Independence Day. Amy Frazier
Isabel stood in the doorway. “I gotta use your bathroom. Gabriella’s hogging ours.”
Nick bristled. “Your mother and I are trying to have a conversation here.”
“Go right ahead.” Isabel whisked by them into the master bath, then slammed the door, making the pictures on the walls rattle in their frames. Behind the closed door the teenager broke into a caterwauling song of love lost.
Nick suddenly felt ambushed by females. His office at school, even with the attendant troubles, now seemed like a haven. Even the boys’ locker room would be a better hideout. An estrogen-free zone. Quelling his disloyal thoughts and mustering what little patience remained at his disposal, he stood. “Is it too much to ask for a little peace and quiet on my one day off?
Her husband’s intransigence fueled Chessie’s determination. He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t selfish. He was maddeningly preoccupied. But he’d been right about her needing to communicate if she wanted to be recognized—to be seen—and not simply as some competent mother of his children, some unobtrusive window dressing for his career.
“Some people are afraid of being fat and forty,” she said, persevering. “Do you know what I’m afraid of? I’m afraid I’m headed straight toward faded and forty.”
“It’ll never happen.” With obvious weariness Nick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fear of fading? After today? You’re going to have to think of some other excuse to pick a fight.”
“I’m not trying to pick a fight.” She began to pace. “I’m trying to start a dialogue.”
“I’m sensing lovemaking is fast becoming a long shot,” Nick said, making sure Isabel couldn’t hear him over her hurting song.
“I’ll tell you what. Let’s get kinky. Tonight let’s perform that over-the-top sex act, listening. How about it?”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Chess.”
A sudden overwhelming sadness sapped her energy. “I feel as if you’re slipping away from me.”
“Maybe that’s because I’m tired and I have a full day tomorrow. Trying to provide for my family.” His words sounded raw.
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