Page 67 of The Write Choice

It worked out. At least, I thought it did.

We’ve avoided this for too long, been interrupted too many times. I need to come clean about what has drawn me to the office so late these past weeks, and I need her to tell me what’s going on with her. I saw the agony on her face as she pounded her fist on the bathroom counter. I heard her say she’s sorry she got pregnant, taking all the blame for something we were both complicit in—something that doesn’t even need an apology.

I lean on the counter, studying myself in the mirror. I’m older than the last time I really looked at myself. My expression lines are deeper; my skin has gotten rougher and more weathered. But I can’t help but wonder how much I’ve grown as a person. Am I really all that different from that wide-eyed, impulsive, twenty-four-year-old, asking Katie to marry me every single day from the day she told me she was pregnant to a few months after Mason was born when she finally said yes?

You got spooked by Katie drinking one time, then moved your entire family halfway across the country on the empty promise that you’d be a better man for them. And you think you’ve changed?

I sigh and hang our wet pants over the edge of the tub to dry, feeling that ache of desire again at the memory of how they got in this state. I take a deep breath, shake my head, and rummage through my clothes in the closet to find an acceptable pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt. I pull them on quickly, then run a brush through my hair and go out into the room.

It’s dark, so I wait for my eyes to adjust. Katie is just a lump under the comforter. As I approach the bed, I can only see her eyes and nose poking out above the top, her wet hair falling in wavy clumps on her pillow. Her eyes are closed, and the comforter rises and falls with her deep breaths.

I smile softly as I climb in beside her. She never could stay awake very long after we made love. As if drawn by a force outside her control, she scoots closer to me without fully waking. I shift my arm underneath her head and tuck her in close to me. She sighs deeply, her cheek pressed against my chest.

Tomorrow. We’ll find time to talk tomorrow. We’ll come up with a better plan.

We do not come up with a better plan the next day. We barely even have a chance to talk. I should have known better. Sundays are always a shit show, and this Sunday is no different. During breakfast, Mason remembers that he’s been selected as student of the week, so he has to create a poster all about himself to share with the class on Monday. There are themed days for the remainder of the week, too, but he can’t remember what they are. So, a thirty-minute-long search of his backpack ensues wherein we empty all its contents and open every book in search of the paper with the themes. We find a lot of papers, but not the one we need. Christine grabs some of the papers and runs off to color on them. We figure as long as she’s coloring quietly, she’s one less issue to deal with, but when we can’t find the information sheet, Katie narrows her eyes in her direction. Sure enough, Christine has been coloring on the paper we needed the whole time. Mason snatches it from her, sending Christine into a panic tantrum about her masterpiece. Katie tries to ploy her with some paints from her studio, but she will not be appeased. Mason is unrelenting in his grasp on the sheet of paper, so it takes us a good thirty more minutes to calm Christine down.

Once that’s settled, Katie takes Mason to the art supply store to get the materials he needs to create his poster. When they get back, they set up in the kitchen. Katie brilliantly bought an extra poster board for Christine, too. The two kids work in peace with Katie supervising until lunch time. They both refuse to eat lunch, so I drag a screaming, over-tired Christine to nap.

During her nap, Mason and Katie gather everything he’s going to need for the week, lining it up in the order of the day he’ll need it on his dresser. I take the time alone to pull up designs on my laptop, only to stare at them unproductively. Guilt nags at me that I should be the one helping Mason so Katie can have her time in her studio.

Before long, Christine is poking her head out of her room and calling out to let us know she’s awake.

Shortly after that, it’s time to make dinner—fish sticks, green beans, and macaroni and cheese. It’s not even an adult meal, but it’s good enough. We wrestle the children into their respective baths and showers. I read a chapter of Mason’s book to him in our bed since there’s no way I’m squeezing my giant body into his loft bed.

As I send Mason off to brush his teeth, I hear singing coming from Christine’s room. I wander quietly out into the hallway, not wanting to interrupt. Through a crack in the door, I see Katie as she rests her back against the headboard. Christine is snuggled close, her head resting on Katie’s chest and her eyes closed. Her hands are clasped under her cheek in a purely storybook position I wasn’t aware real people did.

Katie’s voice drifts into the hallway as she sings a lullaby and rocks our daughter gently. I stand there, a silent voyeur in a stolen moment. Simply put, it’s the most beautiful scene I’ve ever witnessed. My heart expands, squeezing the air out of my lungs.

Katie’s gaze shifts to mine. Her voice trails off, and her eyelids flutter as she takes a deep breath. Christine doesn’t stir, so she must be asleep. Katie must come to the same conclusion, because she presses a kiss to Christine’s hair and scoots quietly off the bed, covering our little girl with the pink blanket and rubbing her back lightly before leaving the room and closing the door quietly behind her.

She meets me in the hallway, tilting her face up to me. I’m completely at a loss for words, so I just wrap my arms around her shoulders and pull her close. She wastes no time burrowing herself into me and folding her arms around my torso. I breathe in her rose-and-paint scent as we stand there, pressed together.

“Ew,” Mason says as he comes out of the bathroom. “Are you gonna kiss?”

“Not anymore.” Katie’s voice is muffled into my shirt.

I give her one last squeeze before we part. “Okay, buddy,” I say to Mason. “Let’s get you to bed.”

By the time Mason is settled and I’m descending the stairs to the living room, Katie is sprawled out on the couch, her eyes half-closed. Instead of talking to her like I know I should, I suggest we both go to bed. She sleepily agrees, dragging herself up the stairs and into bed next to me. She snuggles up just like the night before, and I drift off with the sound of a lullaby playing on a loop in my mind.

The next day is just as busy. Drop off is a disaster again. Mason forgets his poster, so we have to go back to get it, which makes me late for my morning meeting with the team. Turns out it doesn’t matter, though, because the only person who is on time is the senior architect, Jasper. He’s beyond annoyed when I walk in, but when he reports on his design work, there’s nothing special about it. He shows no spark of passion for the project, like he’d rather be anywhere but here, presenting anything but this project to anyone but me.

Thalia comes in next, rushing as usual. “I’m so sorry. I was on the phone with your friend, Mac. The only time she could talk was before school started, and then I wanted to write up my notes before this meeting and lost track of time.”

I tone down the edge that has been building. I hadn’t realized she had been in the office this whole time, or I would have reminded her as I walked in. I probably rushed past her cubicle and didn’t see her in my own tardiness.

I motion for her to sit. “It’s okay. I was late, too.” I eye Jasper, daring him to make a remark, but he doesn’t.

Thalia looks around the otherwise-empty room. “Where are the others?”

Jasper snorts. “Your guess is as good as anyone else’s.”

Thalia frowns and folds her hands on the table in front of her. “Do you want me to wait for them before I tell you what Mac and I discussed?”

“No,” I say a little too sharply. Something tells me Marianne and Orlando don’t have anything noteworthy to present, anyway. “I’m interested to hear what you and Mac talked about.”

Thalia lights up, her back straightening and her hands clasping tighter. “She had some great ideas for these educational spaces.” She pauses to open her notebook. “She said there’s nowhere in the building now for groups to convene. The library has some study spaces, but they aren’t large enough for clubs or faculty to use them with any purpose. She says the teachers probably aren’t interested in study spaces as much as they are large group workrooms. She got into a lot of detail about the spaces.” She shakes her head. Mac must have talked her ear off. “They’d ideally be big enough for two classes of students to meet together for collaboration. So, maybe they’d house sixty to one hundred people. She suggested a movable wall so it could be two separate spaces or one combined space, depending on what it’s needed for.”