Chapter 5
Molly had gone to Mick’s parents’ house for dinner, a weekly occurrence since the very earliest days of their relationship. Nell had sat at her own table with Felicity, trying to imagine what was going on around the Williamses’ table that evening. She wondered if Mick had detected signs of Molly’s withdrawing from him. He might not have, because he was extremely busy with running the farm. And why would he think that his girlfriend of almost six years was about to run off? If he did detect some unusual moods, he might simply attribute them to the difficult emotions a holiday could stir up. Mick was well aware of Molly’s troubled relationship with her father. He might assume that memories of the Christmases before the divorce were plaguing the woman who was effectively his fiancée.
While Nell’s thoughts had been with Molly, Felicity had gone on about how Pam had emailed her to say that she had gotten another promotional deal, this time with a big watch company Nell had never even heard of, and that the company was flying her to Los Angeles for the first photo shoot and that if Felicity wanted, she could have Pam’s Rolex because as part of the deal she had signed with this premier company Pam would be given their latest model ladies’ watch and would be expected to wear it in public. Nell had given the trusty Fossil watch she had been wearing every day for the past four years a surreptitious look and pretended to be interested in Pam’s news.
Now in her room, the kitchen tidied and Felicity doing her homework, Nell reached for her cell phone. She didn’t like to turn to her ex-husband for advice and certainly not for comfort, but when it came to their children she put her own feelings aside. Still, she hoped that Pam wouldn’t answer the phone. Nell didn’t feel up to hearing that perky voice that announced by its very tone that the speaker was beautiful and successful and a good deal younger than her husband’s ex-wife. Little wonder Joel had fallen for Pam hook, line, and sinker when they met at a very expensive fund-raising dinner for a very fashionable cause that Nell had been too sick with the flu to attend.
Fortunately, Joel answered.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” Nell began, sitting back against the pillows on her bed.
“No. Taylor’s asleep and Pam just headed out to meet some friends. What’s up? Are the girls okay?”
So Nell told him about Molly’s decision to end her relationship with Mick and to move to Boston with, it seemed, no particular plan in place. “It’s come out of the blue,” Nell told him. “I can’t understand it at all.”
“Maybe she just has cold feet,” Joel suggested. “Maybe she just needs to sow a few wild oats before settling down.”
“But she’s never been the cowardly or the wild type,” Nell protested.
“Well,” Joel said, “whatever her motive, I’ll be happy to help support her until she finds a decent job. And I’m sure Pam won’t mind if she wants to stay at our apartment. We’re hardly ever there.” Joel sighed. “But why do I think she’ll reject my help? There’s been no change in her attitude toward me, has there?”
“Sadly, no,” Nell told him. “She doesn’t talk much about it, but it’s clear she’s still angry about the divorce.”
“Not about the divorce,” Joel corrected. “About my instigating it.”
“Things could change. Maybe when . . .” Nell laughed ruefully. “I was going to say that maybe when she has children of her own she’ll feel moved enough to accept you back into her life. But now it looks as if she might not be having children any time soon, if ever.”
“Don’t leap to conclusions, Nell. You’ll only drive yourself crazy.”
But isn’t that a mother’s job? Nell asked silently. To drive herself crazy? “I’ll try,” she said. “Good night, Joel. Thanks for listening.”
“Good night, Nell,” he said. “Be well.”
Nell plugged her cell phone into its charger, slipped into her favorite flannel nightgown, and brought her laptop into the bed. Okay, she thought. Let’s see what the experts have to say about empty nest syndrome.
It didn’t take long for Nell to realize that the experts had an awful lot to say. One website claimed that the transition from full-time mother to “independent woman” could take up to two years. That was an interesting choice of words, Nell thought. Were the authors of the website implying that a woman caring for young children was somehow dependent on those children as they were dependent on her? Another website advised that a mother be gentle with herself while grieving the loss of her children’s presence under her roof. Good advice, Nell thought. If only she knew exactly what being gentle with one’s self meant. A third site declared that sympathy for the grieving parent could be scarce as children leaving the nest was normal and indeed desirable. That was understandable. And yet another explained that making empty nest syndrome more difficult to bear for so many women was the fact that they were also going through menopause and that in addition many had the financial burden of helping to support their parents. Nell was not menopausal; neither was she funding her well-off parents. In fact, her parents didn’t seem to need anything at all from her. Nor did her ex-husband. And soon, her daughters wouldn’t need her, either. What then? “I’ll have been made redundant,” Nell whispered to the room. “Unnecessary. Unwanted.” And who were you if you couldn’t define yourself as someone who was needed?
Nell read on. This particular website urged that a person choose to see the “empty nest” as an opportunity to revive old interests. But I have no interests other than my children, Nell thought. And she hadn’t had any other interests since the days when she had known and loved Eric Manville. The Eric Manville. Long before he had become a household name he had been her friend, her lover, and the greatest supporter of her passionate love for poetry. The man she had wanted to marry.
But that was all in the past. With a determined shake of her head, Nell exited the website and went on to another. The authors of this online support group opined that anticipation of the loss of a child under one’s roof was often greater than the reality of the loss. They suggested a parent try to imagine particular moments without the child in the house, for example, a Saturday evening or a Monday morning. “Without X, there is Y,” was the structure of this imaginative exercise. The future, referred to on this site as the “post-parental period,” should be seen as a time of great freedom. Post-parental. Nell shuddered. It was a cold and awful term.
Nell had had enough. She shut the laptop, turned out the light on her bedside table, and slid under the covers. She had taken her friend’s suggestion and had sought advice from the experts, but she wasn’t at all sure the words of wisdom had done her any good.
It was a long time before Nell was visited by sleep.