat. It has not pancaked itself and remains quite there. I run my hands over my arms and squeeze them in a quick hug, then allow myself one quiet sigh. Upon further inspection, I decide to leave my face bare. It's a good face. It can hold up on its own. Just lipgloss and a clean face. I bite the corner of my lower lip and nod my head as if to say "That'll do." Then I slide my feet into a pair of black pumps, just to try them on before I'll actually need to wear them somewhere. I let out a grateful grunt as I learn that they are no longer so snug. I'm spraying a bit of perfume on my wrists when I hear an orchestra of giggles and a man's deep laugh on our driveway. 

As they get closer, Jane's voice becomes clearer and so does Adam's. They are talking about the clouds and what Jane sees in them. It makes me smile. Atticus has already hurled his giant body down the stairs to greet them at the entrance from the garage-side of our house. "Sit, Atticus!" I call down to him. It sounds like he's obeyed - this time.

A rainbow runs up the stairs to tell me about her adventures on their walk. 

"Mommy! We saw two butterflies on our walk, and we saw four rabbits and a dog and some squirrels and I collected lots and lots and lots of rocks for Beth to look at and it was so much fun! Did you get some good sleep, Mommy? Can we go to the playground today?" Jane is spinning in a circle the entire time as she talks.

"Hello, my little wildflower," I reply, and gather her in for a hug before she runs off to give Atticus some pets. I reach out for Beth, who is snuggling into Adam's shoulder and give him a quick kiss during the pass off.

"You smell good," he says, and leans into my neck to sniff. 

"I smell clean," I quip and step away to give Beth her millionth bottle. She gurgles and smiles, batting for the bottle with her fists until it finds its home in her mouth. "Hello, my little sunbeam," I whisper, kissing the top of her head and inhaling. She still smells like a baby. 

Adam moves to the opposite side of our blue sectional and starts to fold a basket of laundry while Jane continues to dance and talk about all of the plans that she has for us for today. It's a Saturday and everything is good. Everything is good, I tell my mind. Then I place a hand on Beth's chest, where her heart lies. Adam sees me do so and I watch him assess quickly and silently. I smile at him then turn my head to look out through the windows behind me at the flowering tree in our front yard. My eyes are wet and I try not to let them spill any tears, pulling the grief back into me. Keeping quiet. Keeping calm. Keeping still. I hear him peppering Jane with questions to distract her. Beth grunts and paws at my left breast and I turn my attention back to her as I adjust the angle of the bottle.

"Let's go to that playground in Abel, after Beth's nap. We'll pack a picnic for lunch," I announce. Adam nods his head and stands up to take Beth for a diaper change. He leans down to whisper in my ear, "Everything will be good." His eyes are soft and gentle now. "I know," I reply, and shelve the fears for another moment. For when I can be alone with them. 

I hug my arms again and stand up to stretch. Jane launches herself towards me for another hug. "Let's play monster tag, Mommy!" I smile and ruffle her hair, full of wild curls and sunlight. "Argh!" I growl, arms raising up above my head, "I am a fluffy monster and I want to eat you!" She giggles and runs into the kitchen to hide. "You can't catch me! You can't catch me!" "Ah hah," I growl, "The game is afoot!" Jane laughs. "You can't eat my foot, monster!" We run around the kitchen island, ridiculous fools, yelling about fluffy monsters until I catch her and nibble at her foot while she tries to tickle me.