Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Ezra
I cupped the tiny kitten in my hands while my son Dov used the warm, weak spray hose to rinse the pet shampoo off her. The kitten mewled, flashing a rough bubblegum pink tongue and canines like snake fangs, shivering as the suds washed off her.
“Seriously, Mom’s had a ton of boyfriends since you split,” my daughter Naomi told me in the earnest but totally condescending combination only pre-teens could do.
“Well, I’m just fine,” I tried to derail her. “Get the towel and wrap her up, sweetie.”
Sighing like I was the impossible one, she bundled up the kitten and cradled her against her chest. “ Dad , I know you don’t need to be in a relationship to be happy! Mom would disown me if I believed that. We need to make ourselves happy, then we can?—”
“ Merge our happinesses ,” Dov and I joined in, all of us reciting their mom’s favorite way to describe love. I knew what she meant, but it didn’t resonate with me. If you merged things together, didn’t you lose the individual colors or flavors or personalities?
As I finished rinsing my hands, I looked over at my kids, now sitting on the counter on top of the cabinets storing animal cleaning and grooming supplies. The kitten was on its back, boneless, draped across their knees, her white tail swishing contentedly.
“It’s just that since Xerox moved to Denver last year, you’ve been…”
Naomi looked at Dov, who shrugged and finished for her, “A hermit.”
“Hermits are cool,” I said, crossing my arms.
I didn’t want to explain how I felt like Xerox—my best friend, who had the nickname because he was the younger identical twin, a perfect copy of his brother who happened to slide out first—had dropped me after he moved. I didn’t want to affect the beautiful idea they had that their best friends now would always be their best friends. They thought they could go anywhere, be anyone, be with anyone, and those friendships wouldn’t change. I wanted it to be true, but once Xerox had moved, we stopped hanging out.
“Yeah, but hermit crabs outgrow their shells and need to find bigger ones to make their homes,” Naomi said with all her young wisdom. “So they fit right.”
“Wow,” I deadpanned, “that’s really subtle. Are you sure you’re your mom’s daughter?”
“You’re hilarious,” she deadpanned right back, only she rolled her eyes magnificently.
Taking a second to appreciate my kids, I told them, “Thank you for checking up on my emotional well-being. But things are good with me. Even if I had some wild, grown-up life, I’m not telling you two about it. Now let’s put the kitten with her siblings and head out.”
They ran off with the kitten and I started my end of day ritual for my veterinary clinic, including talking to the overnight staff person. Naomi always had to say goodbye to all the animals who were staying here, recovering from surgery or waiting to move to an animal shelter, while Dov pretended he didn’t do it too.
Once everything was done, I drove us all to my house.
It was a small two-bedroom house on a couple acres adjoining one of the valley’s many open spaces, loud with owls at night and peaceful during the daytime. There wasn’t much extra space when the kids were here and they complained about sharing a room. But they loved the yard with the trampoline, swingset, grill, and permanent fire pit, and sometimes complained just so I’d tell them if they didn’t like it, they could camp out there.
We got pizza delivered and I let them argue over what to put on, since it was a Friday night and they didn’t have anything planned for tomorrow except waffles.
After we watched a painfully clichéd teen action movie, I packed them off to their room, knowing they’d sit up and bicker, and probably worry some more about me.
I took a beer onto the front porch and wondered if I should text Xerox, who I hadn’t heard from in over a month, even though I didn’t have anything new to tell. My life was the same as it had been for years. Except for when my precious children reminded me pointedly that there could be more to my life, I preferred it quiet. Yeah, sometimes I wanted more people to hang out with than my kids, but I was introverted and busy enough that thinking about it made me tired.
“What depressing bullshit late-night thoughts,” I mumbled, going inside.