Three Attempts
In the wake of the tramp-fucking incident, I tried to see the situation from Jessica’s perspective. I realized that if it were my kids spending time with an unknown woman, I might be uneasy about it, too. If James and I were getting serious—and it appeared that we were—I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with his ex. I opted to give Jessica the benefit of the doubt.
I would introduce myself, I decided, and let her know that I was a nice, normal person whom she could trust around her children. I was sure she’d appreciate this effort. Perhaps it would even help smooth relations between her and James.
Boy, was I wrong.
I would introduce myself, I decided, and let her know that I was a nice, normal person whom she could trust around her children. I was sure she’d appreciate this effort. Perhaps it would even help smooth relations between her and James.
Boy, was I wrong.
* * *
In February, Jessica sustained an injury while on the job. This was not as devastating as it sounded—she was an executive assistant, not a construction worker. She pulled a muscle in her back while lifting three-ring binders from the trunk of her boss’ car.
But with her birdlike frame and hypochondriac tendencies, Jessica parlayed her sore back into temporary disability and stopped going to work. Avery said that her mom could barely walk and had to lie flat on the couch all day. She was reportedly in excruciating pain.
James suspected that she was exaggerating the injury. “You know, I’d forgotten about this,” he mused, “but when we were married, Jess would occasionally complain about heart problems. We’d go to the ER and she’d get a bunch of tests, but they never found anything wrong. She did it every year or two, whenever she wanted sympathy and attention.”
“So, you don’t think it’s real?” I asked.
“I think she probably hurt herself. But I don’t think it’s as serious as she claims.”
“But she stopped going to work.”
He shrugged. “She’s an opportunist. She found a way to get paid for a few months without having to work.”
“Will this affect her child support payments?” I wondered.
He looked at me, surprised. “Jess has never paid me child support,” he said. “Are you kidding? She doesn’t even pay her half of the kids’ dental bills most of the time.”
“But you’re the primary caregiver,” I said, confused. “Doesn’t she have to pay you child support?”
“I never applied for it.”
“Seriously? In, what, six years? Seven years?”
“Seven,” he said. “I make enough money. It hasn’t been necessary. And Jess is so difficult to deal with, I’d rather not bother.”
“But James! It’s her responsibility.”
“Believe me,” he said, “Jess is not going to give me any money without grief. She’d probably sue for custody again, just to avoid the child support payments. I’d rather not poke the bear.”
Their mother’s injury had the girls subdued. They called her every day, sometimes twice, to check how she was feeling. Their time at her house was spent catering to her needs and tiptoeing around her naps.
The weeks went by, but Jessica showed no signs of improving. A month later she was just as freshly injured as ever. The kids’ concern hadn’t waned, but they were tiring from the effort. They became short-tempered with James and lacked patience with me.
Now when I saw them, it took the girls a little while to warm up to me. It was like the shadow of their mother’s house hung over them longer and longer each time they left it.
Avery confided to James that her mother didn’t like me. When he asked why—and pointed out that she’d never met me—Avery shrugged. “I don’t know why,” she said. “But Mom really doesn’t like her.”
I decided that this was my opportunity to reach out to Jessica and try to smooth the path. I composed an email:
Hi Jess,
I’m writing in hopes that we can meet face to face, and allow me the chance to introduce myself. I think you deserve to know who's spending time with your kids. I also think it would be a relief for the girls to see that the adults in their lives are trying to get along. We don't have to be friends, but we can be cordial with one another. Maybe we could meet one Sunday when you exchange the girls?
I hope you're feeling well again soon.
Take care,
Marie
I could tell James wasn’t thrilled by my outreach, but he didn’t try to stop me. He gave me Jess’ email address and one suggestion.
“Don’t call her ‘Jess’,” he said. “She hates it. She always says, ‘My name is Jessica.’”
I thanked him and made the adjustment.
“She’s not going to reply,” he warned me. “I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“I won’t be,” I said.
But I was secretly sure that I would impress her with my sincerity. I thought maybe I could navigate my way around their bitter history and spark a fresh start.
I was pretty naïve.
Weeks passed and my email went unanswered. Despite James’ warning, I was disappointed, and a little indignant. But I remained determined. If email wasn’t effective, I would introduce myself to her in person.
On Easter Sunday I went with James to collect the girls from Home Depot. We planned to have a nice dinner at my house before he and the kids went home to San Carlos. And I planned to walk up to the car and say hello to Jessica and Max as they dropped off the kids.
James was even less enthused about this idea, but I was sure it was the right move.
“It’s ridiculous that we can’t say hello to one another,” I told him. “It’s crappy behavior to model to the kids. I’m just going to introduce myself when they drive up, shake their hands and say hi.” I didn’t feel quite as breezy as I sounded. “Let’s get there early so we can be waiting.”
James opted to stay in the car while I stood by myself, leaning against the hood, watching for their arrival. When they pulled up a short while later, Max angled his car perpendicular to ours, so that I was facing him through the closed driver’s side window. Jessica wasn’t with him—still prone on the couch, I surmised. No matter, I told myself. I was going to do this anyway.
I realized I was nervous as I approached his car. My heart was pounding fast, but I kept my voice light. “Hello!” I called, and waved. Max craned his head away from me, toward the backseat. He was saying goodbye to the girls.
“Hello!” I called again. I leaned down to the window and tapped on the glass. “Hi Max!”
There was no way he didn’t hear me knock on his window, but Max kept his head twisted in the opposite direction. I saw the kids notice me from the backseat. They both climbed out of the car on the passenger side, but Max didn’t turn around.
I rapped a little harder on the window. “Hi Max!” I called, louder. “It’s Marie!”
No sooner had the kids closed their door than Max turned to face front, hit the gas, and absolutely peeled out of the parking lot. I jumped back, afraid he would run over my feet.
“Jesus,” I said, stunned. The kids and I stood facing each other a car’s width apart.
“Are everybody’s toes okay?” I asked. They nodded.
James had jumped out of the car when he saw Max speed away. Now he looked over his kids to make sure they were all right. I stood outside as he helped them into the car and closed their door. “Did you see that?” I said in a low voice. “What the hell was that about?”
“I told you. He’s a fucking asshole,” James said grimly.
But with her birdlike frame and hypochondriac tendencies, Jessica parlayed her sore back into temporary disability and stopped going to work. Avery said that her mom could barely walk and had to lie flat on the couch all day. She was reportedly in excruciating pain.
James suspected that she was exaggerating the injury. “You know, I’d forgotten about this,” he mused, “but when we were married, Jess would occasionally complain about heart problems. We’d go to the ER and she’d get a bunch of tests, but they never found anything wrong. She did it every year or two, whenever she wanted sympathy and attention.”
“So, you don’t think it’s real?” I asked.
“I think she probably hurt herself. But I don’t think it’s as serious as she claims.”
“But she stopped going to work.”
He shrugged. “She’s an opportunist. She found a way to get paid for a few months without having to work.”
“Will this affect her child support payments?” I wondered.
He looked at me, surprised. “Jess has never paid me child support,” he said. “Are you kidding? She doesn’t even pay her half of the kids’ dental bills most of the time.”
“But you’re the primary caregiver,” I said, confused. “Doesn’t she have to pay you child support?”
“I never applied for it.”
“Seriously? In, what, six years? Seven years?”
“Seven,” he said. “I make enough money. It hasn’t been necessary. And Jess is so difficult to deal with, I’d rather not bother.”
“But James! It’s her responsibility.”
“Believe me,” he said, “Jess is not going to give me any money without grief. She’d probably sue for custody again, just to avoid the child support payments. I’d rather not poke the bear.”
Their mother’s injury had the girls subdued. They called her every day, sometimes twice, to check how she was feeling. Their time at her house was spent catering to her needs and tiptoeing around her naps.
The weeks went by, but Jessica showed no signs of improving. A month later she was just as freshly injured as ever. The kids’ concern hadn’t waned, but they were tiring from the effort. They became short-tempered with James and lacked patience with me.
Now when I saw them, it took the girls a little while to warm up to me. It was like the shadow of their mother’s house hung over them longer and longer each time they left it.
Avery confided to James that her mother didn’t like me. When he asked why—and pointed out that she’d never met me—Avery shrugged. “I don’t know why,” she said. “But Mom really doesn’t like her.”
I decided that this was my opportunity to reach out to Jessica and try to smooth the path. I composed an email:
Hi Jess,
I’m writing in hopes that we can meet face to face, and allow me the chance to introduce myself. I think you deserve to know who's spending time with your kids. I also think it would be a relief for the girls to see that the adults in their lives are trying to get along. We don't have to be friends, but we can be cordial with one another. Maybe we could meet one Sunday when you exchange the girls?
I hope you're feeling well again soon.
Take care,
Marie
I could tell James wasn’t thrilled by my outreach, but he didn’t try to stop me. He gave me Jess’ email address and one suggestion.
“Don’t call her ‘Jess’,” he said. “She hates it. She always says, ‘My name is Jessica.’”
I thanked him and made the adjustment.
“She’s not going to reply,” he warned me. “I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“I won’t be,” I said.
But I was secretly sure that I would impress her with my sincerity. I thought maybe I could navigate my way around their bitter history and spark a fresh start.
I was pretty naïve.
Weeks passed and my email went unanswered. Despite James’ warning, I was disappointed, and a little indignant. But I remained determined. If email wasn’t effective, I would introduce myself to her in person.
On Easter Sunday I went with James to collect the girls from Home Depot. We planned to have a nice dinner at my house before he and the kids went home to San Carlos. And I planned to walk up to the car and say hello to Jessica and Max as they dropped off the kids.
James was even less enthused about this idea, but I was sure it was the right move.
“It’s ridiculous that we can’t say hello to one another,” I told him. “It’s crappy behavior to model to the kids. I’m just going to introduce myself when they drive up, shake their hands and say hi.” I didn’t feel quite as breezy as I sounded. “Let’s get there early so we can be waiting.”
James opted to stay in the car while I stood by myself, leaning against the hood, watching for their arrival. When they pulled up a short while later, Max angled his car perpendicular to ours, so that I was facing him through the closed driver’s side window. Jessica wasn’t with him—still prone on the couch, I surmised. No matter, I told myself. I was going to do this anyway.
I realized I was nervous as I approached his car. My heart was pounding fast, but I kept my voice light. “Hello!” I called, and waved. Max craned his head away from me, toward the backseat. He was saying goodbye to the girls.
“Hello!” I called again. I leaned down to the window and tapped on the glass. “Hi Max!”
There was no way he didn’t hear me knock on his window, but Max kept his head twisted in the opposite direction. I saw the kids notice me from the backseat. They both climbed out of the car on the passenger side, but Max didn’t turn around.
I rapped a little harder on the window. “Hi Max!” I called, louder. “It’s Marie!”
No sooner had the kids closed their door than Max turned to face front, hit the gas, and absolutely peeled out of the parking lot. I jumped back, afraid he would run over my feet.
“Jesus,” I said, stunned. The kids and I stood facing each other a car’s width apart.
“Are everybody’s toes okay?” I asked. They nodded.
James had jumped out of the car when he saw Max speed away. Now he looked over his kids to make sure they were all right. I stood outside as he helped them into the car and closed their door. “Did you see that?” I said in a low voice. “What the hell was that about?”
“I told you. He’s a fucking asshole,” James said grimly.
* * *
Call me a slow learner, but it took a third attempt to drive the point home: these people didn’t want to meet me.
In May Annabelle’s class put on a performance of Gold Rush!, a musical about early California. For her period costume, I let her borrow an old feather boa that I’d won in a bar on St. Patrick’s Day. It was a bright, garish green, and it nearly covered her face, but she loved it. She looked like a pint-sized madam.
The show was scheduled for a Friday afternoon on one of Jessica’s weekends. Jessica was still convalescing, but Max planned to attend the show and would collect the girls afterward. We were all a little nervous about how this would go down.
Avery was particularly jumpy. Having us and Max in the same room was almost more than she could take. Throughout the show she sat with us, but kept craning her neck trying to spot him. She spent more time looking around than watching the stage.
The instant the performance was over she stood, searching for Max, anxious about keeping him waiting.
“Where’s Annie?” she kept asking. “What’s taking her so long?”
“She has to take her costume off,” James said. “Relax.”
But Avery couldn’t relax. “I’m going to see if I can find her,” she said and disappeared down the hall.
James was tense, too. “He better not take them before I have a chance to say goodbye,” he muttered. I knew he was afraid Annabelle wouldn’t resurface. The kids had been agitated about this exchange all day.
“She has to come find us; she has my feather boa,” I said. “I told her to return it.” I’d done this as insurance because I also feared the kids would bolt. And I’d decided that, hell or high water, I was going to introduce myself to Max this day.
A few minutes later Annie appeared and thrust the boa into my hands. “Here,” she said, and turned to go.
“Hey, wait a minute,” said James, catching her by the elbow. “Let me say goodbye.” We each gave her a hug and complimented her performance. She was rigid and spared us the slightest of thanks. Max stood a few paces behind her, with Avery fidgeting at his side.
I wasted no time, but walked right up to Max, extended my hand, and said, “Hi Max. My name is Marie.”
Max turned on his heel, grabbed Annabelle by the wrist, and walked briskly away.
My mouth dropped open. I stood there with my arm out, feeling like an idiot. Avery did a double take worthy of a cartoon character, then quickly trotted off behind her stepfather.
In a flash, my shock gave way to anger. “Excuse me!” I called. I jogged down the hall to catch up with them. “Maybe you didn’t hear me,” I said, walking swiftly to keep their pace. “I’m trying to introduce myself to you. My name is Marie.”
Max’s stride increased. Poor Annabelle was dragged alongside him, running to keep up. Avery was in the middle, looking back and forth at us desperately.
“Max!” I raised my voice and saw a few nearby parents raise their heads. “I’m trying to say hello to you! Won’t you stop for a minute? Hello?”
He didn’t pause, but propelled Annabelle through the door at the end of the hallway and didn’t look back.
Avery stopped for just an instant and looked at me. Her eyes were brimming with tears.
“I’m sorry, Marie,” she whispered, and then followed her stepfather outside.
I stood in the hallway, shaking. When James caught up to me I couldn’t speak. I was stunned that a grown man would act that way—pretending like I was invisible, like I didn’t exist. And I was aghast that he would do it in front of the kids.
James gathered me into his arms and kissed my forehead. “Now do you believe me?” he asked.
In May Annabelle’s class put on a performance of Gold Rush!, a musical about early California. For her period costume, I let her borrow an old feather boa that I’d won in a bar on St. Patrick’s Day. It was a bright, garish green, and it nearly covered her face, but she loved it. She looked like a pint-sized madam.
The show was scheduled for a Friday afternoon on one of Jessica’s weekends. Jessica was still convalescing, but Max planned to attend the show and would collect the girls afterward. We were all a little nervous about how this would go down.
Avery was particularly jumpy. Having us and Max in the same room was almost more than she could take. Throughout the show she sat with us, but kept craning her neck trying to spot him. She spent more time looking around than watching the stage.
The instant the performance was over she stood, searching for Max, anxious about keeping him waiting.
“Where’s Annie?” she kept asking. “What’s taking her so long?”
“She has to take her costume off,” James said. “Relax.”
But Avery couldn’t relax. “I’m going to see if I can find her,” she said and disappeared down the hall.
James was tense, too. “He better not take them before I have a chance to say goodbye,” he muttered. I knew he was afraid Annabelle wouldn’t resurface. The kids had been agitated about this exchange all day.
“She has to come find us; she has my feather boa,” I said. “I told her to return it.” I’d done this as insurance because I also feared the kids would bolt. And I’d decided that, hell or high water, I was going to introduce myself to Max this day.
A few minutes later Annie appeared and thrust the boa into my hands. “Here,” she said, and turned to go.
“Hey, wait a minute,” said James, catching her by the elbow. “Let me say goodbye.” We each gave her a hug and complimented her performance. She was rigid and spared us the slightest of thanks. Max stood a few paces behind her, with Avery fidgeting at his side.
I wasted no time, but walked right up to Max, extended my hand, and said, “Hi Max. My name is Marie.”
Max turned on his heel, grabbed Annabelle by the wrist, and walked briskly away.
My mouth dropped open. I stood there with my arm out, feeling like an idiot. Avery did a double take worthy of a cartoon character, then quickly trotted off behind her stepfather.
In a flash, my shock gave way to anger. “Excuse me!” I called. I jogged down the hall to catch up with them. “Maybe you didn’t hear me,” I said, walking swiftly to keep their pace. “I’m trying to introduce myself to you. My name is Marie.”
Max’s stride increased. Poor Annabelle was dragged alongside him, running to keep up. Avery was in the middle, looking back and forth at us desperately.
“Max!” I raised my voice and saw a few nearby parents raise their heads. “I’m trying to say hello to you! Won’t you stop for a minute? Hello?”
He didn’t pause, but propelled Annabelle through the door at the end of the hallway and didn’t look back.
Avery stopped for just an instant and looked at me. Her eyes were brimming with tears.
“I’m sorry, Marie,” she whispered, and then followed her stepfather outside.
I stood in the hallway, shaking. When James caught up to me I couldn’t speak. I was stunned that a grown man would act that way—pretending like I was invisible, like I didn’t exist. And I was aghast that he would do it in front of the kids.
James gathered me into his arms and kissed my forehead. “Now do you believe me?” he asked.