“Heidi, why are you doing this?” Daddy asked.
“I did what you asked. I went on your stupid trip, and I simply don’t feel that way about you anymore.”
My heart beat funny. Stupid trip? Two weeks ago we went to Disney World. We all had a great time. Daddy had spun the teacup until I laughed so hard I cried. Mommy giggled when Mickey Mouse kissed her hand. They’d had fun, too. I knew they did.
Hadn’t they?
There was the time when Daddy got mad that we missed the tram to the parking lot and had to wait for another one to come. Once he left us eating ice cream because he said he was going to get me some mouse ears, but he came back empty-handed. Then there was the time Mommy ran off for a few minutes and came back smelling like cigarettes, even though she had promised me she would stop smoking.
But we’d been together.
“Richard, I’m tired.”
“Then go to sleep.”
“No, I’m tired of trying to make this work. I’ll admit the trip was a little fun, but tomorrow I’ll go back to work, and you’ll do what exactly?”
“I don’t know. Look for work?”
“How about you cook supper and make sure Vivian starts on her homework?”
“Nah, that’s your job. You know I’m not any good at it.”
“You couldtry.”
“Maybe. But don’t bring home cold pizza again.”
“Look, I have a job, Richard. I’m not sure how we’re going to pay for the vacation that you insisted we take, but I’m keeping us afloat right now.”
Daddy made a guttural sound, one of frustration and anguish. “Stop rubbing that in my face! I can’t help it if most of our operations got shipped overseas!”
“I didn’t say you could. I’m just saying cold pizza is a small price to pay if I’m able to bring in a couple of big commissions each month. Isn’t it?”
“It’s not what I signed up for. I just want home-cooked meals and to have clean underwear.”
“The washer and dryer are in the same place they’ve always been. So are the cookbooks.”
How could Daddy not know how to do laundry? I was only eight, but Mommy had taught me about sorting and water temperature and how much detergent to put in the washer. Engrossed in trying to figure out why Daddy just couldn’t do his own laundry, I jumped out of my skin when he opened the door and bellowed, “How long have you been there?”
“Not long,” I said in a small voice. Tears rolled down my cheeks. Now he would call me a crybaby. “I need to get this form signed.”
Daddy did that thing where he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, darling. Take it over to your mother.”
He brushed past me, and I took the form to Mommy, who fished around in the bedside drawer while muttering, “Go see your mother. All the things I do, but it’s never enough for him.”
“Thank you, Mommy,” I said in an even smaller squeaky voice when Mommy handed back the form. She sighed deeply, then pushed aside the covers to get out of bed.
“Let’s get you back in bed.” She took my hand and led me down the hall to my own bedroom. She tucked the covers under my body to make me a “mummy for mommy,” but I couldn’t giggle this time.
“I’m sorry, baby,” she said. “I’m sorry that you had to hear us fighting.”
She rubbed the hair away from my forehead in a slow and soothing manner before leaning over to kiss me. “One thing you need to remember is that we will both always love you no matter what.”
But that wasn’t exactly what happened.
I sat up straight in bed, my heart pounding against my chest. I wasn’t eight. No, I was forty-four. I was the mommy who would have to tell the baby that she and Daddy would always love him. Only, I would know that parents can’t make promises for anyone but themselves. I couldn’t promise Dylan that Mitch would always be there. After all, I’d thought Mitch would always be there for me, but I’d found papers suggesting he had other plans.
I flopped back on the bed dramatically.
