Chapter xliii
xliii
THAT NIGHT DAX WHATSAPP’D ME AGAIN AFTER the kids had gone into their rooms for bedtime. I doubt any of them were asleep, but at my house, at eight thirty, everyone went into their room in pajamas for quiet time until they were ready for bed. I went in at nine to make sure Sam’s lights were out, at nine thirty for Liam, and at ten for Violet. Usually they all were tired enough to turn their lights off and go to bed themselves. But I always checked. If they were already asleep, sometimes I tiptoed into their rooms to adjust their blankets and kiss their cheeks. Remember how we used to say we were a binary star, orbiting around each other? Now I’m a moon, somehow orbiting around three planets. They are how I orient my life these days, so much of how I define who I am.
The nightly check-ins that week made me feel emotional. I was dreading what would happen that weekend when we told the kids, when it was possible that all of their feelings about me would change.
A little bit after I’d made sure Violet’s lights were out, a WhatsApp came through from Dax.
You were in my dream just now , he wrote, and you were in trouble. I wanted to say hi, make sure you’re okay.
Just seeing Dax’s name made me smile. It was a little after four A.M. his time. I wondered if he was one of those people who didn’t need much sleep.
I’m okay , I typed back, but on Saturday Darren and I are going to tell the kids the truth about Sammy, and I’m kind of terrified. So I guess not really okay .
My phone rang immediately. “Do you want to talk about it?” Dax asked, his deep voice traveling through the phone and enveloping me, just like last time.
I sat down on my bed. “I do and I don’t,” I told him.
“We could talk about something else,” he said. “To take your mind off things. There’s so much we don’t know about each other. Like, what’s your favorite color? Your favorite food? Your middle name?”
I laughed. “Blue,” I said. “Chocolate. And Bea.”
“Like the letter?” he asked.
“Like short for Beatrice,” I said, “my grandmother, except it’s just Bea.”
I could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “I like that.”
“How about you,” I asked.
“Green,” he said. “Pizza. And Jameson. My father’s name was James. So I’m Jameson.”
“Cute,” I said. “Was Zachariah’s middle name Daxson?”
He laughed. “You know, I tried to convince Aviva, but she wouldn’t do it. Instead we went with Amadeus. It means love.”
“That’s cool,” I said. “All my kids have family names from one side or another.”
“That’s special, too,” he said.
We kept talking about nothing of importance until he said, “So, how are you doing?”
“Scared out of my mind,” I said. “Scared that my kids will hate me. That they’ll judge me. That they’ll never trust me or Darren again. That this will put them all in therapy for the rest of their lives.”
“I don’t think it’ll be as bad as all that,” he said. “I could tell from your phone calls with them how much they love you. And love lets you forgive a lot. But … lining up a therapist might not be bad. Let them have someone professional to process this all with.”
I nodded, then said, “You couldn’t see me nod, but you’re right. Any recommendations?”
“I’ll send you some later today,” he said. “Let me just reach out to see who is taking new patients and who might have availability next week.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I so appreciate it.”
“My pleasure,” he said.
I looked at the clock. It was nearly eleven thirty P.M. I needed to get to bed if I was going to be up before the kids in the morning.
“This was so nice,” I said. “But I think I’ve got to go to sleep now.”
“That’s a lovely thought to have with me today,” he answered. “Before you go, will you tell me what your room looks like?”
I smiled, touched that he cared. “Let’s see,” I said, trying to figure out how to build my room in his mind. “The floors are wood, stained a dark mahogany color. There’s a gray-and-white chevron rug with white fringes along the edges. I have a brass-and-iron headboard with white, gray, and light blue bedding.”
“Tons of pillows?” he asked.
I laughed. “Tons,” I answered. “Nine, to be precise.”
“I love it,” he said. “Tell me more.”
“The walls are painted a light blue with white trim. There are gray-and-white chevron curtains, white blackout shades underneath. And a gray-stained wooden dresser that matches the night tables.”
“Lamps?”
“One on each side of the bed.”
“And what’s on your night table?”
I glanced over: “A clock radio, ChapStick, my phone charger, a glass of water, and a copy of the Jim Henson biography, which my brother, Jay, got me for Christmas this year.”
“I like that I can picture your house now, your bedroom.” His tone turned flirtatious. “Maybe I’ll be able to see it in person when I come back.”
“Maybe,” I said.
Dax was quiet for a moment and then said, “Good night, Lucy,” his voice a soft rumble that I felt in my core.
“Good morning, Dax,” I replied softly.
As much as I’d told him I was horrible at relationships, and as scared as I was of what it all could lead to, I couldn’t deny the thrill I felt in knowing he’d be back in New York soon, in knowing that I’d be able to feel his arms around me again.