Page 4 of The Love We Deny
“But I don’t wanna—”
“Oliver.” He waits to listen to the rest. “And if you have a good day today, we’ll go to the park after school, deal?”
That makes him pause. A deal too good to resist. And when he counters ice cream too, I say yes because it’s really time to go. I straighten up slowly, my knee popping as I do, the same time my phone buzzes on the counter.
Joyce.
I reach for the phone, knowing whatever she’s calling about this time of day is probably important, but then Ollie starts crying upstairs and I have no choice but to hit decline.
I’ll call her back.
“Dad?”
Addie speaks up from the kitchen table, a pink smoothie and a bagel in front of her, her sketchbook open beside her plate. She’s already showered, dressed, and her hair done with time to spare. At seventeen, she’s more on top of things than I have ever been in my entire life.
Her mom was like that too, back in high school.
Always had it together, always had time for more. Perfect grades, cheerleading, time for her friends. And somehow, she still chose me.
Until she didn’t.
“Morning,” I say, starting toward the stairs.
“Wait, Dad, I need to tell you something.”
“One second, I have to—”
“But it’s important—”
I sigh, turning around to listen when I hear Ollie upstairs letting out a fresh cry. “What is it, now?” I call up the stairs before I turn back to Addie. “What were you going to say?”
She opens her mouth, getting a single word out before my phone buzzes in my hand.
The hospital.
I hold up a finger to Addie and answer it because I have to. Someone called in sick, and they’re down a doctor, andyes, I can come in.When I turn back around, Addie is looking down at her sketchbook.
“Sorry,” I say. “Go ahead.”
She traces a line on the page with a finger. “It’s fine. It’s not a big deal.”
“Addie.”
“Seriously, Dad. Go get Ollie ready. We’re gonna be late again.”
I know I should push. My daughter wanted to tell me something, and I blew her off. But she’s right. Wearegonna be late again if I don’t go upstairs. So I leave it.
Not for the first time.
Upstairs, Ollie is crying about his new jeans, so I trade them out for the reliable pants, no matter how they’ve faded from the laundry and are an inch too short.
“Tell me tonight,” I say to Addie, carrying Ollie out the front door.
She nods, staring down at her phone.
With the kids at school with only a few minutes to spare, I walk back into my house feeling fairly satisfied with how the morning went, all things considered.
Until my eyes land on the permission slip.
