Parallel play.
It’s easy to forget sometimes when she’s over there.
And then she goes on home leave and remembers the life that isn’t and never even was hers (or her husband’s or her son’s).
The whispers of what could have been are strong enough to make her wonder — at least for a few weeks — if there’s another version of them out there somewhere doing things entirely differently.
String theory and all.
***
The purpose of home leave is to ensure that employees who live abroad for an extended period undergo reorientation and re-exposure in the United States on a regular basis.
3 FAM 3430
***
She almost grabs the dairy- and gluten-free ones. The freezer case has so many more options than the last time she had a hankering for ice cream sandwiches and could actually do something about it.
After almost a year without Western-style grocery stores, she finds herself overwhelmed by the decisions to be made. The perfectly merchandised aisles are loud even during off-peak hours. Powdered greens and organic animal crackers and keto-friendly macaroni & cheese stand ready to pounce off the shelves if she stares too long. Almost like the monkeys that occasionally walk the balcony railing back home. Almost.
Regaining her focus, she finds the box of Tillamook salted caramel sandwiches she didn’t even know she was searching for. And then adds a box of plain vanilla for good measure. Another thirty seconds might lead to a rational decision between one or the other, but panic is starting to settle in. She has to pay and get out of there.
It’s only after she makes it back to her brother- and sister-in-law’s place that she realizes she’s missed a text asking if she could pick up a loaf of bread for dinner.
***
They’ve been talking about the air quality since the wildfire smoke drifted down from Canada. And yes, it’s bad. But she can’t help but find herself wanting to scream that her child lives in AQI triple digits most of the year. And not just her child who has the privilege to escape to the apartment with its “air scrubbers” always at a low hum or on an air-quality break holiday. No, not just her child who will permanently move to cleaner air at the end of the tour in a few years. She wants to scream for all the children who will never really know what clean air actually looks and feels like. It’s bad here, yes. But, but, but…
***
It takes her entirely too long to recognize that what she’s really feeling isn’t jealousy. It’s fear.
“We bring my stuff?” he asks as he pulls his lovey off his face just before drifting off.
“Yes, of course. We’ll pack all your things and bring them to Grandma’s. And then back home to India when we’re done in America.”
Satisfied, he nuzzles deep into that hollow just under her collarbone. And then tiny little snores let her know whatever worries he had been carrying with him have finally melted away. At least for tonight.
It was fear all along.
But it showed up as jealousy. Of the moms’ groups and the playgrounds. The trips to Target in a minivan. What — at least from the outside looking in — appears a lot like ease.
Of course it was fear.
Because home leave brings it to the surface every single time. And she has to stare it in the face: Maybe it would be better if she could give him what she sees her friends and family giving their children. Maybe she’s making a big mistake by not choosing the life she can almost touch. Maybe the pros won’t outweigh the cons in the end.
But maybe they will.
(It’s a gamble she’s willing to take.)
