9. Vigilance
Vigilance
ELLIE
Itried not to listen. Really, I did. And for the most part, if I stayed on the far end of the kitchen, I couldn’t hear them anyway.
But Sam and Henry’s chattering was extremely cute.
I kept making extra trips to the sink, emptying my container of peelings into the compost bin a little more frequently than was necessary.
The first time, they stopped talking as I got within hearing distance.
Not because they saw me, but because they were deeply focused on the block tower Sam was making for Henry.
He was piling up a single column of blocks into a wobbly tower as Henry looked on, mouth slack.
Each time Sam got another block on top, he let out this exaggerated exhale, which made Henry giggle and flap his hands.
“Ba!” Henry exclaimed, which I think was his way of telling Sam to add another block.
“Are you sure?” Sam sounded skeptical. He was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, his long lean form looking relaxed. One ankle rested on the other. He reached up with a block in hand. “This could be the one that ends it all.”
“Ba!”
Sam shook his head. “Okay. If you say so.”
Henry giggled.
My heart went a little gooey. Which felt… strange. Unexpected.
Sam looked up, his lips ticking into a smile when he saw me.
I felt my cheeks flush.
I smiled politely back, then returned to the cutting board, out of view. The point of tonight was to let them do their thing, and for me to get some stuff done while I could. Period. Not for my hormones to get the wrong message.
An explosion of sound followed as the blocks collapsed.
“Nooooo!” exclaimed Sam.
Henry laughed so hard I couldn’t help laughing myself.
Then I remembered what was happening, and pulled my mouth back into a pursed, tight line.
Last night, I called Kit in a panic after I’d gotten Henry down. I told her I’d invited Sam over, but with the visit looming the next day, I’d been suddenly sure it was a terrible idea. “I’m going to cancel.”
I could practically hear Kit’s frown over the phone. “Ellie, It’s not like you’re going to be able to put him off forever.”
I knew that. I knew I needed to give the two of them a chance at getting to know each other. But I closed the door on having him be involved when I couldn’t reach him. “This is all so… unplanned,” I said.
Kit was silent. She was clearly biting her tongue.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I’d said.
“Oh really?”
“Yeah. That I don’t need to know what’s going to happen.”
Her voice carried a laugh. “Exactly.”
I harrumphed. “I’ll have you know I used to be a much more spontaneous person. Having a baby who shits his pants like a grown man necessitates a little planning.”
She’d laughed, and while I had meant it to be funny, it wasn’t untrue.
My life required planning. I needed to ensure I had care for Henry before accepting new clients, and then, that they were good with me working shorter hours.
I needed to be able to get to Greenville on time to pick Tommy up from school so he didn’t have room to get into trouble getting home himself.
I couldn’t easily dash to the store if I forgot something, so shopping and errands needed to be carefully tracked and planned.
I needed to be vigilant about all aspects of my life so nothing went sideways, so plan shifts like suddenly inviting Sam into my life felt incongruous, even if it was helpful.
Especially when I needed to have neutral feelings about him.
But every time he looked at me, I felt like I’d received a little electrical shock. And looking at him and Henry? It wasn’t good.
The sound of thudding footsteps on the stairs knocked me out of my thoughts just before they started getting into dangerous territory.
My oldest emerged at the end of the hallway. He paused at the threshold of the living room, staring at the scene inside.
“Hey, Tommy,” I heard Sam say from around the corner.
Tommy said nothing, just stood for a moment watching them.
“Tommy!” I hissed to his back.
He grunted, which I guess was a facsimile of a greeting. Then he turned and slouched into the kitchen, opening the fridge without looking at me.
“I seem to remember raising you to have manners,” I reminded him.
Tommy ignored that. “What’s he doing here?”
I took a breath, setting down the potato I’d been peeling. My hands hurt from work, worse now trying to peel and chop a week’s worth of dinners. And my head hurt from Tommy’s attitude and being just so, so tired. But the last thing I needed to do was lose my shit on him.
“He’s getting to know his son,” I said. “That okay with you?”
Tommy said nothing, but I saw the way his knuckles went tight on the fridge handle.
My chest pinched. I’d been so caught up in my own feelings I hadn’t considered what this might be like for him.
I pressed my thumb into my hands as if I could work away the pain and the guilt together.
I couldn’t help shake the feeling that I was the reason Tommy was acting the way he was.
Like if I’d just done one thing differently we’d be like we used to be. Me and my little guy against the world.
“What’s for dinner?” Tommy asked. He looked over the fridge door at the cutting board. “Not that gross stew again is it?”
The tenderness I’d been feeling for my eldest was quickly replaced with a flare of hurt.
Last week, I’d decided to try to break out of our easy-dinner rut since I’d had a break before my next contract started.
I worked my ass off preparing this elaborate French stew.
It was my great grandmother’s recipe. She’d been a farmer in France.
I’d messed it up somehow and ended up spending hours on it, nearly in tears, trying everything to fix it.
Tommy had spat it out. It was not that bad.
It had turned into a huge fight. Him bringing it up again right now was kind of heartless.
I took a deep breath, picking up the potato and attacking it with the peeler. “No,” I said. “It’s not the stew.”
Tommy was so rude. Ruder than he had been lately. But at least he wasn’t acting out like he had been a few months ago. Sneaking out, coming back smelling like weed. Skipping school.
“We’re having spaghetti,” I said.
Tommy rolled his eyes, but said nothing, dropping back down into the fridge.
Every therapist told me his attitude was developmentally normal, even if it felt shitty.
His moods and his anger aren’t personal, one of the better ones told me.
He feels safe with you so he lets his worst self show.
Sometimes it helped to remember things like that.
Sometimes I didn’t care and blew up at him. Those times never helped.
Tommy clanked stuff around in the fridge hard enough something was going to break. Before I could tell him to quit it, he said, “Is buddy staying?”
“You mean Sam?”
“Sure.”
I forced myself to look past the attitude to what he was asking. I hadn’t considered Sam staying for dinner. Should I ask him? The thought made my stomach tense. With what, I wasn’t sure.
“I can’t,” Sam said, surprising us both.