Page 36 of Breathing Under Water

Berry

July 2023

“Stella, you’ve got to stop this.” I admonish my young assistant for bringing me an iced latte even as I reach out for it and take a long, appreciative sip. “I’m sure you have more important things to do than bring me coffee every morning.”

“I was stopping for an egg and cheese anyway, so what’s the difference?” She stands across from me in a lavender tunic dress she likes because purple is supposed to bring out the green in her eyes. Those eyes drop down to my desk as she notices the mess I’ve made. Strewn across the surface are materials from multiple hands-on learning kits, lots of brightly colored wires, control boards, and key caps.

“I’ve been evaluating these Arduino and littleBits sets to figure out which units make the most sense for our kids,” I explain. “And I find your generosity distracting.”

“Sue me if I like working for you and want to do nice things for you,” she says. “Can’t you just deal with it?” She reminds me so much of myself at her age. A scrappy kid from a modest upbringing who wants to work hard and make her way in an academic setting. I’m lucky to have her around.

I look back down at the plastic pieces scattered on the desktop. I’m trying to prepare us for more project-based learning at school, incorporating added time in the makerspace. It’s just one of the many changes that would benefit the kids while also proving to the board that I’m the best candidate for principal. It’s also something Neil Rumson left out of his grand master curriculum plan.

“I’ve got too much shit to do to worry about whether I’m taking advantage of your kindness, so could you just knock it off?” I wave a hand, shooing her away as I take another sip.

Instead of leaving, she gives me an irreverent smile. “It’s okay to let people spoil you sometimes. You don’t get to have a monopoly on that.” She’s just playing, but her comment pokes a tender place and brings Phil right back to mind.

It’s like I’ve been living with Jekyll and Hyde. One minute he’s asking if I need a foot rub, and the next he’s making snide remarks or stalking out of the room. We used to take care of each other, and now he wants nothing from me.

As if he can sense me thinking of him, a text pings on my phone.

Leo didn’t want to go to swimming today, so I dropped him at the Y on my way to work.

I respond immediately.Why didn’t he want to go?

I did notice Leo acting a little subdued last night. I thought he was still angry with me for going through his things, but as I watch the three little dots flicker on my phone, I realize Leo’s moodiness also coincides with the timing of the last swim lesson.

Before Phil responds, I ask,Didhe say what happened? Did someone upset him?Or something sensory?Maybe the swimmingis harder than Leo expected and he isn’t progressing how he’d hoped. Really, there could be so many reasons why this wasn’t a good idea after all.

Can you please land the damn helicopter and stop obsessing? All he said was he didn’t want to go today. That’s all I know. Let the kid be.

Helicopter! How dare he?! I guess we’re dealing with Mr. Hyde today.

I can think of plenty of things worse than caring too much. As supportive as Phil has been orwasover the years, when it really came down to it, I was the one who was there, the one who was present, the one who had to carry the emotional weight of it all, over and over. It was a mantle I never asked for, and I won’t be shamed for it now.

His recent behavior is making it all the clearer that it was me, always me, who was there. Where was my “devoted” husband all those times when Leo was a toddler, struggling so much with day care that one of us had to stay home instead? Where was he during elementary school on the days Leo had to be picked up early because he was disrupting class or upsetting other children? Who drove our son to all his speech therapy classes, his animal therapy classes? Who found him a specialized bar mitzvah tutor and drove him three towns over every week for all those months, while also getting him to his psychological therapy, his medical appointments, and that godforsaken orthodontist where he used to scream bloody murder? And now, now that Leo has become so much more capable, calmer, and easier to talk to, potentially even ready to prepare for independent living in the not-too-distant future, suddenly I’m supposed to stop giving a shit? It’s precisely because of all the effort I’ve put in over the years that he’s doing so well now.

But instead of hearing “Thank you, Berry,” I’m getting called names, being told I’m worried Leo won’t need me. Worrying aboutthat? As if I don’t want that for Leo! Leo’s independence is my dream in life!

Phil has never acknowledged the unequal load we’ve had ever since Leo was a young child. The hours, the effort, the orchestrating. I guess he was just too busy all those years, basking in the accolades dads get for doing one-eighth of what a mom does.

“Oh, isn’t Phil wonderful? So helpful!”they’d say because he came with me to a school meeting now and then. Now that shit is actually getting real and it’s time for Leo to really grow up, there’s suddenly no more “helpful Phil.” Instead he’s just an obstacle, standing in my way.

Fuck that.

I call Leo instead.

“Hey, hon,” I say when he picks up, and amazingly, my voice sounds calm. “Dad told me you didn’t want to go to swimming today. How come?”

“I don’t like swimming anymore.”

I wait for him to say more, like he usually does when he’s upset, but he stays quiet.

“Did something happen that upset you?”

He’s still silent on the other end of the line.

“Leo?” I prompt. “Remember sometimes it helps to talk about it.”