Balancing Act

This was when she’d given up. She and Colleen would go on putting down their roots here in St. Paul. They had a great house in a great neighborhood. She had good friends she’d made over the past ten years, and more friends she’d begun to make with other mothers since adopting Colleen. They were both happy at the day-care center, and she’d begun to consider schools for her daughter’s education later on.

Brady was looking at her as if all of this—this failure, this distance, this determined independence—was scrolling across her forehead like a TelePrompTer, and as if it said as much about who she was as did her taste in clothes. It probably did.

Their pizza arrived, along with salad and soda pop for the adults. Brady took a knife, cut a slice of pizza into bite-sized pieces for Scarlett, then used it to lift a second slice onto Libby’s plate, while she was occupied in helping Colleen. He had big hands, but he used them well, with sure, economical movements.

Sliding a third slice onto his own plate, he got some sauce on his forefinger and casually wiped it into his mouth.

“You said you didn’t want to wait before we talked,” he said. “Does that mean you already know what you want to do?”

“It means I know what we have to do,” she corrected him quickly. “As I see it, Brady, there’s no choice.”

She took a small bite of the hot, crisp slice, but her appetite didn’t respond. Her stomach was far too churned up to feel hungry, and she was nauseous. She had a deep, instinctive dread of laying her emotional cards on the table like this, which she could never really understand. It wasn’t fair to blame Glenn and the patterns that had evolved during their marriage.

“Okay, so tell me.” Brady leaned forward a little, his face serious and steady.

“I don’t buy your point about visits and access, like after a divorce,” she began.

“No?” He looked as if he was sincerely ready to listen, and she liked that. Grabbed on to it hard, gritted her teeth, fought back the nausea, and hoped with her whole heart.

“These girls have already lost both their biological parents, whoever they were,” she went on. “During the adoption ceremony in Vietnam, we undertook to keep them in touch with their cultural heritage.”

“Yes, I remember that bit.”

“It’s going to be hard to make that more than a token thing, across a whole, huge ocean. I can’t justify making their relationship with each other only a token thing, as well. The girls are way too young just to put them on a plane and send them back and forth, in any case, and there’s only one way I can see to avoid doing that,” she finished on a rush of words that came out more aggressively than she’d intended.

“Yeah?” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. His attitude had changed. He looked skeptical, now, ready to shoot first and ask questions later.

She lifted her chin, took a deep breath and just said it. “One of us is going to have to move.”

Okay, Brady thought.

Hadn’t he known something like that was coming? Wasn’t it the only reasonable solution a sane, feeling person could come up with? It wasn’t so drastic. People moved from one part of the country to another for far less meaningful reasons. And wouldn’t he have said it himself, if she hadn’t?

No, he wouldn’t. Not yet.

He didn’t like the way she’d said “one of us,” and he wasn’t fooled by the apologetic spread of her dainty, pretty hands as soon as she finished speaking, nor by the nervous lapping of her pink tongue against the still-glistening color on her upper lip as she waited for his response.

He took a large bite of pizza, aware that she’d barely touched her own slice.

So one of them was going to have to move? Hanging in the air, unspoken, he could almost hear her corollary, “And I’m happy and set up in St. Paul, so I don’t see why it should be me.”

Well, she was wrong about that.

This was why he hadn’t wanted to discuss it so soon. He’d known that if she really believed in the importance of keeping the girls connected, this was the solution she’d propose. He’d seen it coming, in his own heart and in hers, but he’d wanted to wait, in the hope they’d each manage to build a little trust.

This was why he’d asked her all those questions, just now. He’d wanted to gauge the ties she had here in Minnesota, and whether there was any possible way she could justify asking him to uproot his life. If he moved, he would have to sell his company, deprive Scarlett of a close, loving grandmother, start over in a new state and a new town. When Libby had no family here, and could easily get a job almost anyplace she went, was it unreasonable, on his part, to expect her to make the move?

He didn’t think so, and she might as well know it upfront. He wasn’t going to leave himself open to emotional manipulation.

“Columbus is a great place to raise kids,” he said steadily, not quite smiling. “Housing is affordable. People are friendly. Winters are mild compared to here. You’re going to love it. I’ll even help you with your move.”

He’d made her speechless. That wasn’t a bad thing. She sat there, slowly turning pink, with her pretty mouth dropped open. She looked at Colleen, looked at him, looked at Scarlett. Still didn’t say a word. Closed her mouth eventually, as if she knew it was more polite, and went on saying nothing.

So maybe he should give himself more credit for his powers of speech. He knew that running his own company for the past five years had honed his ability to handle careless sub-contractors and late-paying clients.

State your position up-front and show the opposition how he or she stands to win. Build immediately on your advantage.

It seemed he’d honed his ability to handle personal relationships as well, because even now, after he’d given her plenty of time, she still didn’t speak, and he still had the upper hand.

“I could see you in Upper Arlington,” he went on. “Worthington, or maybe Clintonville, where I live myself. Bexley is beautiful, but that’s on the other side of town from where I’m located.”

“I guess it wouldn’t make sense to move seven hundred miles and have the girls still end up a long drive from each other,” Libby said at last. Her voice shook a little, Brady thought.

Was she trying not to cry? Yeah, he felt a little emotional, too. Both of their lives had turned upside-down today. He was still crossing his fingers that they’d each flipped in the same direction.

He waited once more for her to make some kind of a counter offer, as a potential client might do in response to his company’s cost estimation on a big project.

I’ll move, but not until spring.

I’ll move, but it would seem fair if you covered half the expenses.

I’ll move, but I’ll need somewhere to stay until I can decide where I want to live, and whether I want to rent or buy. And there has to be a fall-back if it doesn’t work out. I don’t want to sell my house in St. Paul, and I want to get back here sometimes to see friends.

She didn’t say any of that. Instead, she poured herself some more pop, and Colleen some more juice. Then she helped with Colleen’s pizza.

Brady saw that her hands were shaking, and he felt an odd and powerful need to take them between his work-hardened palms and say, “Stop. It’s okay. Are you upset at the thought of moving? If you feel that strongly about it, St. Paul looks like a great city, and I’ll love it here.”

Was that what she wanted? Were the shaking hands just a cold-blooded example of the kind of emotional manipulation he couldn’t stomach? Was the silence an opportunity for her to hone her strategy? It wouldn’t surprise him. Some women played their relationships like chess games. He just wished Libby would say what she felt, and say it clearly. But she didn’t.

Instead, she was speaking in a bright tone to her daughter. “Let me cut that piece in half for you, honey. Yes, I know you want to do it yourself, but this bit Mommy has to help with. There you go, beautiful.”

He liked the way she talked to her daughter. Sweet and steady and clear. Plenty of endearments, but not too much fussing. Suddenly he found himself making the counter offers for her. All of them. In the same clipped, confident voice he used when proposing contract terms.

“Wait till spring if you want, and count on me to cover the moving expenses,” he said. “I have a pretty big place. You can stay there, with your own room and bathroom, while you decide on a permanent place. You don’t need to sell your house here right away. Best for both of us if you have some fall-back in case this doesn’t work out.”

“You’ve thought it through, haven’t you?” There was a note of controlled accusation in her voice.

“Didn’t take long,” he answered. “Most of it’s obvious. Makes sense that neither of us burns our bridges. Makes sense for you to have the time you need.”

“And is there a deadline on my decision?”

He shot her a closer look. Was she angry? Her voice was still just as sweet and steady. Her cheeks were still just as pink. He didn’t know what to think, didn’t understand what was going on in her head.

When Mom was angry or upset, she said exactly what was on her mind. Loudly. When she tried some underhanded tactics and he confronted her with them, she confessed at once. He appreciated that.

With Stacey, in contrast, it had been like building a house on quicksand. She’d lied. She’d pretended to have emotions she didn’t feel in order to get her way. She’d played on the beliefs she knew he had about duty and honor. She’d splashed around her emotions—genuine and false—like a one-year-old throwing food.

He waited for a mild, Miss Minnesota Princess version of either Mom or Stacey, but nothing happened, and this left him at a loss. Colleen shifted in her seat and looked uncomfortable. She provided a welcome change of focus. The restaurant was filling fast, and the noise level was rising, along with the smell of pizza in the oven.