9. Chapter 9
Julian
Ipress my palm against the kitchen island, staring into the emptiness of the house. The silence is absolute, and for once in my life, I completely hate it. Needing to hear my children’s voices, I slide my phone across the island and dial.
“Julian.” Just my name.
“Elowen.” I clear my throat. “I need to talk to Leo and Meredith.”
A pause. Then, “Hold on.”
I hear her voice, muffled as she lifts the receiver away from her mouth. “Dad wants to say hello.”
“Dad?” Leo’s voice comes immediately after.
“Hey, buddy.” My tone softens. “How’s my A-student today?”
“School was good. Mrs. Peterson said my math test was the best in class.” I can hear the pride in his voice, the desperate hope for my approval. I’ve trained him well.
“That’s my boy. What about your science project? Any ideas yet?”
“I was thinking maybe a self-sustaining house?”
I stop in front of the bay window, staring out at a manicured lawn I suddenly couldn’t care less about.
“Good. Ambitious. We can do that.” I’m actually working on investing in energy-efficient and self-sustaining housing. He must have overheard my discussions. “Remember, it needs to be impressive. Keep that straight-A average going.”
“I will, Dad, but when are we going home?”
I take a slow breath, bracing myself. “Mom and I need a little space right now, buddy. But we both love you more than anything, and we’ll figure things out. I’ll call every night, okay? Maybe we can video chat.”
“Okay.” His voice is small. “I gotta go. We’re making dinner.”
“I love you, Leo.”
“I love you, too, Dad.”
The line goes quiet for a second as the phone is passed, and the sudden absence of his voice leaves me feeling hollow. I find myself pivoting back toward the hallway, desperately wishing I was tracking muddy footprints instead of pacing
The phone is passed again. “Daddy! I love you ten thousand million infinity!” Meredith shouts.
“I love you, too, Mi-Mi.”
“I drew a picture of a cat! It has purple fur and three eyes, and it’s eating a rainbow!”
Uh, that doesn’t sound realistic. I’m about to give her pointers on how many eyes cats actually have and what they actually eat when I remember the concept of artistic license. “A real modern-day Warhol.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“He’s a famous artist.” I make a mental note to send her pictures of his most famous work.
“Oh. Did he like purple, too? Don’t tell Mommy, but I used all the purple paint.”
I can picture her, curly hair falling in her face as she leans into the phone, one foot kicked back behind her, bursting with the need to tell me everything at once.
“Did you remember to floss this morning?” I ask, falling back on habit.
There’s a guilty pause. “I forgot. But I brushed super hard!”
“Flossing is important for your grown-up teeth, Meredith. We’ve talked about this.”
“I know.” Her voice deflates.
I close my eyes, hating myself. Why can’t I just let it go for one day? Why am I micromanaging a child’s dental hygiene from thirty miles away when our family is falling apart?
“It’s okay,” I say, softening. “Just remember tomorrow.”
“Okay.” The cheer returns to her voice instantly. “Guess what we are having for dinner? Guess!”
“What is it?”
“Sloppy Joes!” Leo chimes in from the background. The phone must be on speaker.
“I am going to get it all over my face!” Meredith gushes, giggling so hard she snorts into the receiver. “Mommy said we have to eat them over the sink if we drop any.”
They keep gushing, taking turns shouting about the glorious, messy feast waiting on their plates.
They are so incredibly excited for a simple meal, their voices tumbling over each other to describe the sauce and the soft bread.
I listen to their joy, a dull ache blooming behind my ribs.
I want to tell them to use their napkins as bibs; I want to remind them to wash up.
But instead, I just close my eyes and let the sound of their happiness wash over me.
“That all sounds wonderful,” I manage to say, my voice thick.
“We will. I love you, Daddy!” Meredith screams.
“Love you, Dad,” Leo adds.
The phone clunks as it is handed back to Elowen. “You can call tomorrow for another check-in.”
The silence rushes back into the kitchen, thicker and heavier than before.
Right then and there, a new determination takes hold of me.
I need to try cooking. Looking at the counters, the loose, dripping meat and the inevitable stains of sloppy joes are far too messy for my structured mind to handle. I’ll manage something orderly.