Chapter 5
Jack
I’m spiraling. Locked in the cedarwood-lined bathroom, toilet lid down, pacing in the one-meter space, spiraling.
I promised my boys I would be one thousand percent present for them this weekend.
This Christmas, we were going to build snowmen, bake cookies, binge-watch all their favorite Christmas movies like The Grinch, Arthur Christmas, Candy Cane Lane, and god help me—Elf.
We have a list taped to the refrigerator at home.
I even asked Anna to bring me one of those gingerbread kit houses to build together.
Cliff has been counting down the days since Halloween, when I promised them I would be theirs this holiday.
I thought at first his colorful paper rings were counting down to Santa and presents, but then I saw the words scrawled in his six-year-old handwriting: “Days till Dad is ours.” It broke my heart to see that my sister was right, that I haven’t been present enough for them.
Now, we’re trapped in the cabin. Yes, I threw together an overnight bag for just in case.
I always do when traveling these mountain roads this time of year.
But the weekend trapped in a cabin away from all of our Christmas plans.
Hell, let’s be real, away from all the boys’ creature comforts that I’m afraid to be without. At least they have the Switch.
When I finally emerge, chaos has completely taken hold. Dr. Holly and Cliff are in the kitchen, a nuclear puff cloud of something white—I hope it’s just flour—surrounds them like a halo, while Cliff stirs something in a mixing bowl like he’s in a rodeo competition for stirring.
Meanwhile, Todd is in the closet. Literally, he’s unpacking the hall closet.
Licking my lips to come up with something to say that isn’t a curse word of “What the actual hell are you doing?”—to all of them, not just Todd—he emerges with a towering stack of classic board games that threatens to topple with each step he takes.
My hands go out as my feet walk toward him, to steady the boxes, guide him, but then I remember hating being helped when I was his age, so I let him do it.
He gets to the table and sets the stack down gently; a proud look crosses his face.
“Holly told me to get them out,” he says to me, the proud look gone, replaced by the normal grumpy teenage one. Ah. That makes sense. I suppose I shouldn’t have assumed he would want to play a board game on his own.
“Cliff and I are making cookies,” Dr. Holly interjects.
“Then I need to re-shovel my path for this evening after dinner.” She looks at me with a look of…
I don’t even know how to interpret. Her eyes shine under the kitchen lights, crinkling at the edges with her smile that lights up her entire face.
“And I figure I should give y’all the basic facts of the comet before tonight. ”
“Why?” comes out of my mouth so fast you’d think it was a horse responding to a rattlesnake.
I’ve never wanted to retract a single word faster than right now.
The word seems to shut her down. She gives her head a little shake, as if I’ve startled her, and puts her eyes back on Cliff and the bowl.
She twists her lips together into an uncomfortable thinking face.
Once she’s helped him add some chocolate chips and marshmallows—where on earth did those come from?
—she looks up at me, but not with the same open smiling face.
“Listen, I know you don’t want to be here.
I don’t want to rain on your holiday. This weekend is really important to me, and if the three of you are here, then that’s cool.
But we might as well make the most of it.
And don’t worry, when I’m home, I’ll contact your boss and demand that he pay you extra for your time. ”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Todd’s head fly up to stare at us, his mouth slightly open.
I shake my head ever so slightly at him, and his mouth shuts.
Cliff, seemingly totally oblivious, is trying to sing the wrong words to “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” and seems to have missed the miscommunication.
I should say thank you. Should apologize for sounding gruff. Should say making the best of it is definitely the right idea—good thinking. But my tongue is tied in knots. My heart hurts at the mess I’ve created, and my carefully buried need for affection is trying to rear its ugly head.
So, I do the only thing a sane man would do.
I go outside to shovel more snow.