Free The Transformation of Things by Jillian Cantor Page B

feeling that I wasn’t, this deep sense of loneliness and numbness that I couldn’t shake, maybe not even just my own sense of it, but Lisa’s and Kat’s, too, or my dream version of them anyway. “Anyway, what are you up to? I’m out your way …”
    It took her a few seconds. Finally she said, “I’ll be here all afternoon, if you want to stop over.”
    * * *
    Kelly’s house was cute, a split-level that had been built out of brick back in the fifties, when that sort of thing was still in style. She had a nice lawn in the front, and a small porch, with a garden filled with impatiens surrounding it.
    The inside was a little small for the five of them, and often filled with clutter. And crayons. I swear to God, everywhere you went there was a rogue crayon. I’d found a red-violet floating in the toilet the last time I was here. Maybe that’s why she thought motherhood was like being trapped in a world of crazy colors, as if Crayola had invented these tiny little waxy sticks to torture her.
    I rang the bell, and I heard a thud, which I was guessing was three-year-old Jack. Caleb, nearly five, was at preschool, and I thought Hannah, who was barely even walking, was still too small to thud. In response to the thud there were screams, a barking Muffet, and the muffled sound of Kelly’s voice. I had a feeling of déjà vu standing there, the same feeling I got every time I stood on Kelly’s stoop. So much noise and so much clutter. Everything that my house wasn’t, and yet I always secretly enjoyed it here, maybe even envied it, for a little while anyway, because it reminded me, in a way, of my childhood, of the life we’d inhabited when our mother was still alive.
    Kelly answered the door with Hannah on her hip, Jack hanging on her leg, and the phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder. She waved me in, and I stepped gingerly, trying not to tread too hard or bump a toy that would explode into a fit of music—every toy in this house did.
    She hung up the phone, gave me a half hug that was smooshed with kid. “Give Auntie JJ a kiss,” she said. Jack obliged and Hannah tried to pull off my nose.
    “Holy shit, she’s strong.” I rubbed my nose.
    “Jen.” She rolled her eyes toward Jack. “He’s a sponge.”
    “Sorry.”
    “Go have a seat in the kitchen. I’m going to put Hannah down for a nap and put The Wiggles on for Jack.” She paused. “I know. I know. I’m terrible. Letting the TV be his babysitter and all that.”
    “I wasn’t going to say that,” I said. And truthfully, it hadn’t occurred to me that there was anything wrong with letting the TV distract him. Jack loved The Wiggles —it seemed like he was watching it every time I was over, and it always seemed to put him in a trance. Toddler drug of choice, Will had suggested once, watching as Jack and Caleb’s eyes had both glazed over, as they’d cocked their heads to the side and held their mouths open.
    She sighed. “Of course you weren’t,” she said, as if I was the bad guy.
    Ten minutes later the house was stunningly quiet, except for music coming from the TV and, occasionally, Jack’s almost girly-sounding voice echoing along. “Your hair is short,” Kelly said, as she walked into the kitchen.
    “I know.” I nodded.
    She reached up and felt the ends. “But I think it’ll grow on me.” I shrugged; I hadn’t decided yet.
    Kelly put up a pot of coffee and then unwrapped a few Tastykakes and put them on a plate. It amazed me to watch her, the way every motion seemed exactly right, exactly momlike, as if she’d molded herself perfectly to fit into this world, this life. I supposed it must have been the way I’d looked on the tennis court, at the club, or announcing winners at the charity auction, but I wondered, if I had stood back and watched myself, the way I was watching her now, if I would’ve looked this at ease.
    “Dave said Will has been doing well,” she said.
    “Yes,” I murmured, though really, Will