Page 61 of The Write Choice

“Um, excuse us,” Mac says. She grabs Katie’s arm, and the three women disappear into the studio.

“What is this, the 1950s?” Daniel asks, affronted.

“What the hell did that paper say?” Ben asks.

I drag a hand over my face, laughing humorously. “Pole dancing lessons.”

Ben guffaws. Daniel snickers. I stare at both of them.

Daniel leans his forearms on the counter. “Was that Katie’s addition?”

“It’s her handwriting.” The oven timer goes off, and I take the chicken out, then move back to the counter, slinking into a seat next to Ben.

He claps me on the shoulder reassuringly. “It won’t be so bad.”

I pointedly look him up and down. “Says the guy who wakes up at five in the morning to work out. It’s probably just another day at the gym for you.”

He pulls the corners of his mouth down, conceding.

“She’s messing with me, isn’t she?” I ask no one in particular.

“Probably. At least you got pole dancing. I got a cooking class.” Daniel muses.

My jaw drops. “Do they have a death wish?”

“Ha ha,” he says with zero humor. Then, his face breaks into a wide grin. “Maybe this is exactly what you both need. You can be playful. Laugh about it together. Who knows, maybe it’ll even be sexy.”

“It’ll definitely be sexy.” Ben nods in reassurance.

I haven’t had sex in over four months. Everything is sexy.

The women come back out from the studio and file off to stand or sit next to their partners. Mac and Jenny are wearing expressions of feigned innocence, but Katie catches my eye, and one side of her mouth tilts up in what looks like apology. I purse my lips against a smirk.

“How’s next Saturday for everyone?” Jenny waves her phone. “There’s a place about thirty minutes away that has availability for a group lesson at seven in the evening.”

Katie looks at me questioningly, but there’s a gleam in her eye that I haven’t seen in a while. She’s enjoying this.

I scrape my knuckles against my jawline, pretending to consider, but the truth is, I’ll make a complete fool of myself pole dancing if it makes her this amused.

“I’ll ask my parents to watch the kids.”

Chapter 18

Katie

The next Saturday comes fast. I’d say it’s the mundanity of parenthood and the whirlwind that is the morning and evening routine, and that is definitely part of it. I decided to accept Brandon’s absence and move past it. We’re already a month into this little endeavor, and while I like the group of friends we’ve settled in with, I still feel like an outsider most of the time.

What is mostly contributing to the passage of time is my art. Something about letting go of a little of my anger has unblocked me, and I’m sketching scenes faster than I can keep up with them. I’ll start on one scene, and before I know it, there’s a painting in front of me and it’s time to get the kids from school.

The only frustrating part of it is that every single sketch that forms is of Brandon and the kids. It’s like the harder I try to ignore his absence, the more present he is in my mind. I’ve scribbled words or sentences on some of the panels, and toward the end of the week, I spend some time lining them up against the wall in what seems to be a sequential order.

Something about this is calling to me. What seemed to be unrelated paintings are starting to look like a story. A story calling out to be told.

I’m in my studio on Saturday, arranging and rearranging paintings between doing some searches on my tablet for photographers in the area. I don’t know if this could be a book or not, but I’m sure the first step is to digitize the images on these canvasses. So, I search and send some emails while Brandon wrestles loudly with the kids outside the door. The louder they get, the harder it is to concentrate, and by the time the doorbell rings signaling the arrival of his parents, I’m just about on overload with the noise.

I take a deep breath, hold it, and blow it out slowly through pursed lips, reminding myself to relax my shoulders as I leave my studio, closing the door behind me.

“There’s dinner in the fridge for you and the kids,” Brandon is saying to his mom. “Christine goes to bed at eight. Mason can stay up a little later, but he should be asleep by nine. They’ll fight it, but remember, you’re the boss.”