The door opened suddenly, and it was Jill with a peace offering—pizza—having forgotten, evidently, that we’d had pizza last night for dinner. She also had Atlas.
“I want to come to the wedding tomorrow. I can’t imagine you could get married and I wouldn’t be there. I gave my blessing after all. Well, I can imagine that you could get married and I wouldn’t be there, but I don’t like it.”
I walked directly over and took Atlas from her. He let out a squeal of delight. I turned around and walked straight up to his room, still mostly set up, slammed the door, and collapsed in the corner sobbing, rocking and rocking and rocking him in my lap. I expected Jill on my heels, but she had evidently concluded this was a cost of doing business or had forgiven me or chose just to let this one go. In any case, we had some time alone. “I love you and will always love you,” I whispered to his hair. “I will never let you go. It may seem like I’m not there, but I am there. I will always be there. I am always there. You are mine. You are always mine. We are always family, you and I.” Atlas did not seem to mind my hysteria or his newly sodden shirt. Atlas was entirely distracted by his yellow rabbit whom he’d evidently missed. Atlas seemed wholly healthy and well, happy, eating, repaired, and well. Atlas seemed home, but I knew he couldn’t stay for long.
After a while, Jill and Katie came in and joined us on the floor. Jill had a speech. She delivered it while playing with the blocks, stacking and unstacking and restacking, but never looking at any of the three of us. We looked at the blocks too. “I’m sorry but not entirely sorry. I’m sorry I yelled, but I was angry. I’m sorry I had you arrested, but I was scared. I’m sorry I overreacted, but I was angry and scared. I’m sorry I took all the furniture—I was feeling vindictive. I’m sorry I wouldn’t tell you where we were—I was being dramatic. Those are the things I am sorry for but not entirely. I also had a right to be scared and angry. And I have a right to do whatever I want with Atlas even if you don’t agree with it, even if it’s crazy.
“I also agree you have some right to Atlas but not entirely. I’ll still need help with childcare, especially during Summer Two, plus I might be getting a full-time job, and since you two will both still be in school, you’ll have a lot more flexible time than I will. I still want you to be a part of his life—a big part. I always want you to be a part of his life. But I don’t want to live with you two for the rest of mine. I want to live with Dan. Dan and I are going to try again. We already loved each other. And who wouldn’t love Atlas? I want to share but not entirely.”
This seemed to be her theme—some but not entirely. And I figured I could live with that because I had to live with that. She still wanted to consider us babysitters rather than family and, at that, at her convenience rather than ours. She was being condescending and selfish, and she still wasn’t getting it. But she was trying. And I was holding Atlas. And I figured I could live with that.
“We never thought we would all live together forever,” said Katie.
“No,” I agreed.
“We aren’t babysitters,” said Katie.
“No,” I agreed again.
“And furthermore,” said Katie, “we’re your friends. Forget family. Forget what you owe us. We’re your best friends. We have been for a long time. We only want what’s best for you and anyone you love. We can talk about stuff. We’re not mean and we’re not idiots. And we’re not characters. We’re friends. We treat you like that. You should treat us like that.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. And then added, “I’m keeping the dog.”
Because Jill is like this, after we all smiled gamely, exchanged hugs all around, and agreed to try, whatever that might entail, she asked if we would babysit so she and Dan could have an evening alone together. “We so totally need it,” she said conspiratorially. I swallowed my annoyance because it meant I got Atlas. Katie went over to Peter’s for a last not-married-yet evening together. I called Ethan and asked him to come over but didn’t tell him why. While we waited, I told Atlas all about what he’d missed—how sick he’d been, how worried I was, how his parents had had me arrested, how much better he was now, how his great-grandmother had died, how Ethan had kissed me on the mouth and apparently wanted to do it again. I knew he couldn’t understand. I just wanted him to know. I gave him his great-grandfather’s cufflinks to suck on for a while. Then I put them back in their box and put them away for him for a few more years until he was ready as my grandmother had instructed. “You can suck on them whenever you come over to visit me,” I promised him, and he seemed satisfied.
“There’s my baby,” said Ethan, delighted, when he walked in and found Atlas on the floor playing with the stacking cups. He scooped him up. More squeals of delight. Atlas thought everyone loved him because everyone he met did. “What happened here? Janey, you have made some very good progress. Unless you really did kidnap him this time. You didn’t kidnap him, did you?”
“Jill came over. She wants to go to the wedding tomorrow. She apologized but not entirely. She said she’d share but not entirely. She said she needs lots of babysitting help. She was really annoying but not entirely. Then she said she and Dan needed some alone time.”
“Ballsy,” said Ethan.
“Indeed.”
“So we get Atlas.”
“Indeed,” I said happily. We settled in with Atlas between us on the floor to watch the ballgame and eat yet more pizza because that was what there was.
“Jill learned to share,” offered Ethan during one of the commercials.
“I guess so. Or learned that she has no other choice.”
“You learned to forgive,” he somewhere between stated and asked and reached over Atlas as he did so and cupped the back of my head with his hand.
“Working on it,” I said.
“You learned you can never lose this child—”
“Maybe.”
“Because he will always be in your life—”
“Maybe.”
“Because that’s what family means—”
“Maybe.”
“And because you are a very good mother and a very good friend and a very, very good person.”
“Are you trying to make me cry?” I said.
“Maybe,” he said.
Ethan begged off early. Wedding setup (the guys’ job) started earlier than getting Katie dressed (ours). Katie came home, fairly floating, and then Jill, less so. It used to be that we sat on the floor together when we were having silly evenings or intimate ones or when we were watching Atlas play. Now we did it because Jill had taken all our furniture, but it conjured those evenings nonetheless. I couldn’t decide whether this recollection made me feel happy in the memory of it or sad in the vast gap that had opened up between then and now. Both I suppose. Sort of like the night before your best friend gets married—I was so happy for her, but also, I was pretty sad for me. There were so many ways in which this wedding was also loss.
“So are you nervous?” Jill asked Katie.
“No, actually.”
“You should be. You hardly know him. Marriage is long.” Jill, indelicate as ever, but I checked my annoyance because, the farthest reaches of my memory insisted, this was what we’d always loved about Jill, her bluntness and honesty.