Chapter 3 - Claire Had Not Been Waiting Tables for Nine Years
I had made another assumption at the gala.
Seeing Claire in a server uniform, I assumed she was struggling.
That embarrasses me now.
She was working the gala as a banquet server.
She was also operations manager for a molecular diagnostics laboratory at the University of Chicago.
The banquet shifts were weekend work.
Why?
Three children.
Summer camps.
Orthodontics approaching like a financial storm.
A college savings target Claire had set when the boys were born.
And, she admitted eventually:
“I like event work.”
I almost smiled.
“You always did.”
In college, Claire worked weddings.
She used to come home carrying leftover centerpieces and stories about drunk bridesmaids.
Nine years had not turned her into a tragic waitress.
I had done that in my head within thirty seconds.
Powerful man sees ex-wife carrying tray.
Assumes she fell.
Claire had rebuilt.
Not easily.
After discovering the triplet pregnancy, she developed severe hyperemesis.
Then preeclampsia.
She stopped lab work at thirty weeks.
The boys were born at thirty-three weeks.
NICU.
Six weeks for Noah.
Seven for Daniel.
Almost nine for Miles.
Her mother, Joan, moved to Chicago temporarily.
Claire exhausted savings.
Took family medical leave.
Eventually changed jobs for better insurance and predictable hours.
When I asked:
“Why didn't you come after me for child support when things were that hard?”
She stared at me.
“I should have.”
That answer surprised me.
“For them.”
She continued.
“My pride cost them things too.”
I said nothing.
Claire was not interested in becoming the perfectly wronged woman in my redemption story.
“I was furious.”
She looked at her tea.
“Your lawyer's letter made me feel like you thought I was trying to trap you.”
“I didn’t know about it.”
“I know that now.”
“How?”
“I didn't.”
She looked back at me.
“I assumed.”
That mattered.
Both of us had been living inside assumptions.
Mine had more power behind them.
But hers had consequences too.
“My attorney told me to establish parentage.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Because I was scared your mother would fight for access.”
“She could not just take them.”
“I know that now.”
“At the time?”
“I had three premature babies and no sleep.”
Fair.
“And I thought if you wanted to know, you would.”
That hurt because it was exactly how I had once treated Claire.
If it mattered enough, she would tell me.
If it got bad enough, she would make me see.
We had both mistaken silence for information.
The difference was that I had an office full of assistants, lawyers, family employees, and a mother who knew how to use every one of them.
Claire had herself.
Then she said:
“If we're going to do this, I want the boys to control the pace.”
“What does that mean?”
“You don't show up at school.”
“I won't.”
“You don't send gifts.”
“Okay.”
“You don't tell Margaret.”
My reaction gave me away.
Claire leaned back.
“You already did?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She studied me.
“Because she doesn't get near them.”
May you like
I understood why.
Then wondered whether I really did.
Related Stories
