24. Chapter 24
Julian
I’m parked outside the Seattle King Co Animal Shelter.
There’s nothing remarkable about the physical location of the shelter.
It’s a single-story cement block building painted with faded teal.
The sign by the road hangs slightly crooked, above a generic paw print logo.
No designer would approve of it; no corporate image consultant would let it stand.
Adjusting my position, I’m shifting uncomfortably as the air conditioning does nothing to cool down my sweating skin.
I shouldn’t be here. At least, that’s what my lawyer would say, not that I’ve retained one yet.
But how can I not? I’m afraid that my wife will file for divorce any day now, and with the whole debacle of last night’s dinner with Carmella, the time of giving her space has come to an end.
I’ve been in the parking lot for twenty-three minutes.
I’m counting because it is what I do when I’m anxious and don’t know how to move.
I’ve even counted the letters on the shelter’s sign.
Twenty-nine. Technically thirty-three because “Co” stands for “County.” The name is way too long.
But never mind that, because Elowen, Meredith, and Leo burst through the main door and head to the cat enclosure outside.
Finally, I can stop counting and focus on my wife and children.
Elowen is carrying a plastic bucket in one hand and a broom in the other.
Even from this distance, I can see she’s wearing faded jeans with small holes in the thighs and knees, and a gray T-shirt with the shelter’s acronym stretched across her back.
Same as how every time I’ve seen her recently, her beautiful chestnut hair is curly and hanging wildly around her face.
For years, I urged her to keep her hair straight and up, thinking it was cleaner and looked tame, but now that I see her hair as she wants it, I can’t remember why I thought straight hair was cleaner.
The confidence she’s radiating is more personable and “put-together” than I could have ever imagined.
She’s beautiful, and I hate myself for ever making her feel otherwise.
I can’t look away from them, and they’re cleaning, of all activities. It’s a sobering reminder that my family may not entirely enjoy the same things I do, but that doesn’t mean what they value matters any less.
Leo kneels to scratch behind the ears of a large orange tabby, indifferent to the bright orange fur coating his pants and T-shirt.
It’s confusing. The Leo I knew would have demanded to change his outfit right then and there.
He hates disorder as much as I do, if not more.
The orange mess-maker rubs his body against my son’s pant leg, attaching even more fur to his clothing.
Finally, Leo glances down and does a double take.
His face scrunches as he stares at the mess the furry little menace created.
I open my door and step out of my car. Not ready to make my presence known, I only want to hear him.
“Mom!” Leo says. Elowen, who was mopping the concrete, looks at him. Leo motions his hands up and down his body, showing my wife his discomfort.
“On it, honey.” She makes a move toward the door of the enclosure when Meredith speaks.
“I can get it. I know where the lint roller is!”
Lint roller? Lint roller?! My son needs a new change of clothes. He needs to burn his pants and shirt because, honestly, there is no saving them. But at his sister’s suggestion of a lint roller, he shrugs, like it’s good enough for him.
Huh. Same as me, but different. My reaction would have been to burn my clothes right then and there. My son’s reaction is to remove the mess and continue with his day.
Interesting.
Meredith runs off and, just as quickly, returns with the roller.
Elowen takes it and helps Leo get the fur off.
Watching Leo and Elowen’s hair in the wind causes a sharp memory to surface.
Elowen, three years into our marriage, standing in our closet as I inspected her outfit for a crucial investor dinner.
“The blue dress would be better,” I’d said, not really looking at her face, instead focused on the overall image. “And straighten your hair tonight. My biggest clients will be there, and you know how brutal they can be.”
As if I’m not brutal or nitpicky myself.
“I spent two hours at the salon yesterday,” Elowen had replied. At the time I took it for soft, but now I wonder if it was hurt. “My hair is straight.”
I’d frowned, reaching out to touch a slight wave near her temple. “Not here. It’s already curling again. Can you fix it before we leave? Maybe use extra hairspray.”
She’d nodded, that small crease appearing between her brows.
It’s one I now recognize as suppressed hurt rather than the concentration I’d assumed it to be.
Especially since she hates hairspray. She says it always somehow gets in her mouth and tastes nasty.
But rather than decline, she said, “Of course. I’ll take care of it. ”
In the cat enclosure now, Elowen throws her head back in laughter at something Meredith has said. Her curls catch the sunlight, highlighting auburn strands I never knew existed. She looks vibrantly alive. The crease between her brows is gone.
I created a perfect corporate wife and lost an extraordinary woman in the process.
My throat tightens unexpectedly. Grief: that’s what this feeling is.
Not for our marriage as it was, but for what it could have been if I’d recognized the woman before me now.
If I’d nurtured her authenticity instead of suppressing it.
If I’d valued her essence rather than her utility.
And even worse, I was doing the same thing to my children, especially to Leo.
Thinking he was exactly me, I placed unreasonable expectations on him.
Now I see we are similar, but he is his own person.
Elowen hands Leo the lint roller, and he finishes using it.
Deciding it’s time to tuck the cowardly version of me that has only been watching, I close my car door and take a few slow steps to the cat enclosure. At least I don’t have to go through the main entrance since it’s on the side of the building.
The gravel crunches under my Italian leather oxfords. Through the chain-link fence, I can see them more clearly now. My family.
Leo kneels near the corner of the enclosure, his back to me. He’s focused entirely on a gray tabby that crouches beneath a wooden platform, ears flat against its head.
The tabby inches forward, nose twitching as it sniffs Leo’s outstretched fingers. My son remains perfectly still, not pushing, not retreating. Just present and available. The cat takes another step, then another, finally brushing its whiskers against Leo’s hand.
The smile that breaks across my son’s face is pure joy. My chest tightens. How many of these moments have I missed? How many small victories have gone uncelebrated because I was too busy to notice my son’s growth?
Across the enclosure, Meredith cradles a small black kitten against her chest. She follows Elowen from station to station, chattering continuously while the kitten regards its surroundings with wide yellow eyes.
When did my daughter become this self-assured little person?
Here, she stands tall despite her small stature, an authority in her own right.
Then, just as Elowen seems to be gathering the cleaning supplies, Meredith spots me. She gives me a full-lipped grin.
“Daddy! You’re here!” She bounces on her toes while the cat holds on for dear life. “Look at my kitty! Her name is Pepper!”
Leo turns at his sister’s exclamation, his expression shifting from surprise to cautious happiness as he stands.
And then Elowen turns. Her eyes find mine through the chain-link fence.
Her expression travels through multiple emotions in quick succession, but ultimately lands on confusion.
The smile she wore moments earlier fades, but it doesn’t disappear entirely, which is a good sign.
Rather than angry, she appears more unsure. I wonder how welcome I am here.
Meredith solves my dilemma by running to the enclosure gate, the kitten still cradled against her chest. “Come see Pepper!” she calls. “She picked me to be her special friend today!”
Leo follows more slowly, his eyes moving between his mother and me.
I take a deep breath, straighten my shoulders through habit rather than any real meaning, open the latch on the fence, and step through.