The Ocean in Winter by Elizabeth de Veer

Author:Elizabeth de Veer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing
Published: 2021-04-08T21:57:21+00:00

Chapter 14

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Colleen

The fire seems to inspire some fatherly instinct in Eric, because all of a sudden, he’s going out of his way to be helpful. He invites Maddie, Ethan, and me to pile into the condo, so we do, and it becomes a refuge of sorts. Maddie sleeps in the extra bedroom that was her nursery when she was a baby; Ethan sleeps on a cot in Eric’s room. I am on the couch. There is one bathroom for all four of us. Conditions are tight. Emotions are fragile.

Eric somehow feels the need to stay close to us and drives us to Marshall’s to shop for new clothes. And the three of us need everything: shoes, socks, underwear, school clothes, exercise clothes, warm layers, winter coats, and many other basics. We needed to roam and gather; Eric needed to buy groceries.

“What should I get?” he asked. I was so drained, I could not begin to put together a grocery list or to even answer such a ridiculous question.

“You know what we eat,” I said. “Just get that.”

Only, apparently Eric doesn’t know what we eat, because he bought loads of exactly the things we do not eat. Cheetos. Coca-Cola. Frozen chocolate cake. Tater tots. Taquitos. Pizza rolls. Pop-Tarts. Frozen burritos. Presweetened oatmeal in packets and presugared yogurt in cups.

I get it, it’s comfort food. I get it, he actually is trying to be a good dad, to take care of his kids. The kids eat junk every time they’re out of my sight, so I try to keep the food at home at least somewhat nutritious. And his selections were not quite up to par.

As he unloaded the bags of groceries, I thought my eyes would pop out. I felt my lips curl into a sneer. But I took a deep, cleansing breath and tried very hard to look in the other direction.

Then it is Tuesday morning, our third morning crammed in here. I wake up on the couch feeling like I never quite went to sleep, my throat raw with exhaustion, my jaw tender from stress. My current pajamas are purple sweatpants and a long, sloppy T-shirt. I go to the little kitchen to make coffee, which Eric and I drink in flimsy mugs that we bought a few years ago for the renters. When the kids wake up, I feel another wave of confusion; I do not recognize their night clothes. Ethan in a T-shirt I’ve never seen before and blue pajama bottoms that look like surgical scrubs; Maddie wears a women’s pajama set intended as a Valentine’s gift for some lucky gal (and thus was on sale the day after)—a pink background covered with illustrated Hershey’s kisses and long-stemmed roses.

They both look like burgeoning adults, and I am not prepared to see this.

The two yawn and bump into each other and us as they prepare bowls of cereal. Then Eric reaches into a high cupboard and pulls down a box of breakfast flakes.

“Here you go, buddy,” he says to Ethan.

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