Chapter 11 - The First Night I Put Them to Bed
Saturday dinner became the first time Grace trusted me inside the evening routine that had existed for three years without me. Caleb refused peas. Emma spilled milk. Lucy wanted her chicken cut into pieces so small I suspected she was negotiating merely for attention. Rebecca watched me like a probation officer. Grace tried not to laugh every time I did something wrong.
After dinner, bath time began.
“Three at once?” I asked.
Grace raised an eyebrow.
“How did you imagine this worked?”
“I assumed children formed an orderly line.”
Rebecca nearly fell over laughing.
Caleb splashed half the bathroom.
Emma screamed because shampoo touched her forehead.
Lucy wanted bubbles “taller than Daddy.”
I emerged soaked.
Grace leaned against the hallway.
“Expensive suit?”
“Burn it.”
“You chose to wear it.”
“I didn’t understand the assignment.”
She smiled.
Then bedtime.
Caleb chose a dinosaur book.
Emma wanted a princess story.
Lucy wanted both.
I read all three.
Badly.
Apparently I gave every character the same voice.
“Dad,” Caleb complained, “girl dragon doesn’t sound like that.”
“What does a girl dragon sound like?”
He demonstrated.
I tried.
Everyone laughed.
Eventually the room quieted.
Lucy rested her head on my arm.
Emma curled beside Grace.
Caleb lay sideways across the bed like someone had thrown him there.
I looked at them.
Three lives.
Three years.
More than a thousand nights I had missed.
The grief came suddenly.
I turned my face away.
Grace noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Ryan.”
I swallowed.
“I don’t know what to do with how much I missed.”
Her expression softened.
“You don’t get it back.”
“I know.”
“That hurts.”
“Yes.”
“But if you spend every night grieving the first thousand, you’ll miss the next thousand too.”
I looked at her.
“Where did you learn to say things like that?”
“Therapy.”
“Apparently I should’ve started earlier.”
“Yes.”
After the kids slept, Rebecca left.
Grace and I cleaned the kitchen.
Ordinary.
I loved it.
That frightened me.
At ten, I reached for my coat.
“You can stay for tea.”
I looked at her.
“Tea?”
“Do not make it weird.”
“Impossible.”
She rolled her eyes.
We sat by the window.
Chicago glowed below.
“Do you remember our first apartment?” she asked.
“Third floor. No elevator.”
“The radiator screamed.”
“The neighbor had a parrot.”
“It hated you.”
“It had good instincts.”
Grace smiled.
“We were happy.”
“Yes.”
“Before the money got bigger.”
“Before I got smaller.”
She looked at me.
“What?”
“I thought becoming more powerful meant I had to become less reachable.”
I stared into my cup.
“Dad was like that. People treated his absence like evidence of importance.”
“You copied him.”
“Yes.”
“You also blamed me when I didn’t like it.”
“Yes.”
“You told me I knew what I married.”
I closed my eyes.
“I remember.”
“I hated that sentence.”
“So do I.”
Grace was quiet.
Then:
“I wasn’t perfect.”
“I know.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“That was quick.”
“I’m trying not to lie.”
She laughed.
“I became passive-aggressive instead of direct. I stopped telling you what I needed because I wanted you to notice without being told.”
“I should have noticed more.”
“Yes.”
“But you also could have told me.”
“Yes.”
Another two truths.
Then Grace said:
“I don’t want the children thinking our divorce was just your fault.”
I looked at her.
“They don’t need fault.”
“What do they need?”
“Truth appropriate for their age.”
She smiled.
“Therapy too?”
“Lots.”
We both laughed.
At the door, I paused.
“Grace.”
“Yes?”
“I’m still in love with you.”
Her face changed.
“I know.”
“I’m not asking you to do anything with that.”
“Good.”
“I just don’t want another relationship between us built around silence.”
Grace’s eyes filled.
“I still love you too.”
My breath stopped.
“But.”
“I know.”
“I don’t trust you enough yet.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know if I ever will.”
“I know.”
She looked frustrated.
“Stop being reasonable.”
“I’ve been advised it’s healthier.”
She laughed through tears.
Then said:
“Goodnight, Ryan.”
“Goodnight.”
I left.
I did not kiss her.
I did not ask when I could come back.
I did not turn her confession into a contract.
Two days later she texted:
Lucy wants to know if you can read the dragon book Wednesday.
I replied:
Yes. And I’ve been practicing the female dragon voice.
Grace:
God help us.
That was how we started again.
Not romantically.
May you like
Not yet.
One bedtime at a time.
