Page 36 of Retrofit Analysis

“If he’s calling from Lisa’s house, it means something’s wrong,” I say. Kellen’s body stiffens, but he releases my arms as I roll out from under him. I can tell by his face that he’s disappointed, but my son comes first for me. Always. I’m disappointed that he would make me feel bad for it.

“Jake,” I say, stabbing at the screen to pick up the call. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Lisa bought generic soft pretzels for lunch,” he screams. I can hear him pacing. “There is nothing here I can eat. We were supposed to have soft pretzels.”

I sigh. “Did you ask her for any other options? What is Dhruv having for lunch?”

We go back and forth for a few minutes about Lisa’s lack of the proper brand of every food until I ask him to put her on the phone. Lisa is horrified to learn he has called me in the middle of my date. “Liz, I swear to you, Ashish is three minutes away with the right brand of both pretzel and cereal. Please go back to what you were doing and let me handle this. I’ve got you.”

“Is Jake aware that the food is coming?”

“Elizabeth, I’ve got this,” she insists. I can hear my son freaking out in the background. I squeeze my eyes shut and feel a tear slip down my cheek. I want to believe that she can get him calmed down, but he sounds so upset.

“I’m here, Jake,” I hear Ashish’s voice bursting into the house. “I’ve got your lunch, dude.”

And then, like a light switch, my son stops shouting. Lisa says, “he’s already got the pretzel in the microwave, Liz.” I nod, but she can’t see. We hang up with her assurances that she will make Jake talk to her before calling me again.

When I look up, I see that Kellen has put his shirt back on. He drapes a blanket over my shoulders and I know our romp in the sheets is over.

“Talk to me,” he says, leaning back against the headboard.

“I’m so sorry,” I start. I feel all the arguments I’ve had for 15 years coming up to haunt me. “I know he’s too old to be upset about his lunch, but he’s got a disability. His brain goes into fight or flight mode when things aren’t as he expects them to be and he just⁠—“

“Elizabeth, I know.” Kellen bites his cheek and squints. “But why couldn’t Lisa handle it and let you have an afternoon away for once?”

I stiffen. “I don’t get to be off from being Jake’s mom,” I tell him. “I’m all that he’s got.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not true, Beth. He’s got Lisa. And he’s got me. I’m not going to judge him for getting upset.”

“Well it seems like you are, Kellen.” I stand up, pulling the blanket tight and stooping to gather my things.

“I’m upset because you don’t get to ever be off,” he says. “You don’t get to prioritize anything but Jake. It makes me angry.”

“Well,” I start, considering his words. “That’s not what I was expecting you to say.”

“You’ve been on your own against the world for too long,” Kellen says, crossing his arms now. “I don’t know how to help.”

“Well I don’t need your help,” I spit at him, even though it’s not true. I need his help and I need his affection and I need his friendship, and all of those realizations make me upset.

“Maybe I need to be needed,” he counters, and the truth of our dual troubles rings in the air. We stare at one another for while. I step back into the leggings. I can’t find the panties. I tug on my shirt and tuck my hair behind my ears.

“I’m going to go home and take a shower,” I tell him. He nods, and when he doesn’t spring up to stop me, I sigh and walk home alone.

Twenty-Eight

Kellen

I don’t like this at all. I don’t like that Elizabeth and I were interrupted yesterday when I was in the middle of something so amazing with her. It feels childish to pout about it, but it’s been 15 damn years since I was with a woman in that way. I felt like we had everything set up to be successful. Her friend had her son.

She’s not just some regular babysitter. Lisa has a son with autism, too. If I’m honest, I’m disappointed that I let myself get my hopes up so high for something like a sexual encounter. Elizabeth was pretty clear that she wants and needs things to go slowly in that regard.

I stomp around my living room tugging at my hair. This isn’t like me. I don’t act rash. I don’t upset people. I’ve spent decades being the voice of reason in my family network, taking care of Mick and Mick’s kids as much as my own. I didn’t get this far in life by having temper tantrums, yet that’s exactly what I’m doing right now.

Because, shit. I’m still bothered by what happened. It’s true what I said. Elizabeth never gets a break. I’m mad for her. I’m mad that she can never be off. I stop pacing in my hallway as I realize that deep down, I might actually be mad that she can never fully prioritize me.

Am I okay with that?

“That’s something to think about,” I mutter.