Five #3
We wander to the big cats next. Leo walks ahead, not running, but walking with intent, like the leader of a very small, very confused army.
The lions are asleep, but he stands and waits, as if sheer force of will can make them wake up.
Eventually, one does, stretching and roaring just loud enough to thrill the children and send two tourists scrambling backwards.
Luca clutches at his chest. “Okay, that’s enough nature for one day. Time for lunch?”
“Is it ever not time for lunch with you?” asks Elsie.
He doesn’t answer but levels her with a look that practically screams at her to shut up.
Noah has snacks for the kids, and the adults share a single, enormous plate of nachos from the food stand.
We find a shady bench, and for a minute, the world seems manageable.
The kids eat, crumbs everywhere. Maisie falls asleep in the stroller, Milo in Leo’s lap who is also unconscious…
impressive really. Adrian takes a call from a client but is back within five minutes.
Noah and Elsie talk quietly, and I realize I haven’t checked my phone in hours.
Liv sits next to me, sipping her coffee. She looks at the sleeping kids, then at me.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” she says, voice low. “How life keeps going even when you’re supposed to be in pieces.”
I nod. “I feel like I’m watching someone else do it all. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”
She nudges my shoulder with hers. “It’s good. It’s survival.”
Luca calls out, “Hey! Group selfie, right now! If I don’t get one with all of you I will make a scene to embarrass you all. In public!”
We pile together. I don’t love pictures of myself, but today I let it happen.
Luca holds the phone out, wraps his free arm around Liv, who wraps her arm around me.
Noah, Elsie, and Adrian fill in behind, all of them smiling in various degrees of sincerity or sarcasm.
Maisie sleeps through it, Milo sleeps through it, but Leo wakes up at the last second, throws a peace sign, and sticks his tongue out.
It is the best photo we will ever take, I am sure, as no one is blinking.
After that, the day unspools in a blur. The elephants, the primate house (Milo: “He looks like Luca!”), a detour for ice cream where Luca and Liv compete to see who can eat theirs fastest (Liv wins, but only because she throws the last third in a trash can when she thinks nobody is looking).
By mid-afternoon, Leo is fading. He tries to pretend he isn’t tired, but when we stop by the koi pond, he leans into my side and lets himself droop. I drape my arm over him.
We end up at a bench near the back of the zoo, shaded and a little out of the way.
The air is sticky with humidity, but there’s a breeze.
The group sits, collectively exhausted, and for a moment nobody talks.
There’s just the sound of animals, kids chattering in the distance, and the creak of the bench as we all shift to get comfortable.
Maisie is asleep again in the stroller. Milo, somehow, is also asleep, splayed over Adrian’s lap like a very small, very stubborn koala. Luca watches them both with the expression of a proud parent, even though neither is technically his.
Elsie sits next to me, resting her head on the stroller’s handlebar, her hair falling over her face. She doesn’t speak, but when I look at her, she looks right back. The silence between us is full of support. She doesn’t have to say anything; the message is there anyway.
You’re still here. You’re not alone.
For a few minutes, there’s nothing in the world but the six of us, and the kids.
Eventually, Leo’s breathing gets heavy and I know he’s gone for the count. I pull him closer, lean back, and close my eyes, just for a second.
I hear Liv say, somewhere nearby, “You know, we’re going to have to do this again, right? The kids seem to love it.”
Luca: “For the kids? Not because you want to race a tortoise? If that’s the real reason then yes. Absolutely.”
Adrian: “I’ll bring a stopwatch.”
Elsie laughs, and for a second the bench feels like the only place in the world I want to be.
When I open my eyes, it’s nearly closing time. We gather the kids and wake them slightly, the bags, the leftovers. We file out in a slow, loose clump, nobody in a hurry. At the gate, Liv gives me a look. Not a question, not a warning, just a look.
“Text me later,” she says.
I nod and mean it. In the car, Leo barely lasts five minutes before he’s out, head lolling on the window, mouth open. I drive home in the golden hour light, feeling nothing but tired. Not sad, not angry, just tired.
At home, I carry Leo in, put him to bed fully clothed, dinosaur necklace that he stole back from Liv surrounding his neck.
I sit at the kitchen table, pour a glass of water, and look at my phone.
I may not have my husband here with me. My future may be different then what I envisioned. But, as I sit here, I know that no matter how hard it gets, I will get through it. With my friends by my side and Leo with me. I will get there.