Chapter 9 #2
Today was a long day. My typical quiet shift started with an obnoxious group of teens who figured out the library was the one place in town with free Wi-Fi and bean bag chairs. Between loud whispering and giggling, I had to unleash my mom voice more than once.
Then, I discovered that the morning shift desk attendant didn’t process any of the books sitting in the return bin, and I spent a good portion of the night doing that. And then, when I finally finished, the printer jammed, and I had to troubleshoot how to fix it.
The night was filled with rude patrons, unsupervised kids tearing through the children’s section and a strange phone call that started off sounding like a prank, but I quickly realized the woman on the other end genuinely thought she was calling her favorite Italian restaurant in town.
The poor woman called three times before I broke down and googled the right number to give to her.
To make matters worse, I spent the entire night thinking about the perfect day I had with Henry. I couldn’t go ten minutes without daydreaming about how his toothy grin made my skin feel like it was on fire.
I was right. Spending more time with him was turning my brain into mush.
Henry was just a man, and I didn’t let men affect me this way.
Or at least that was my promise to myself after the divorce.
It’s so easy to get wrapped up in someone else that you lose yourself entirely.
I didn’t want that. I couldn’t want that.
The issue was that, in one tutoring session, he helped me completely turn around my bad grade streak. When my professor posted the results from last week’s assignment, I felt a small seed of pride growing inside of me. I finally got an A, and Henry was to thank.
I let out a strangled sigh, my eyes falling to my hands resting in my lap.
Ink smudges cling stubbornly to my skin, and I’m starting to believe they might be permanent.
I slowly stretch my neck before switching off the ignition and glancing toward the warm glow spilling from the windows of my old home.
Colt kept the house after the divorce, which I didn’t object to. The small building I’m staring at never really felt like my home. I tried my hardest to contribute and mold it into something I felt connected to, but it never happened. Some small part of me knew something wasn’t right.
I lean my head back against the seat, tilting my neck to the left so I can watch the stars peek out from the clouds. I need to push through this, stay focused on what I want, and not let my mind wander to the part of me that Henry has slowly started to reawaken.
I let my head rest for five more seconds before I ease open the driver’s side door and head inside. I pause at the front door and peel open the screen door before knocking. I wait a few seconds and cross my arms in frustration when Colt doesn’t answer.
He’s told me multiple times I don’t need to knock, but I never listen. I stand in front of the door for a minute longer before pushing it open and stepping inside.
I breathe in the faint smell of Colt’s cologne mixed with an even fainter smell of the lavender air freshener I must’ve left behind. The old scents should cause a pang of sadness, but I don’t feel sad. If anything, I feel the nostalgia creeping in and clinging to me like an old crutch.
“Milo? Colt?” I call, my voice echoing off the awful floral wallpaper that still coats the entryway. I always planned on redecorating the small space, but I never found the motivation to make any permanent changes.
I hear a muffled thud, followed by the unmistakable patter of small footsteps. My heart leaps out of my chest when Milo bounds around the corner and his face breaks into a wide grin.
“Mama!” He throws his tiny arms around my legs, and I sink down to his level to pull him in close. Getting to be the cause of my son’s excitement is enough to wipe away any bad day.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, fluffing up the small mound of light hair on his head. “Where’s your dad?”
Milo pulls his head back from my chest and his eyes are wide with excitement. “Da kitchen!”
I nod at Milo and stand up, following him into the kitchen on the other side of the house. I didn’t notice it before, but there’s a warm, rich chocolate scent wafting across the room.
When I walk into the kitchen, I’m surprised to find Colt leaning over a pan of freshly baked brownies. I put my hands on my hips and arch my brow. “You made brownies?”
“Hey, Em. You didn’t have to knock, you know.”
“I know,” I say, knowing full well I’ll continue to knock. “I didn’t know you baked.”
He never even set foot in the kitchen when we were together. For the first few years of our marriage, I was good at playing the stereotypical housewife, and by the time I decided I wanted a partner who helped around the house, it was already too late.
“It’s the Betty Crocker special,” he smiles, pointing to the discarded cardboard box in the trash. “Milo said he wanted something sweet, and apparently, I can’t say no to our son.”
I smile and lean into the hard marble counters. Colt was not a good husband, but he was an amazing dad. That’s one of the things that made it so hard to leave.
I feel Milo’s little arms latch onto my leg. I look down and his sight is aimed at the pan of freshly made sugar squares. If he has one, it won’t be easy to get him to bed. But I also don’t want to carry him out of here kicking and screaming. I wasn’t sure what battle I wanted to fight tonight.
“Just one. Okay, Mi?”
A huge grin spreads across his face, and I decide it’s a good decision for now. I know I will regret it later.
I secure a paper towel while Colt cuts Milo a small square. I hand the paper towel to Colt, and he hands the brownie to Mi, who’s eagerly looking up at us.
It’s times like this when I miss being a family. We were a good team when it came to parenting Milo, but we lacked the chemistry behind closed doors in a marriage. I guess it just ran out at some point without either of us noticing.
As soon as Milo gets his tiny hands on the brownie, he bolts to the living room to sit in front of whatever cartoon Colt turned on.
I turn to Colt, and he starts cleaning some of the dishes in the sink—another thing he didn’t do while we were married.
I watch as he picks up a dirty pan and starts scrubbing.
His shoulders are hunched over, and his expression is focused.
It catches me off guard for a moment. I’m used to a man who always sat back while I handled all the never-ending household tasks.
But now, here he is, sleeves rolled up, hands soapy, almost looking like a real partner.
“It’s…weird seeing you like this,” I sputter, wrapping my arms tightly around my chest. “Domestic, I mean.”
He glances over his shoulder, giving me his infamous tired dad smile. “People can change, Em. Not having you around made me realize how much you did around here. I…I’m sorry I didn’t step up when you needed me to.”
I want to say something, but the words stick in my throat. We’ve had this conversation multiple times. Most of the time, our couples therapist baited the apology out of him, but now, it felt like he actually meant it.
“I appreciate you saying that,” I say before grabbing a towel to start drying. A comfortable silence fills the kitchen, with Milo’s cartoons humming in the background.
A sharpness hits deep in my gut when I realize this is what I wanted from Colt during the last few months of our relationship.
But even now in this moment, I know everything happens for a reason.
I know we weren’t meant to last forever.
Eventually, we would both move on, but I’m glad we can still be friends even in the ruins of our failed marriage.