Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
The boys take medication for various reasons. Adam mainly for his seizures and mood management. Aaron for mood, too, and to reduce self-injurious behavior like banging his head and chin with his fist. The meds do their work, but our occupational therapist recommended running. It’s great input for their joints and may help decrease sense-seeking behaviors. I’m a man who loves data, and I can’t prove that running works, but I do recognize patterns. Their toughest days tend to be the ones when we don’t run in the mornings. On this journey I’ve learned to lean into anything that makes shit better.
“Go shower,” I tell Adam. “Your mom will be here soon. You can grab breakfast after and take it with you if necessary.”
“Okay.” He turns toward the stairs.
“You done?” I ask with a pointed glance from the bottle to the dishwasher.
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, loading the bottle before taking off to get ready.
I’m downing a handful of vitamins and my green juice when Tremaine calls.
“Hey.” I start up the stairs and enter my bedroom. “What’s up?”
“Any chance you can take Adam to school?”
I glance at my Apple Watch. Aaron’s school, designed for kids on the spectrum, is near my office. Harrington, the private school Adam started in January, is near Tremaine’s, so we split the commute.
“What’s up?” I ask with a frown while I flick through the suits in my closet.
“You remember Mrs. Martin?”
“One of the parents you’re helping?” Tremaine advocates for and lends her legal expertise to so many disabled people and their families, but I think I remember this one. “Tall lady? Daughter’s in middle school?”
“That’s her.” Tremaine releases a heavy sigh. “She has an emergency IEP meeting. She believes they may have restrained Maya, and there’s a bunch of red flags waving. I wanna be there to help if I can.”
“Do what you gotta do. I got you.” I strip off my sodden T-shirt and jogging pants. “I’ll take the boys.”
“You sure you can?” she asks, even though the relief is evident in her voice.
“Yeah, if you let me go now,” I say, teasing a little.
“I’ll owe you big-time. Come over for dinner next week and I’ll repay you in your favorite currency. Food.”
“First of all, my favorite currency is actual currency. And second of all, how you gonna repay me using your new husband’s skills? I already know Kent’ll be cooking dinner.”
“What can I say?” she laughs. “I hit the jackpot the second time around.”
“That really hurt.” I shake my head and chuckle. “Are you implying I wasn’t everything you dreamed of when we were married?”
A small silence builds on the other end of the line, and I wonder if I misread the situation. I miss a lot of social cues. I thought we were joking, but maybe I was wrong.
“Look, Tremaine, I—”
“You were, you know,” she says softly. “Everything I dreamed of. You were fine as hell. Smart as a whip. Great dad. Fantastic in bed… at first.”
“Well, this took a turn.” I reach to start the shower. “We’ve gone from your unending gratitude to a one-star rating on my sexual prowess.”
“You know what I mean,” she chuckles. “I used to think we got so caught up in everything the boys needed that we neglected what we needed from each other, but I think it was more fundamental than that.”
“Did you mention an emergency? Needing to go? You can imagine how eager I am to end this conversation, right?”
“I just think we never had that kind of love,” she persists, her words void of sting.
I stand still, caught off guard by her honesty, by her voicing something I suspected long before we filed for divorce.
“You and Kent have that kind of love?” I query, genuinely wondering. “It won’t hurt me if you say yes.”
“That’s how I know you and I never had it, because if we had, it would hurt. Yes, Kent and I have it. I hope one day you do too.”
“I doubt I’ll try the marriage thing again. I may not be capable of what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, you are. No one loves their boys as deeply as you do who isn’t capable of it elsewhere. If anything, I think you’d love too much, too hard if you ever find the person who makes you feel that.”
“For someone who needs to go,” I answer by not answering, “you sure have a lot to say this morning.”
“Now that’s the evasive, emotionally avoidant man I know and love.”
For some reason—or more accurately for no reason—Soledad Barnes comes to mind. I barely know the woman, but I can’t stop thinking about her. And that’s not just since news broke about Edward’s lying ass. I’ve thought of her often since that Christmas party. When I first saw her, it felt like someone hit me in the solar plexus. Kicked me in the throat. I didn’t even realize I was staring until she turned away. I’ve lived like a monk since the divorce. Between my work and my boys, there hasn’t been time for much else. No one has really caught my interest.