Unexpectingly Happily Ever After

9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nin e

Dreaming of your children hurt or injured is a minor occurrence and should be disregarded as a mother’s subconsciousness cannot be trusted.

A Young Woman’s Guide to Raising Obedient Children

Dr. Francine Pascal Reid, (1943)

S ince I have to be at the airport at such an ungodly hour, I say goodbye to the kids the night before I leave. Lugging my suitcase behind me, I try and make it out of the room without waking J.B., but accidentally slam it into the dresser on the way to the door.

His sharp intake tells me I’ve failed in my attempt not to wake him. “Casey?”

″Sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t want to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

He sits up, his hair mussed from sleep. “Were you going without saying goodbye? ”

″There was a goodbye last night. It was long, and there were tears. If I do that again, I don’t think I’ll be able to leave.”

A chuckle from the bed. “Get over here.”

Like I can say no to that. I crawl onto the bed beside him and let him wrap me in his arms, breathing in the sleep smell of him. He still smells good, other than his breath. I try not to breathe through my nose.

″We’ll be fine here,” he assures me.

″I know.”

″And you’ll have a good time.”

″Okay.”

″Have you called for an Uber yet?”

″When I get my stuff downstairs.”

J.B. shifts and pulls away. Already I miss him. “I’ll help you, or you might wake everyone up.”

″It was only a little bang.” I pick up my big Coach purse that works as a carry-on bag and let J.B. carry my suitcase down the stairs.

I pause outside the kids’ doors. Last night all three insisted on sleeping in the same room, with Ben on a makeshift bed on the floor. The tears threaten again as I give the door a little wave.

J.B. waits at the door with me until I see the headlights of the car. I notice how dark it is outside. I used to love getting up at this time of the night to feed the kids. It was always so quiet, without the cars or buses. I always felt like I was the only one in the city awake.

″It’s always darkest just before dawn,” I say to J.B., quoting an old Laura Ingalls Wilder saying.

″Have fun in the dark, then,” J.B. says, wrapping me in a hug.

″Be careful with the kids.” My voice is muffled against his chest.

″What am I going to do, break them?”

″Please don’t. ”

I’m already close to tears at the thought of being away from them for four days. Thinking of them broken in some way just about puts me over the edge.

″I won’t break your kids,” he assures me.

″They’re your kids too.”

″Which is why I am perfectly capable of taking care of them. You think so too. You told me that.”

″Maybe I had been drinking when I said that,” I say in a small voice.

″Casey.” He tips my chin up. “Everything will be fine.”

″You know what fine stands for, don’t you? Fucked up, insecure, neurotic–”

″Casey!” His tone of exasperation stops me.

″Everything will be fine,” I echo. “I’ll have fun.”

″You will have fun. Say hi to the girls. I love you.”

″Love you too.” We kiss as the headlights flash impatiently against the window. “I better go.”

J.B. opens the door for me and carries my suitcase to the car. “Try to stay out of the trouble,” he says as leans down for one last kiss.

″I’ll do my best.” Hopefully, the forced wink distracts him from my quivering chin. “But I’m not promising.”

I wave as the car drives away, and keep waving even after J.B. goes back into the house. I take a deep breath, and then another. It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s only four days.

″Early flight?” the Uber driver asks.

″I’m going to Las Vegas.”

″The city that never sleeps. You’ll fit right in.”

I hide a yawn. “I think I’ll need a nap.”

As I drive away from the house, the enormity of what I’m doing hits me. I’ve rarely been away from the kids for more than a few hours. I’m a full-time kindergarten teacher, but when the kids were in daycare, they were so close that five minutes after the school bell rang, I was picking them up. They spent an overnight at my sister’s, and the odd afternoon with Cooper and Emma, but that’s it.

The kids are my life, and I’m going away without them.

But as much as I love them, I love myself too. And I love Morgan and Brit. J.B. was right to push me into this. I need something else in my life because someday my kids are going to be gone. They’re going to move out, be far away from me…

I clamp my hands over my mouth to stifle the whimper.

I obviously didn’t get enough sleep last night if I’m getting upset over something that may or may not happen in twelve years’ time.

If we were to have another baby now, the kids will be seven when the new baby arrives. Is that too big a gap? And I’ll be forty-three–is that too old to be the mother of a newborn?

I don’t feel like a forty-year-old. Despite the constant exhaustion, the more time I spend with the kids, the younger I feel. Maybe having a baby would be a good thing.

How old would I be when a baby becomes a teenager? Has J.B. even thought of that?

The lack of traffic snarls and construction backups at four am makes it a speedy drive to the airport. I try not to think about J.B. back in bed as I wheel my bag into the airport.

The last time I traveled by myself was a few years before the kids came along. Brit and I decided to go to Paris for a few days. Before that was Cuba and Mexico. I’ve been to Europe three times. I am a world-class traveler, so what is the knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach?

The kids will be fine, I repeat as I march up to the counter.

And so will I.

Despite the Starbucks latte and the Tim Horton’s donut and wasting some time wandering the few shops open at this hour, and riding twice on the moving sidewalk, the early hour gets to me, and I end up in the boarding area, slumped uncomfortably in a chair, fighting off sleep.

″Boarding Flight 741 at Gate D.”

My eyes fly open. “What…Where…” I look around wildly, with no idea where I am.

″The plane’s getting ready to board,” says a man sitting beside me.

Airport. The chairs had been nearly empty when I had sat down, but now they are chockablock, with strangers staring at me. Especially the kindly-faced older man next to me. I try to calm my heart rate but then–

″Where are the kids?”

The man’s kindly face turns confused. “What kids?”

″ My kids!” I jump to my feet, the book flying off my lap. “Where–?”

″You had children with you?” He stares at me in shock. “I didn’t see anyone with you!”

″My kids, they’re…” I trail off, heaving a deep breath as I finally comprehend where I am. Airport. Vegas. Brit. Standing in the middle of the waiting area looking foolish. I sit down quickly. “They’re at home.”

″Are you sure?” he booms.

″I’m sorry.” Hand on my heart, I turn to him, to see the look of fear mirrored on his face. “I’m so sorry, but I was just confused.”

He lets out a whoosh of coffee-scented breath and slumps back into his seat. “You can’t do that to a man. I don’t think my heart could take it.”

″I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. ”

″Harold?” A woman walks over to us, her hands full of Tom Horton’s cups. “What’s going on?” She frowns at me as she hands Harold his coffee.

″I was a bit confused when I woke up,” I apologize. “I thought I lost my kids, but they’re not even here.”

″Where are they?” Harold asks. He has a nice voice, deep and kind, like his eyes. I notice they’re wearing matching khaki pants and brightly coloured shirts. Retirees leaving for vacation.

I take another deep breath. “Back home with my husband. Hopefully still in bed.” I stoop to pick up my book, collect my purse from under the chair. “I’m really sorry if I freaked you out.”

″As long as they’re safe,” Harold says, hugging his coffee to his chest like it might calm him. What I must have done to his poor heart.

His wife sits beside him and leans around to face me. “I used to wake up in the middle of the night thinking the baby was somewhere in the bed,” she says. “It so upset my husband.”

I glance from her to him. “Then you must be used to it.”

″Oh, I wasn’t married to him,” she says dismissively. “Still not.”

″Oh, I thought–you’re not–” I stammer.

″Oh no,” she trills before turning doting eyes at Harold. “Well, maybe someday.”

Harold, honest to goodness, blushes a deep red.

″She doesn’t need to hear any of that, Winnie,” he mutters.

Winnie gives a girlish giggle.

My face breaks into a smile. “I think I maybe do. Now that my heart’s started beating again.”

″Not a nice thing to do; joke about heart attacks with a couple who are on the danger list.”

I feel my face fall. “Uh…sorry. ”

She looks up with a twinkle in her eye. “Just joking. We’ve got at least twenty minutes before the flight boards and you can tell us all about your kids and husband who is letting you jet off all by yourself.”

J.B. I pull out my phone. “I just need to…” I mutter, my thumbs tapping furiously.

I know it’s early and you’ve gone back to bed but

PLEASE text me that kids are ok. Fell asleep in airport and dreamed I lost them.

Either he hasn’t gone back to sleep or the chime of the phone wakes him up because he replies right away.

Kids are still where you left them last night.

Checking now…1,2, and 3. All good. Going back to sleep.

Thank you. Love you.

He sends me a kissy face emoji in return.

″Kids are fine,” I report to Harold as I put my phone away. “It’s just me I have to worry about.”