Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
T ROY
“Do you think it needs more sprinkles, Daddy?” Our baby girl is gripping her chin, staring at the cake she insisted on making for Shannon. Her expression is as serious as if she were considering a life-or-death decision.
“I think it’s the perfect number of sprinkles, cupcake.” I lift Chelsea off the stool and spin her in a circle. “Mom is gonna love it. Why don’t you go wash your hands and face and read a little while I get dinner started?”
When I place her back on the ground, she races off upstairs to do that. I can almost guarantee if I go looking for her in twenty minutes, she’ll be nestled in her reading nook with a book in hand. She’s definitely Shannon’s mini-me.
As soon as she’s gone, I grab the sprinkles and hide them on a top shelf in the pantry. If the child puts any more on that cake, we’ll all be diabetic by the end of the night. Olivia and Oliver are in the family room decorating for the “party.” Chase is tucked into his booster seat at the table—where I can see him—watching a movie on the tablet while he colors “pwetty pictures for Mama.”
Though I know she must be exhausted after taking four major tests over the course of the last week, I couldn’t convince the kids to wait even a day to have a celebration dinner. They don’t understand the concept of Shannon having to wait several weeks to get her results. Truthfully, this week has been hard on them, too. Two of Shannon’s tests were scheduled in Cleveland so she could make the commute back and forth. The other two, though, were in Columbus, so she had to stay at a hotel the night before in case there was bad weather. I stayed with them at their house those days so they wouldn’t be sleeping out of a bag for two extra nights, but it was still tough. I’m not her. My kids love me, but when they’re not with her, it’s clear something’s missing for them.
So, I gave in and agreed we could have dinner at home, a cake, and a few presents, but then they all needed to go to bed on time so Shannon could get a good night’s sleep. They agreed, so we’ll see if the little negotiators stick to their end of the deal.
A half-hour later, the roast vegetables have just finished in the oven, and I’m pulling the pan-seared chicken—Shannon’s favorite—off the stovetop when Oliver comes flying into the room.
“She’s in the driveway! Livvy went to get Chelsea. C’mon, Dad. Grab Chase, and let’s go hide in the living room!” This is the most excitement I’ve seen from our boy in ages. I make sure the stovetop is off, grab a giggling Chase, and carry him over my shoulder as we all head into the living room. I didn’t know we were doing the hiding shebang, but I’m all for it.
Chelsea and Oliver shake with eagerness as we hear Shannon come in through the mudroom door. The kids listen intently, grins on their faces and eyes wide.
“Hello?” Shannon calls out. “Oh, my gosh. What smells so good?” she asks no one in particular. I can tell when she’s figured out something is up. “Hmm. Where are all my favorite kiddos? I hope they didn’t move away while I was gone.”
Chelsea lets a sweet giggle escape her, and Olivia holds up her fingers to count us down from three. When she puts down the final finger, we all jump up and into the hallway with shouts of “Surprise!”
“Oh!” Shannon does a great job of pretending to be caught off guard, and she pulls the kids in for hugs. “I missed you all so much!” She pauses and looks around the room at the balloons and streamers. “And what’s all this?”
“It’s a party, Mom! For finishing your tests,” Oliver explains. Shannon holds back a grin, pretending like she didn’t realize that already.
When she’s done oohing and aahing over the decor, she turns to me and gives me a tired smile.
“Kids,” I say, “go wash up for dinner. It’s all ready to go.” The three older ones race out of the room, and I pick up Chase to carry him to the kitchen sink. Before I leave the room, I look over at her. “Sorry about springing all of this on you. I’m sure you’re exhausted, but I couldn’t get them to understand the concept you wouldn’t have your test results today. They insisted. I made dinner, but if you want to eat alone with the kids, I can?—”
Her hand on my forearm stops me. “Thank you for helping them do this. It’s sweet. Of course, I want you to stay. Now let’s get in there. I’m starving, and that smells suspiciously like pan-seared chicken and roasted veggies. Please tell me I’m right...”
An hour later everyone has eaten, and the kids insist it’s time for presents. Shannon’s eyes widen.
“There’s even presents? Oh, my goodness.”
Oliver and Chelsea guide her by the hands to the couch and place her where they think she should sit while Olivia brings out the wrapped presents. They hand her the presents in the order they think she should open them, and she does an amazing job of fawning over pens, sticky notes, and other office supplies. All very practical and Chelsea’s pick. The cute thing is, I know Shannon will love them. I’ve never seen a woman with so many sticky notes.
She raves over how much she loves Chase’s crayon scribbles.
Then Olivia hands Shannon a present, and when she opens it, she smiles radiantly at the pretty, flower-covered notebook Olivia chose.
“Even powerful women should have pretty things around them at work,” Olivia tells her.
I watch Oliver as he observes Shannon opening everyone else’s gifts. He’s practically bouncing from his excitement. He slides the box his gift is in over to Shannon.
“This is big,” Shannon observes. When she opens it, she pulls out dishcloth after dishcloth from inside the box.
“They’re to protect it, Mom.” I hold back my laughter. Oliver insisted on packing it like this, even for the short walk from the workshop into the house. Shannon nods and continues her careful unwrapping.
When she gets all the washcloths out and lifts the simple desk organizer out of the box, she inhales sharply.
“Owlie, this is beautiful. Did you make this?”
He nods eagerly. “Dad helped a little.”
“Just a little,” I add, pinching my thumb and index finger together to gesture a tiny amount.
“I made it with popular—” Oliver pauses and looks up at me for confirmation he has the name right. I bend down and whisper to him that it’s poplar. “I mean poplar because it has the purple streaks, and I know when Dad makes you stuff, you like when the wood has the purple.”
Shannon runs her hands over the smooth wood, and Oliver watches her closely. His face beams with pride.
“I love it so much.” Then she looks around at the other kids as well. “All of it. Thank you, guys. I’m the luckiest mom in the world.” Her eyes mist, and she blinks rapidly several times, presumably to fight back any tears.
“Wait, where’s yours, Dad?” Oliver asks. His eyes dart around the area near the couch. “Did you forget it?”
Heat rises to my cheeks. “Oh, um. Maybe another time.”
“Don’t be silly. Yours is good, too,” Oliver assures me. I look up at Shannon, and she’s holding back a smile at his words. Before I can say anything else, Oliver says, “I’ll go get it!” He’s off before I have any chance of stopping him.
Within minutes, Oliver rushes back into the room. He’s holding a lump of something covered in a large bath towel. “Sorry, we didn’t have a gift bag for this one, Mom. I grabbed a towel from the bathroom, though, so it’ll stay a surprise.”
Shannon smiles at the kids while giving me a look I know is asking if I’m okay with this. I give her a subtle nod. I’ve made her many things over the years. Woodworking helps me relax, and I love seeing her face when I create the pieces she describes to me. But this is different. This gift is more meaningful. I’ve tried—and failed—to make her one for almost five years. I’ve never gotten it right until now.
“Careful,” Oliver warns Shannon as she takes the towel-wrapped gift from him.
Chase is distracted, holding the colorful highlighters Chelsea picked for Shannon, while Chelsea is busy arranging the sticky notes in Shannon’s new organizer. Olivia is watching the scene unfold, looking back and forth between Shannon and me and holding her lower lip between her thumb and index finger.
As Shannon unwraps the towel with obvious care, heeding Oliver’s advice, I watch her intently. My lower abdomen shakes inside. Is this nerves? Am I getting sick ? I brush off the feeling when Shannon unveils the small wooden box I made her, and a small gasp escapes her pretty lips.
She stares at the gift, then runs her hands over the smooth walnut and traces a finger over the streaks of light maple wood that run through it. When she opens it and sees the small piece of paper inside, with directions on how to open the box in the future, her eyes mist up.
“It’s a secret treasure box, Mom,” Oliver explains. “Dad figured it out.” I think he mistakes her silence for not understanding what she’s looking at.
Olivia moves to the couch and snuggles into Shannon’s side. I’ve made myself a seat on the ottoman.
“It’s prettier than any of the ones from Charleston, huh, Mom?” Olivia asks.
Shannon nods, lifts her gaze, and looks at me through hooded eyes, then quietly whispers, “Thank you. I love it.”
“You’re welcome.”
Before either of us can say anything else, Chelsea jumps up from her seat on the floor and grabs Shannon’s free hand. “C’mon, Mom. There’s cake, too!”
I’m grateful when we move from the living room, the air in the room thick with emotion, and make our way into the kitchen. The next forty-five minutes is a whirlwind of activity as we all eat a piece of cake, and I begin cleaning up the dinner and dessert mess while the kids and Shannon stay around our... their kitchen table.
Oliver and Chelsea take turns telling Shannon about their week and asking about hers while Olivia sits quietly next to her, resting her head against Shannon’s shoulder. She’s pensive with an unfocused gaze, and her body posture relaxed. Chase is unusually sedate compared to usual, and I suspect it’s because he missed his mom. Now, snuggled on her lap with his head against her chest and one of her arms around his waist, all is right in his world. Shannon’s free arm is wrapped around Olivia, and she twirls the end of Olivia’s braid.
I watch my family for a moment, missing this life. Our everyday. Missing my family being together. I swallow past the thick lump in my throat and turn away.
As I clean up, I steal glances at them once in a while. With my own father on my mind lately because of his letter, I find myself looking at my family and wondering how he willingly walked away. I hate what’s happening with Shannon and me, but I know I don’t have a choice. If I did, there’s no way I wouldn’t take every opportunity I had to be with these guys. For the first time I can ever remember, instead of feeling bitterness or anger toward my father about how he left, I feel sorry for him.
Sorry that he wasn’t the kind of man that stayed. The kind of man who saw what he had and chose to love his family despite their imperfections. I realize for the first time in the twenty-five years since he’s been gone that he missed out on way more by leaving than I ever did.