“Okay, okay, enough!” I say. “I know. I’ve been stressed. I’m sorry. I’m not dropping the ball with the kids at all though.”
“I know you’re not. I just don’t want to see you this stressed,” he says. I cock my head and look at him. He’s being sincere. He actually cares, which feels…weird. When my mother was dying and the rumors about Lars were flying, I was a nervous wreck, falling apart and emotionally depleted, but Alex barely seemed to look at me.
“I’m just worried about the show. I’ve been wanting my own show for so long and now I finally have it and I’m terrified.”
He puts his hand on top of my foot, which is under the covers. He rubs my foot through the comforter. It’s an old habit, muscle memory.
We used to be like this.
“The show is going to be great,” he says. “You have a natural sense for this kind of stuff. Let me help out more…at least until the pilot airs. I’ll do four days instead of three, okay? It’s settled.”
I nod, so he gets up to head out. “Alex?” He turns around near the door. “Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.
“You’re welcome.”
“One last thing?”
“What?”
“I want to know when you have a girlfriend, okay? I know I don’t have a right to know, but please just tell me. You know how crazy my mind is. I’ll give you the same respect in return.”
“Okay, Danielle. I don’t have anything that remotely resembles a girlfriend right now.”
“Okay. I went on three dates with Jacob, but that’s done with,” I blurt out. “I don’t have much time for dating, but I’m sure we will both see other people at some point. It’s just better to rip the Band-Aid off, you know?”
“Okay. I will let you know.”
As soon as he walks out, I fall fast asleep. Sleep that comes easily requires a level of peace. There’s peace in knowing another parent is there with you, even if they’re in the other room. It’s something I took for granted before.
—
In the morning, I walk to the kitchen to find a note from Alex. I look over and see the boys are still sleeping on the blow-up mattress.
Dani, I had to go into the clinic to do a makeup appointment and some paperwork with Jenna. She’s bringing her baby, Sophia, with her if you guys want to come down and meet her.
I feel something in my chest. I think it’s happiness. For a long time after I had the miscarriages, I couldn’t hold other people’s newborns. Right now I feel unreasonably excited about meeting Jenna’s baby. I decide I’m going to wake up the boys with some tunes.
The Doors’Morrison Hotelalbum is sticking out from the sideways stack on the shelf.Perfect.
I pull the record and sleeve out and read the writing on it. It’s my dad’s, but maybe I’ll add to it today. I put the record on and move the needle to the fourth song.
Song 4: You’re dancing in the kitchen, doing some variation of the Hustle to the song “Peace Frog”—wearing the green bell-bottoms, my favorite. You’re eight months pregnant and still getting down. Dance your heart out, Irene.
She was pregnant with me. I set the record sleeve down, turn up the volume, and do the Hustle all the way into the kitchen. The kids are now awake and staring unamused.
“I’m gonna make you guys pancakes!” I yell over the music.
“What is this?” Ethan says.
“This is The Doors. Jim Morrison, baby!”
“You’re so weird, Mom,” Noah grumbles loudly.
“Pot-kettle, Noah,” I say in a singsongy voice. “You’re the weirdest of us all. Now go take showers, both of you!”
I’m a firm believer in messing up your kids just enough to give them a sense of humor.
23
