“Who wants to stop at the park?” Frances raised her voice, startling the littlest kids and interrupting the older ones. They all looked interested, so she started to detour toward the playground.
“I have homework,” said Ava, firmly. “You need to drop me at home first.”
“We’ll only stop for half an hour, it will be good for you to be outside for a little while.”
“No,” replied her daughter. “It won’t. Don’t tell me what I need, you have no idea what I need.” She’d shifted herself away from her mother, each incremental inch making her distaste for proximity crystal clear.
“I didn’t. It will only be half an hour, and I’ll buy you ice cream.”
There was a pause as the Ava who loved ice cream fought with the Ava who hated to let her mother win.
Milo suddenly spoke from behind them. “If she has homework, maybe we should just go home. I don’t really care about the park.”
“Who are you, my agent?” Ava’s tone was scornful. Frances looked at her son’s eyes in the rearview. This was a new dynamic she’d noticed. He hated when she and Ava argued, so he was starting to take Ava’s side; but Ava rebuffed him every time, not needing anyone’s backup, thank you very much. Least of all that of a little boy. The little boy in question turned quickly to look out of the window, the scythe of his sister’s tone surprising him to tears.
Frances felt the quick, sharp pain of empathy, which was always so complicated when the slight was between siblings. But she kept her tone mild. “Ava, he was just trying to help, there’s no need to be mean.”
“I don’t need his help. I need to go home and be left alone to get on with my homework and, preferably, my entire life.” She knew she’d just hurt her brother’s feelings, and felt bad about it, but in the battle between her and her mother he was collateral damage. Unfriendly friendly fire.
Frances felt a tightness at the base of her throat that meant she was getting annoyed. She pushed it down, turned into the playground parking lot, and pulled into a space, punching the open- door button as soon as she turned off the engine. The younger kids started unbuckling, and she turned to her oldest child and smiled. “Look, Ava, I know you’re a mass of hormones and conflicting chemicals and I understand you have homework, but half an hour in the park will mean a better evening for all of us, and that’s what we’re doing. If you want to sit in the car and sulk, feel free.”
Ava started to speak, but Frances was already out of the car and helping the little ones jump down. As Milo climbed out she gave him a quick hug and followed him to the playground, not looking back at Ava at all.
• • •
Frances sat on the side of the playground where a low wall ran around the equipment. In theory, this playground was well designed, with a large central play structure and the aforementioned wall going all the way around. It probably looked awesome in blue pencil on thin paper, printed out in a New York design practice. But in real life it meant you could easily lose sight of your kids. All along the wall parents would look up from their phones, scan the structure, then stand and crab walk along until they spotted their charge, sitting down again where they could see them, dropping their eyes back to their phones, and then repeating the whole dance several times. If you time lapsed it from a drone it would look like the shadows on a sundial, circumnavigating.
Frances’s kids were old enough that she’d stopped crab walking. But occasionally she would scan, pausing as she waited for one or the other of them to appear, or bend to look under the structure, hunting for their shoes. When she had other people’s kids, too, as now, she was more watchful. Losing her own child would be bad enough, losing someone else’s would be a disaster.
Ava appeared next to her, ostentatiously carrying a textbook. She sat down, opened the book to a section on homeostasis, and did a little mime of running her finger down the page to the appropriate sentence.
“So,” said Frances, “homeostasis, eh?”
“Yup,” replied her daughter.
“Maintaining balance, right?”
“Yup.”
“A pendulum swinging will eventually come to rest in the middle?”
Ava sighed. “That’s not a perfect metaphor because homeostasis is about balance between oppositional forces, which keep pushing. A pendulum rests because it’s run out of energy to swing.”
Frances nodded. “Just checking.”
“You wondered if you’d forgotten the meaning of homeostasis?”
“No, just wondered if we were still talking.”
Ava smiled a very small smile. “Oh, we’ll always be talking, Mom. I’ll push from one side, you’ll push from the other. You know.”
Frances put her arm around her daughter and gave her a squeeze. “I know you have homework, baby. But the littler kids need to run about a bit, OK?”
Ava nodded. “I don’t know why I get so cranky with you. I’m just so tired after school, and so wound up from being nice all day.” She laughed at herself. “Not that I’m all that nice at school, I must admit.” Just then Lally appeared and tugged at her sister. “Will you chase me?” Ava started to frown, then suddenly nodded and got to her feet, turning to Frances. “Balance, right?”
Frances nodded, watching Ava tear away after her little sister, who was instantly hysterical with delight.
Six.
Michael was satisfyingly appalled when Frances told him the news that evening.
“He was going down on her? Before nine in the morning? Jesus.”
She nodded, not sure if it was the cheating or the earliness of the hour that bothered him, but
