The glaring sun abounded above hundreds of onlookers. Blue skies dotted with puffy white clouds made this important day perfect. Twelve years of public education were finally completed, and the stadium roared with cheers and clapping. A fountain of blue graduation caps shot into the air, landing on the grass in a matter of seconds. The last of my children launched into the vast, influential world…my work finished.
For two hours the activity within the stadium did not detract from the words burned into my head from sweet Daisy Martin, my son Lucas’ dearest friend. The brilliant young woman, Senior Class President, and Valedictorian quoted Kelly Clarkson’s song “Breakaway,” and her final words hit me hard: “Take a risk, make a change, and breakaway.”
That profound statement followed me home. What had I risked in my near fifty years of being on this earth? What had I changed? The words stung like venom in my veins after my last child broke away from me. It all seemed so final. Three children I poured my heart and soul into—loving, nurturing, and guiding into responsible adults. Do I pat myself on the back and congratulate myself?
Well done, Denise. You did it. You succeeded in raising your kids, and now they’re all gone. I succumbed to sleep, approaching a morning where I am no longer employed as guardian of my youngest child.
**********
The bird’s chirped outside my window, a wicked reminder of another perfect, sunny day I was in no mood to embrace. It was Mother Nature’s obnoxious way of laughing at me. My sole purpose for existing expired yesterday as a bevy of blue caps plummeted to the ground. Not even my husband laid beside me on this Saturday morning. An early round of golf with his buddies beckoned him away.
With no plans for the day, no kid to feed, and no husband to dote on, I laid there, staring at the white nothingness of the ceiling. The imagery was clear and concise—a glimpse of my future surrounded by air in my empty nest. “A Sky Full of Stars” blared from my cell phone, pulling me from my contemplative daze. It was The Piano Guys’ instrumental version, thankfully. Had the lyrics filled my ears, I would have crumbled deeper into the bed and never answered the call.
“Hello.”
“Are you still in bed?” Theresa, my best friend, asked. “Girl, get up! Marco told Lance you went to bed depressed last night. Let’s meet for lunch?”
“My husband has a big mouth.” It was just like Marco to blab about my pity party.
“Yeah, both our husbands have big mouths. I overheard Lance on the phone with Marco this morning asking him what colors he was wearing today. Apparently, he wanted to make sure they didn’t match on the course. He’s such a metrosexual.” Theresa giggled into the phone, and I waited for her snort. She always thought she was funnier than everyone else. “Aw, come on…metrosexual? Admit it, that was funny.”
“How can something that is true, be funny?”
“I can see this will require a full day of retail therapy after lunch. I’ll call Paula to meet us at Chili’s. After two margaritas and some steak fajitas, your sourpuss mood will switch, and you’ll be a ray of sunshine.”
“A ray of sunshine? Did you receive a newsletter from mother-effing nature? Even the damn birds are chattering about me.”
“Whoa there, you really are in a shitty mood. I’ll pick you up at noon.”
“Theresa, I’m really not feeling it.”
“I don’t care. See you in three hours. Bye.”
“Three hours… I’ll lay here for another two.”
**********
Having best friends like Theresa and Paula annoyed the snot out of me today, even after my first margarita. We’d been in Chili’s Grill and Bar for thirty minutes, and neither of the Chatty Cathy’s would shut up. If the purpose of lunch was to make me feel better, they missed the mark after they rolled their eyes at me for my woeful disposition. They just didn’t get it… or me. Not today anyway. Two driven career women who never put their lives on hold for a family could never understand the ten-ton weight crushing my heart. My baby Lucas was following his brother Nathan to Texas A&M, as if there weren’t excellent schools closer to home.
It didn’t matter that Lucas had the summer before moving. He’d be on a plane early Monday morning, beginning his nomadic dream trip through Europe. Why the hell I agreed with Marco to let him go, I don’t know what I was thinking. I claim temporary insanity. I should be committed. Of course, Daisy put the idea in Lucas’ impressionable head. Damn her.
“Are you going to just sit there and stare out the blinds?” Paula asked. “Talk to us.”
“Yeah,” Theresa agreed. “You knew this day was looming. Being kidless isn’t such a horrible thing. When Jackie graduated two years ago, the relief I felt being done was monumental.”
“That’s because you have a career. Something to occupy your time. What do I have?” I asked, lifting the glass to my lips. Theresa and Paula looked at me with vacant expressions. “Exactly, I have nothing. All my years of serving on the PTA and being the team mom for water polo and golf has left me, too. Somebody should have warned me that when my last kid graduates I’ll have nothing. I don’t have any job experience. Or a hobby…” Just hearing myself made me cringe.
“You’re college-educated. Do something with your design degree,” Theresa suggested.
“It’s outdated. After twenty-five years of raising kids, nothing I learned is relevant now.” I sighed, slurping my drink down to the last drop. The girls watched me with sympathetic expressions, and I knew they were sincere.
Friends from college, Theresa and Paula had been there for me during the early years while I adjusted to married life and motherhood. They both married years after me, and each had one kid. As for me, I enjoyed motherhood and being a wife. I did it all: planned extravagant birthday parties, entertained kids during sleepovers and pool parties, hosted dinner parties for Marco’s clients. I arranged carpool schedules, attended every sporting event, and was the stereotypical dance mom when Rachel dreamed of being a ballerina. Thespian supporter and caterer when Nathan was determined to be an actor, concession stand operator, and world-class volunteer. So where’s my diploma?
“If I’m honest, I’d be scared out of my mind if I were you,” Paula said. My mouth gaped. “No, hear me out on this before you flip. It’s true, Theresa and I have been career-focused the last twenty-five years. We each birthed one kid and stopped. That was by design you know. Kids weren’t our life like they were yours.”
“She’s absolutely right,” Theresa admitted. “One was my limit. Maybe you should get a job in a daycare center so you can be around kids.”
“No, don’t do that. What about pushing Rachel to have a baby? A grandbaby would be better,” Paula said, sipping on her daiquiri.
“Okay, both of you stop. First of all, I don’t want to work in a daycare. It wouldn’t be the same as my own kids. Secondly, I’m too young to be a grandmother, even though I’m turning fifty.”
“But you might need a baby fix. I get mine working in the NICU. Look at it this way… Your kids were your passion, and there’s nothing wrong with that.” Theresa smiled, and I couldn’t help but feel a little placated.
“Yes, like Theresa said, you were so involved with your kids. I, on the other hand, loved selling houses. Every time I had a client that forced me to miss one of Stephen’s baseball games, I just knew I’d get the stink eye from you. But you know what? You never glared at me once.”
“Paula, I knew how much you loved your job. I never judged you. Or you, Theresa. But now I’m alone. What am I to do with all this free time while everybody has something to call their own except me?”
Those words hung between us the rest of the day. What was I to do while my best friends worked long, funky hours and my husband had his own daily routine? I might as well be on a deserted island with a volleyball and no lifeline.
After Theresa dropped me off, I wandered around my lifeless home waiting for Marco to return. There’s nothing worse than silence when you’re used to having noisy teenagers rifling through the fridge or The Office playing on the TV mixed with laughter from the family room.
The collage of pictures lining the hallway to my bedroom held twenty-five years of memories. My sweet Rachel in pink tutus and recital costumes, her graduation from UCLA, and her wedding day. A ten-year-old Nathan dressed as Harry Potter, convinced he had special powers; in Speedos grinning wide after his team won the championship game; and in a suit for his internship on Wall Street. Lucas high-fiving Goofy at Disneyland, and him dressed in a black tuxedo with a hot pink bow tie to match Daisy’s prom dress. Newborn pictures. Pictures of Marco kissing my pregnant belly as I laughed. Years’ worth of family vacations, days at the beach, and Christmas memories… the walls covered with the most important people I loved and a life I treasured. All beautiful. All gone.
“Babe, where are you?” Marco’s raspy Latino voice called to me. I smiled, walking out of the hall of memories to the kitchen where he hummed a tune while retrieving his customary Dos Equis from the fridge.
“Hi. Good game?” I leaned against the island.
“Yeah, how was your day with the girls?” His dark eyes moved over me with an unfamiliar glint. I looked down at my chest, expecting to see salsa on my shirt, but there was none.
“I’ve had better. Why don’t I have friends who were stay-at-home moms like me? Do you think Theresa and Paula pity me?”
“No, that’s crazy talk. I know this is because of Lucas graduating and spending the summer in Europe before he moves to Texas. It’ll all be okay, baby. You’ll be okay.” Marco kissed me open-mouthed—not the quick peck I’m used to. My body went limp against him. He didn’t stop to breathe as he moved over my lips. It was then I realized how much I needed him. “One more thing,” he said, leaving me breathless. “Next Friday we’ll be hosting guests.”
“Hosting guests? What does that mean?”
“I’m throwing you a birthday party, so buy yourself a pretty dress.” He bobbed his thick black eyebrows at me.
“A party? Oh, no, no, no, no. I don’t want to celebrate my getting old,” I protested, but Marco nibbled on my earlobe. “Did you hear me?”
“Mhmm.”
“No party. I’m serious.” He moved down my neck, swiping his tongue along my skin, tantalizing my insides. “Marco.” He popped up, looking me directly in the eyes. I knew that hardened gaze; it meant this wasn’t up for discussion. “Please, I don’t want to turn fifty, let alone celebrate it.”
“The party is a done deal. And we’re not celebrating you turning fifty. We’re celebrating you, the most amazing wife and mother on the planet. I’m so grateful you were born. Now be quiet so I can have my fun.” Marco returned to kissing my neck. What else could I do but surrendered to him, grateful for the depth of his love.
**********
When I woke on this day, the day of my birth, the birds outside my window chirped a rhythmic rendition of happy birthday to me. Sunbeams entered my bedroom through the plantation shutters, crossing over me in a celebratory hug. Staring into the vastness of the white ceiling, I thought of my life, my children, and my husband. My life had been fulfilling. I lived it the way I had wanted, and Marco supported my choice to be a stay-at-home-mom. I should be grateful to acknowledge this day when so many don’t get to, but I’m not. Today I’m fifty.
I called Rachel at noon like I did every Friday. It was the one time during the week we talked. I looked forward to these calls; they often gave me a glimpse of her own married life.
“Hi Mom. Happy birthday!”
“Thank you,” I said, trying to be gracious.
“Are you excited about the party? Dad’s put a lot of work into this. He even called me for ideas.” Rachel and I giggled in unison.
“I wouldn’t say excited, but I appreciate what your dad is trying to do for me. It’s adorable.”
The fact that Marco enjoyed planning my party was comical but sweet. Party planning was not his thing; he preferred to be the attendee, even for the parties we hosted. It was how our roles developed: I took care of domestic and family duties while he worked to afford our comfortable living. It worked. We worked. And now he took it upon himself to plan my birthday party. My mind was blown.
“It’s sweet, and I told Jake I’m going to expect the same when I turn thirty. He laughed at me and said, ‘Yeah right, I’ll just ask your mom to plan it.’ Can you believe that?”
“Don’t worry, you know I’ll help your husband in his time of need.”
“I know, and no worries on your end, either. Dad has this party covered.”
“Don’t I know it. Yesterday a cleaning service was at the house for five hours. It was wonderful. Then today an event planner is coming at one, and caterers at four. It boggles my mind that he wants to spend so much money for a stupid old birthday.” I sighed, releasing the building tension in me. “I mean, we could have taken a trip instead.”
“You can take a trip anytime, but a party only comes along every fifty years. I’m all for having another one when you turn a hundred.”
“Oh geez, let’s not talk about that.”
From there on out the call meandered, as it often did. There was the talk of Jake wanting a baby which Rachel wasn’t ready for. She complained that they’d only been married a year this last February. All she wanted was two more years before starting a family. I understood her wanting to wait, and supported her wholeheartedly. However, a baby would give me something to do. I could babysit. I would love it if she had a baby, but I didn’t dare mention it. My sweet Rachel needed to live her own life and decide on these monumental decisions with her husband. This is where I needed to know my place and just listen.
**********
Marco truly outdid himself. The event planner artistically painted a mural of coral and lime, my favorite colors, setting a cantina vibe. The food buffet displayed all of my favorite dishes: arroz con pollo, fish tacos, and carne asada with all the trimmings. The authentic Mexican fare was supplied by our beloved local Mexican restaurant. As I mingled, talking to friends and family, I plastered a fake smile on my face. I missed my boys…out living their lives. I know they couldn’t help it. Lucas traipsing through Europe and Nathan in New York City for a summer internship. I understood, but it still hurt.
“How’s my beautiful wife?” Marco asked, wrapping his arms around me and nuzzling his head against mine. I instantly felt better. “Are you having a good time?”
“I am, everything is perfect.” I smiled into his happy eyes. “ You amaze me.”
“I amazed myself.” He chuckled. “Are you ready to open your gift?”
“You didn’t have to buy me a gift. The party was enough.”
“Nope, I bought a gift. Let me give it to you with everyone here.” Marco turned around and faced the room. “Amigos.” He clapped. “I’d like to have everyone’s attention!” His voice filled our great room as he pulled me close. “I want to thank all of you for celebrating this magnificent woman with me. Not a day goes by that I don’t thank God for bringing her into this world and into my life.” I felt my cheeks warm as my charismatic husband gushed over me. “I have a gift I’d like to present to my love with all of you present.”
At that moment, Rachel walked out of the kitchen holding a square box. At first I thought, he couldn’t have bought me a hat, could he? The grin on Rachel’s face told me she knew exactly what was inside. For the life of me, I don’t understand why my heart was racing or why my eyes were filling with tears. Hormones?
“Happy Birthday, my love,” Marco said, drawing me out of my trance. He held the box as I fumbled lifting the lid.
I stared inside, stupefied as tears rolled down my face. Watercolors, sketchbooks, Sennelier pastels, a charcoal set, and brushes filled the box. I couldn’t breathe. With dozens of eyes on me, my husband and daughter grinning wide, all I could do was cry.
“Marco…” I choked out in a whisper.
“One more thing,” he said presenting a manilla envelope, his own eyes exhibiting a glossy sheen. I shook my head in utter disbelief as I removed travel documents.
“Prague? Marco… I… I…” No words formed in my head or on my tongue as I stared at the creative workshop schedule.
“There was a time in your life all you would do was draw and paint. You were the most alive when you created. I think it’s time you re-discovered your love of art… in Prague.” He smiled. “With Rachel.” My head whipped around to see my sweet Rachel sobbing in her husband’s arms. “And you’ll get to meet up with Lucas while you’re there. Oh, and I plan to join you after your retreat so we can have a second honeymoon.”
“Marco…really?” Overwhelmed, I lost it, covering my face as I bawled in front of our guests. “But, I don’t understand,” I whispered.
Marco laughed out loud, and a slew of Spanish words flowed melodically. All I could understand was “chica loca” (crazy girl).
**********
That night, I laid wrapped in Marco’s arms panting so hard you’d think I just ran a marathon. From couch to 10k with no prior training, crossing the finish line first over the thousands of participants. In all these years I can’t recall the last time I orgasmed more than twice, let alone five times. I think it was in college. I’d run that marathon every day to feel this victorious—like I could conquer Mt. Everest.
“What was that?” I asked. The endorphins coursing through my body begged for one more delicious climax. By the looks of Marco, he already climbed to the top of that epic mountain, matching Hercules in strength and endurance. If he had one more round in him, the stars were miraculously aligned and I’m getting my butt out to the nearest 7-Eleven to buy my winning lottery ticket.
“Really Denise, you don’t know?” Marco teased, exaggerating his Spanish accent. “We used to be like this. Slow and sweet, connecting on an emotional level, then BAM! Hot and heavy, desperate and hungry for hours. Damn baby, I missed this.”
I looked up at him. His tan skin glistened with a post-coital sheen, his heart pounding to the beat of a Samba beneath me. His hands continued to roam my aroused body. I tried to recall the last time we had sensual, erotic sex, but couldn’t.
“You missed this? Then why didn’t you say something or try something?” Marco’s crooked smirk and tense gaze drilled into my soul—his black eyes an abyss that once enveloped me during lovemaking. Where had they been?
“Mi Amor… my love, it wasn’t for lack of attempts, but a lack of a participant. You’ve been spinning plates since Nathan was born and when Lucas arrived, you crashed out every night as soon as the kids were in bed. Just last week I tried to get you interested, but you were snoring by the time I got to second base. Why do you think I take advantage of our early mornings?”
“What?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. And I don’t snore, thank you very much, but it didn’t seem like the time to argue the fact.
“You don’t actually think I want to be up at five-thirty, do you? I don’t have to be in the office until eight, but you’re ready to hit the day running by seven. It was my only opportunity to get some loving.”
“Marco! That can’t be true. I thought you only liked it in the morning?”
He roared laughing. “Sweet Jesus, no. In the morning I’m lucky if I can get more than mission style. I like variety, baby, and I know you do too. Tonight was an amazing reminder that you still got it. And you didn’t try to be quiet… that’s a huge turn on.”
At that moment, looking at my sexy, mature husband of fifty-two, I wanted to cry. How did I become so consumed with my kids and being a good wife that I forgot to be my husband’s lover? “Marco, I’m so sorry. The last twenty-five years are a blur, and now I’m fifty. I’m old.”
“No you aren’t. You’re just hitting your prime. You proved that tonight.”
“Stop teasing me. I didn’t balance the kids and you very well. Now they’re gone.”
“But I’m still here. How about making up for the last two decades?”
“Wow, two decades… that sounds pathetic. I’m lucky you didn’t have a mistress on the side.” I stopped when my heart rate increased. “You didn’t have a mistress on the side, did you?” The panic in my voice jolted him. A whole ream of Spanish words flowed out of his mouth at rapid fire. I could only understand, “Girl you’re crazy. I’m not stupid.”
“I’ve always been faithful, and I’ve appreciated everything you’ve done for our family and for me.”
Tears rolled down my face. I didn’t doubt Marco. I knew how much he loved me and that’s why I feel like I’ve neglected him. “I don’t deserve you.”
**********
Two months after turning fifty, the warmth of the sun guided the strokes of my charcoal in a fluid dance of love and creativity as I sketched Kranner’s Fountain. I was humbled. Since my birthday, I’ve slept in every day, waking to Marco’s sweet goodbye kisses before he leaves for work. And with Lucas gone on his grand adventure, Marco and I have had a glorious time in our own escapades. We had trekked through a desert, devoid of intimacy. But at will, we finally replenished the starved, thirsty land, embracing our empty nest.
Imagine my surprise when I discovered the sensual side my husband kept locked away while being a father and provider. But he never once guilted me in the bedroom. I may be fifty now, but Marco has made me feel twenty years younger these last two months. I feel like a new woman…a vibrant, desired woman.
Every day I create something new. A watercolor of the azaleas in my backyard. Caribbean flamingos in pastels at the zoo. A silhouette of Marco’s handsome profile.
I have a purpose again…passion. Not just for art or my husband, but for myself. How my wonderful husband knew what I needed on that exact day—a day most celebrate with tacky jokes and black balloons—spoke volumes of his understanding and love for me. Fifty wasn’t the end of my life. I didn’t shrivel up into a brittle brown leaf. I merely entered the next chapter of my life, and the beginning of it has been so much more than I could have ever imagined.
