“Ruby,” Eli said, as if repeating her daughter’s name would be the thing that kept her from going. “How can you do this to Ruby?”
Annette turned to face him with spine rigid and her hands clenched, so he wouldn’t see that she was shaking. “Eli, you know I tried.”
Eli was crying again. God. How many tears could one man hold? It was as if tears had replaced all the other fluids in his body; like he was a man made of tears. “Please,” he blubbered. “Please don’t go. Ruby needs a mother.”
Annette kept her eyes on the wall just beyond Eli’s left shoulder. “I have no doubt you’ll be able to find her a great one.” A nice-looking Jewish periodontist, even a divorced one with a young child, would have no problems attracting ladies. Eli would be fine. Ruby would be fine.
“My lawyer will be in touch.” She lifted her old, familiar duffel bag and felt herself relax, incrementally, as she settled its strap on her shoulder. “Goodbye, Eli,” she said. She pressed a gentle kiss against his cheek and pushed past him, out into the hallway, then down the stairs, then out onto the street, where she set down her bag and tilted her head back, eyes shut, just breathing. The air was sour, tinged with bus exhaust and grit, a faint whiff of dog urine. Annette could almost feel the dirt accruing in her pores, that greasy air leaving a film on her face. But in that moment, the air felt like the softest spring rain. Its scent was the finest perfume, and its taste was ambrosial, like clear water trickling down the throat of a woman who’d been crawling in the desert. When she lifted her hand, a cab pulled to the curb. The back seat stunk of body odor and cheap cologne. Annette sucked it down deep. She felt very light, as if she could float right out of the car. Warmth glowed in her chest like a small sun.
“Where to, miss?” asked the driver.
“Take me to the airport,” said Annette.
“Ah, JFK? Or LaGuardia? We have many airports.”
“Whichever one’s your favorite,” she said. She had settled her bag in her lap, like that was her baby, and as the driver pulled into traffic, Annette had held it against her like a shield; something to deflect whatever arrows came her way.
* * *
It took Eli longer than she would have expected to remarry, but when he did, Annette was pleased with his choice. She’d worried that, after her ignominious departure, Eli would find a woman who was, above all, compliant; someone who’d let him make the choices; a woman who wouldn’t have a career and wasn’t very smart. To her ex-husband’s credit, Sarah Levy-Weinberg was educated and accomplished. She had a career she seemed to like, and, at the dinner where they’d met, when Eli started talking about his marathon-training plan and the orthotics he’d gotten for his running shoes—“I swear to you, they’ve changed my life”—Sarah had given him a fond smile, patted his arm in what was clearly spousal Morse code for stop talking, and said, warmly, to Annette, “I’d love to hear more about Barcelona.”
Annette had expected judgment, but Sarah didn’t seem to be judging. Instead, Sarah was grateful. Not in a desperate, pathetic, your-child-made-my-life-complete way, but in a way that felt real and sincere. If Sarah didn’t understand Annette, if she resented or judged her for what she’d done, she kept it to herself.
At the dinner that Eli and Sarah hosted the night before Ruby’s bat mitzvah, at Ruby’s favorite dim sum restaurant, Annette stayed in the corner of the room and watched, marveling, as Ruby held ten-month-old Dexter in her arms, cradling him expertly, patting his back to coax a burp. Watching her daughter with a baby made Annette’s heart do strange things. She put a few dumplings on her plate and found a seat at the very end of the table. She was surprised when Sarah’s mother, Veronica, came and sat down beside her.
“I want to thank you,” Ronnie said. “Lee and I are so grateful we’ve gotten to have Ruby in our life.”
Annette was relieved to hear it. Especially since, according to Eli, Ruby at thirteen could be more of a pain in the ass than a gift. “She’s very determined,” Eli said. Just like her mom, Annette thought.
“You probably think I’m a monster,” Annette said, her voice low. Instead of the reflexive denial she’d been expecting, Ronnie shook her head.
“Being a parent is hard. And it isn’t for everyone. If you knew you couldn’t be the mother that Ruby deserved, leaving was the best thing you could have done,” she said.
“I worry she’ll have abandonment issues,” Annette said. “Maybe she won’t be able to trust people. Or she’ll think everyone’s going to leave her.”