Lily
“Mom, can I ride my bike with the guys?” Jake asked as he strode into the kitchen, phone clutched in one hand.
I plunged my hands into the sudsy water. “Did you finish your homework?”
He released an exaggerated sigh. “Yeah, Mom, I did.”
I glanced over my shoulder, wiping a stray drop of water from my cheek with the back of my wrist. My eyes lingered on him, leaning against the frame. He’d shot up like a weed in the last year alone. My son wasn’t a little boy anymore; he was a teenager.
“Yes, you can leave. And be home by eight,” I said.
A wide grin spread across his face. He pushed off the frame, walked over, and planted a quick kiss on my cheek. “Love you, Mom. Thanks!”
“Love you too, kiddo.”
He was out of the room before I could even turn back to the sink, and a moment later, the distinct thud of the front door slamming shut echoed through the house. I sighed, resuming my dish-scrubbing. Peace and quiet, for a few minutes at least.
“Mom!” Maddy’s voice pierced the brief silence. “Did you bake my cookies for tomorrow?”
“Your wh—?” I stopped mid-scrub and shut off the running water. “Your what now?” I yelled back.
I heard the rapid patter of her footsteps descending the stairs, then a quick hop-skip before she appeared in the kitchen archway, her hand resting on the frame. She was breathless, her eyes wide. “My cookies! Remember? For the bake sale.”
“I most certainly do not remember,” I said, a sudsy plate clutched in my hand. “What cookies?”
Her shoulders slumped. “For the bake sale, Mom. The funds are going toward the trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. You know, the one I’ve been talking about for the past two months?”
When I stared at her, my expression clearly blank, she rolled her eyes with a dramatic sigh. “Mom. Seriously. I told you about this months ago.”
“Why didn’t you remind me?” I asked, bewildered.
“I did!” She huffed, then marched over to the fridge, pointing at a date on the calendar. “See? Right here. ‘Cookies for Maddy’s Art Bake Sale.’ I even wrote it in red.”
A groan escaped me. “Oh, honey. I completely forgot.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” she muttered, crossing her arms.
With the bakery being busier than ever this time of year for weddings and events, and my husband leaving me to pick up the slack since he has forgotten that he has a family, it felt like everything else was passing me by in a blur.
“I’m so sorry, sweetie. Let me just finish up, and then I’ll start them right away.” I turned back to the dishes, trying not to let the wave of inadequacy wash over me. I never missed this kind of thing.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
“I can help, Mom,” Maddy said softly, reaching for a dish towel and pulling the plug on the sink. She started rinsing a plate.
I gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you, sweetie.”
She took over the remaining dishes, and I quickly dried my hands on a tea towel, pulling out the large mixing bowl, measuring cups, and the heavy bakeware set from the lower cabinet.
“Where’s Dad, anyway?” Maddy asked as she stacked a clean plate.
“Um, working late, I guess,” I responded, my head half-buried in the pantry as I rummaged for the sugar.
“You guess?”
I finally located the bag and turned to face her. “Yes, he’s working late.”
Even though it was difficult, I always made a point not to speak negatively about Ethan in front of our children.
I believed it was important to shield them from any criticism or tension between us, so I kept my feelings to myself.
Still, the distance between us was undeniable.
Ever since he shared the stress he was undergoing at work a few weeks ago, he hadn’t been present with us.
The weight of his absence pressed on me more than I’d ever expected it would, and the kids were beginning to feel the impact as well.
But trying to get Ethan alone, let alone to have a decent adult conversation with him, was like driving around a roundabout and never being able to take the exit toward my destination.
I went back to gathering what I needed, setting everything on the kitchen island.
“He owns a business, Mom. Isn’t that the whole point? For him to do what he wants, so he can’t miss time with us? You know, his family.” Her voice was quiet now but firm. My ten-year-old daughter was too smart for her age.
A deep sigh escaped me. “Honey, there’s a lot that goes into owning a company. There are going to be late nights,” I explained, but even to my own ears, it felt like a crock of shit.
She turned off the water and placed the last dish on the drying rack with a soft clatter. She turned to face me, her expression solemn.
“Well, are we at least going to the beach house this year?” she asked.
Every year, Ethan and I would plan a family trip to the beach house before the kids went back to school in the fall.
“It’s been over a year, Mom. I miss going,” Maddy added.
I looked away, a flicker of shame warming my cheeks, and poured sugar into the mixing bowl. “I’m not sure, sweetheart. Your father and I haven’t had a chance to discuss it. But I’ll mention it.” I looked back up, catching her steady gaze, and after a moment, she gave me a small, almost sad smile.
Despite the uncertainty swirling around Ethan and me, at least my love for my children was something I could hold onto.