a bit relieved not to have to make any chitchat. Chitchat was low on Cleo’s list of things to do. With constituents, sure, because that was part of the job, and the job she welcomed. There was purpose behind that kind of chitchat.
“Cleo!” Emily said warmly and pulled her into a hug. She and Cleo had been friendly since the boys landed on the same soccer team in second grade, and though they weren’t close, Cleo enjoyed her company, as far as she enjoyed anyone’s company other than Gaby and Lucas (and now Matty), on the sidelines and those occasional out-of-town tournaments. Most people in town and on the team worked in politics in one form or another, so it wasn’t strange to have a sitting senator staying at the Hampton Inn with the team any more than it was to have any other parent. Emily had started her career as a lawyer in the Justice Department but after three kids gave it up for, as she often said, the sanity of staying at home. Which, actually, is not exactly sanity. She’d laugh about it, and Cleo always liked her for this. That there was no apology for her choice and there was also a recognition that it wasn’t an easy one.
Her husband had also worked for the Justice Department, but around the time Benjamin was born, he jumped to outside counsel for better money. Emily once mentioned that they’d discussed who should quit—with three kids it felt like someone should—and at the end of the day, her husband just wasn’t ready to be a stay-at-home dad. Emily had shrugged as if, well, it was what it was, so she became the full-time parent. Not because he was better at his job than she was, not because she was dying to pack lunches and fold laundry and run all the soccer carpools, but because in the default of the gender hierarchy, for some reason, the man’s need as usual came first.
Emily didn’t begrudge him, and Cleo understood that everyone made choices that kept them sane, which wasn’t always the same thing as keeping them happy. But Emily was happy enough, and it wasn’t Cleo’s life to live. Besides, as a single mother, even an ambitious, ball-busting single mother, of course there were times when Cleo wished that she had the time to pack lunches and fold laundry and run soccer carpools. (Cleo actually had no desire to do any of those things. But in theory, yes, yes, she would have liked that.)
At the very least, it might have been nice to have a partner so every decision didn’t have to land on her shoulders alone. When Lucas was a baby, it was exhausting—all those micro decisions that seemed like they might be life-changing. Bottle or breast? Stomach or swaddle? Organic or non?
One morning, early in her second year at law school and in a rush to get to her criminal procedure class, she completely forgot to put pants on him. He showed up at day care with no pants but still smiling and totally unselfconscious and kissed her on both cheeks before she left (which nearly made her crumble right there on the soft padded floor), as if him standing there without pants was entirely normal, and the wonderful caregivers assured her that she was not the first harried young mother to forget her child’s essential clothing. (He also lacked both socks and shoes. It was spring; he didn’t freeze.) It would have been nice from time to time to have a partner around to remind her to put pants on the baby.
Georgie had tried. Cleo had to give her credit for that. She’d flown out a few days after Lucas was born and slept on the couch of Cleo’s small off-campus apartment. Her own boys were three by then, so Georgie surely could have taught Cleo a thing or two. And it was kind, of course, that she showed up. And for the first day or so, Cleo had been grateful. Much like how when she initially started dating Matty, she’d appreciated his own quotient of generosity. But Cleo was so fucking exhausted and so used to making decisions for herself that by that second day, Georgie’s help began to feel instead like suffocation. Really like judgment. From someone who, for the bulk of Cleo’s life, hadn’t been in any position to pass judgment. Actually, up until Cleo’s early teen years, and certainly in the time that they’d shared