You and Me and Us: a Novel by Alison Hammer

Author:Alison Hammer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2020-01-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Two

Alexis

It used to be I was the one who fell asleep first. But lately, Tommy can barely keep his eyes open by the time we crawl into bed. Tonight, he had to stop and catch his breath three times on his way up the stairs. Between that and all the excitement at dinner, he was asleep before I turned off the lights.

After CeCe and Beau ran off, Lou excused herself, saying she had to get up early for work the next morning. She couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Not that I could blame her. I couldn’t wait to escape all the sad faces and uncomfortable glances, either.

It’s hard enough to hear Tommy making light of everything that’s happening, but when he said the word “funeral.” It was like I could see her heart shattering in a million pieces, right before my eyes.

Thank goodness Tommy said he’d talk to her in the morning. I wouldn’t know where to start, but he’s always had a special way with CeCe. Even when she was a baby, he was the one who knew the difference between her cries—when she was hungry or tired or needed to be changed. He was the one who knew how to hold her just right, rocking her to sleep in his arms. Tommy made everything seem effortless. When I tried, she would scream and scream until her face turned red, as if I were a stranger. Which I guess I was.

I blamed myself for going back to work a few weeks before my maternity leave was up. I’d been itching to go back, not because I didn’t love being with CeCe, but because I was desperate to feel like me again. And I felt more like myself when I was surrounded by deadlines and creative briefs than dirty diapers and baby talk.

By the time she grew up into an adorable little person with opinions and stories and a personality all her own, I had already become the third wheel of our family. I never stopped trying, though.

I almost always called to say “sweet dreams” back when Tommy still tucked her in at night, and as she got older I made an effort to read the same books and listen to the same music so we’d have something real to talk about, to bond over. It didn’t always work, but at least she saw me trying. I hope she noticed that.

It was more than my mother did—and she didn’t even have a good excuse. She stopped working when I was born and still didn’t have time for me. Of course, she had more than enough time for all the committees she chaired, the charity balls she planned, and her six-year streak as the president of the PTA. The irony isn’t lost on me. Neither is the fact that my dad worked even longer hours than I do now, yet he never felt the need to justify his time.

Eventually, I stopped craving my parents’ time and attention. I was proud of my independence, the fact that I didn’t need anyone else.

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