The One Who Got Away: A Novel by Bethany Bloom Page A

there.”
    “What about your kids? They
wouldn’t be the same.”
    “You know what? That's precisely
it. That's what makes you, at some point, believe that whatever happens—whatever
arbitrary decisions you’ve made – those were the ones that were meant to be.
That it couldn’t be any other way.” She found another match, rolled the socks, and
continued. “I can’t imagine life without my kids. These kids. Not one
freckle or hair different, and that means the life decisions I’ve made, though
they’ve landed me in debt and dishwater and dirty socks…these were the
decisions I was meant to make.” She laughed, spun around, clutched her arms to
her chest, and said, “All this….it was my destiny!”
    Their mom’s voice came in from
behind them, at the top of the stairs, “For what it’s worth, I think all of
your decisions have been glorious, Yarrow. And I think your kids are glorious,
too. But, you know, when you made all of those decisions you weren’t
necessarily thinking about ten years down the road. You just started to live .”
    How long had Christine been
standing there? Olivine’s face flushed and she bowed her head over the laundry
basket.
    “You got married so young,
Yarrow, that you weren’t accustomed to being on your own. You never knew how to
be selfish with your time,” Christine said. “You hadn’t gotten used to being
alone. You just got married and that was that. The path of your life was sort
of… set. And here you are.” She paused and folded her arms. “New decisions
every day.”
    “Yeah. Guess I didn’t know any
better,” Yarrow replied. “And now, before I make any kind of decision…whether I
want to go to the store, whether I want to go two hundred miles away on
vacation, I have to consider five other opinions.” 
    “But you, Olivine,” Christine
said, “you can make all kinds of decisions. You can luxuriate in the not
knowing. You can go one direction, or you can go another. You have only
yourself to consult.”
    “I can’t ‘luxuriate’ in any ‘not
knowing’ if I want to make a family,” Olivine replied.
    “Is that what you’re thinking
about these days?” Christine paused to look at her before picking up a stack of
towels and turning to take them downstairs. “You know that’s the first time
I’ve ever heard you talk about a family. I mean, without me bringing it up.”
    “It is not.”
    “Oh, trust me, Olivine. It is. These
are the things that moms pay attention to.”
    A bang came from downstairs,
followed by their father’s roaring laugh. Then, doors slamming, giggles, more
squeals, and a clatter. Mom took off down the stairs, balancing the stack of
towels in one palm.
    “Oy. What now?” Yarrow said,
laughing as she twisted her hair into a loose bun and secured it with a pencil that
she found on top of the dryer.
    “Come on,” Yarrow said, squeezing
Olivine’s hand and then releasing it as she whispered, “Let’s pour the wine for
your I-have-a-secret and-I’m-not-telling-anyone party.”
    *****
    Dinner passed the way these
dinners did. Artie told a joke, which made one of the kids laugh, which made
another one snort, which made milk shoot out of another one’s nose, which made
them all laugh some more. And when the food was eaten, the kids cleared their
plates and went into the adjoining room, Marcus carrying baby Claire. And there
they sat to watch four men on the television who were wearing bright colors and
singing about fruit salad in high-pitched voices.
    The adults lingered over the
table, all the dishes left just as they were; everyone afraid to clear them
lest it signal the time to leave, and no one was ready for that. The
conversation turned to young love, to relationships, and, then, to proposals. Olivine
narrowed her eyes at Yarrow, who shrugged and looked away.
    Yarrow and Jon told the story of
how they met. It was a story they had all heard before, but Yarrow added little
details; specifics that made it feel like it