All Her Little Furies

by Shauna Checkley

“What would you like to do tonight? A craft or a movie or baking or something?” Meredith was querying Moxie, her daughter. Meredith quickly looked at her hot pink cell phone then continued loading the dishwasher while Moxie wiped the counters and the brown pine table. It was after supper. Almost six-thirty.

“Umm,” Moxie said. She furrowed her brow.

Stroking her daughter’s shoulder-length fine, silky, honey-blonde hair, Meredith gave Moxie her full attention. Meredith had always done that but especially now that she saw the twelve-year old only on alternate weeks, as the divorce and the joint custody arrangement had specified.

Meredith disliked the arrangement because it made visits rushed, with life measured out in the digital and in electricity. Besides, how did she ever have the time to teach Moxie anything when days and moments were of the essence? She would have preferred to teach her cooking or behavior and what have you over the long run, not in rushed stop-gaps of awareness. However, that was not to be the case anymore as of nearly two years prior.

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, pierced with two sparkling earring studs, Moxie said, “I just want to play some games, is all.”

“Okay tonight. But tomorrow we actually do something,” Meredith instructed. Yet secretly she was almost thankful that the girl wanted only to do gaming; Meredith was exhausted from work. She was employed in a busy office where she felt she worked two jobs but got paid only for one.

Recently, she had been promoted, with little extra pay and an avalanche of responsibility. Knowing that she seemed to lack leadership qualities, especially when it came to getting her employees to deal with shiploads of boxes, only made her wince with regret. She should never have accepted that promotion!

Still, she felt a pang of guilt similar to the times when Moxie was little and came down with a flu. Meredith would put her to bed early and then have a break of her own. She knew it wasn’t right. Yet Meredith also knew she was not always up to things. Like then.

Collapsing onto the couch, the middle-aged woman sought her own comfort. Meditation? TV? Perhaps I could read? It was nearly always the same triad of options. Why can’t I ever break free from this and volunteer or seek out friends? But she knew that she had to follow her instincts. Bide her time, that was all there was to it.

I could start seeing a little more of Doug. He was a guy that she had begun to date casually. But she was reluctant to put Moxie through another trying relationship, if that’s what it turned out to be. Meredith decided to put the matter on hold.

She was somewhat plain-looking, with gray creeping into her hair, lines slowly etching her face. She wasn’t aging all that well, and she knew it. But she coped with life as best she could, even if it meant she felt — as she did quite often — that she was running on empty or running behind things.

Not wanting the usual triad, she opted for something different. Instead, she gave herself a foot massage. First the right foot. Then the left one.

Her eyes then fell on a large brown box of craft supplies that a friend from work had given her. I should really go through it and plan some activities. I don’t even know what’s all in the box. Popsicle sticks? Styrofoam? Pipe cleaners? Or just what? Yet that was the last thing that she wanted to do right then. Plan. She just wished to stay glued to the couch.

But then it all twigged a deep memory. How is what I’m doing right now any different from Mitch’s neglect and indifference?

Recalling her marriage with Mitch made her recoil. Mitch was her ex-husband and Moxie’s father. They had been high-school sweethearts who married, struggled both financially and with conceiving a baby and stayed wed for ten years.

Mitch was nearly handsome with his dirty blond hair and medium build. But he slouched and had a nervous demeanour that diminished his attractiveness.

* * *

“Wanna go for coffee? Just to get outa the damn house?” he asked.

Meredith nodded. Though they were currently low on funds, she, too, just wanted a change of scenery. It was the weekend, after all, and she didn’t want to be totally housebound.

They piled into their old green Ford Focus and went to Robins Donuts, which was not very far from their apartment. The place was bustling. There was a deep, rich aroma of coffee. Other families dotted the establishment, though the customers were mainly an older crowd of retirees.

Pointing at a donut with pink icing, Moxie said, “I want the pink one!”

They got their mugs of coffee and the child her chocolate milk and donut and they settled at a table.

They chatted initially. Then Meredith said, “Did you go through those boxes I asked you to go through?”

He looked at her absently.

“Did you?” she queried.

He grinned, shrugged. It was his trademark boyish response to any situation that demanded something of him: strength, courage, foresight or just about anything.

“Well?” she pressed.

Mitch shifted in his seat. He fell silent. He knew he had procrastinated once again, remained oblivious to things at home, as usual. But what was the big deal anyhow? He would get around to dealing with the boxes in due time. Meredith was just too high-strung about plans.

His eyes fell on an expensive-looking sports jersey that a guy a few tables over was wearing. “Boy, would I ever like the jersey that he has on!”

Meredith shook her head. Now she fell silent for the sake of ten-year old Moxie, who was sitting between them. Still, something inside her had given way, like the proverbial straw breaking a camel’s back. It wasn’t a raging blowout, nor was it an infidelity, which were the usual causes of divorce. Rather, it was just nagging details, annoying, problematic daily living that was the culprit. It seemed that Mitch never stopped doing things that bothered her. Nor would he ever do what she asked of him.

Gotta get out of this ludicrous marriage! I so need to get away from Mitch! That’s all there is to it! Such had she come to know.

Mitch was the youngest of three children. Yet his disconnect was curious, because he seemed to function fine outside of the home. Could he have an attention-deficit disorder or something? Meredith often wondered about him. Just what is his deal anyhow? At first, our life together was beautiful chaos, but now it’s just plain chaos, pure and simple.

* * *

While Meredith was musing on the couch, Moxie came up from behind and tapped her on the back. “I’m ready to bake if you are. I don’t feel like playing games after all.”

Meredith sprang to her feet and went out to the kitchen with Moxie. More a nook than a full-sized kitchen, it was what they could afford on one income. The apartment building had a 1970’s feel to it.

Good thing we have chocolate chip cookie dough on hand and don’t have to do the whole thing from scratch, Meredith thought. They commenced baking. Moxie put a layer of parchment paper down on a cookie sheet. She cut the roll of dough in neat little slices and laid them on the pan.

Meredith, meanwhile, had turned the oven on and set the timer. They awaited their cue to put the pan of cookies inside the oven. Finally, it was time, and Moxie popped them inside.

Soon, their small kitchen was awash with the aroma of baking chocolate cookies, a tantalizing aroma. Meredith realized she was happy just to be with Moxie; she didn’t feel like piling up little furies inside of herself after all.