Page 22 of The Write Choice

I blink rapidly to collect myself. “Uh, I mean, that’s good, right?” I ask.

His head nods slightly, but then he shrugs. “I know Mom doesn’t want us to like it here.”

Mason is an incredibly perceptive kid, but I thought Katie was above dragging the kids into this fight of ours. I don’t want to blame her outright, though. I opt to gather more information instead. “How do you know that?”

He shrugs again, then sighs and rolls over to face me. There’s an uncertainty in his eyes that I hate seeing. “She seemed so sad on the airplane. I asked her why she was sad, but she just smiled and said change is hard even if it’s good.”

I reach out and clap a hand on his shoulder in what I hope is a comforting gesture. “It was good of you to notice your mom was sad, and even better of you to ask her about it.” It seems Katie didn’t purposefully involve the kids in this, and I’m not going to, either.

“She was sad, though, wasn’t she?” He’s persistent, I’ll give him that.

I can tell I’m not getting out of this without at least a little explanation. “Yeah, maybe a bit. She loved New York.”

Mason bristles at this, scrunching up his nose. “Why? It was always so loud and smelly.”

I chuckle. “I’m with you, buddy. I think she liked the hustle and bustle. She had her first job there, you know.”

“At the gallery?”

“Yep. And she liked working at the gallery. That’s where we became parents, too. And where we met and fell in love and got married.” I turn my eyes to the ceiling as my tone goes jokingly wistful.

“Ew. Stop. I get it.” He scoots up to the head of the bed and fakes a gagging noise over the side.

I make a mental note to figure out how people handle having their sick kids in loft beds if they really do puke off the side—something I did not think of before this very moment.

I laugh, bringing myself back to the conversation. “It’s hard to leave a place that has so many good memories.”

Mason comes back from hanging over the edge of the bed and flops back down, his hands folded under his cheek and his eyelids drooping ever so slightly. “Why did we leave if it made her so sad?”

“You can be sad and happy about something at the same time,” I try.

He’s not buying it. “She didn’t seem happy.”

I sigh again. “Well, I think she wants to give this a try, to see if it’s better for our family. With my new job here, I’ll be able to be around more often, and I think that’ll make Mom happy, don’t you?”

He nods, then yawns.

“It’s admirable of you to worry so much about your mom, but why don’t you let me do the worrying? I promise to tell you if there’s anything you can help with, okay?” I ask.

“Okay, Dad. I love you,” he says, closing his eyes.

“I love you too, bud. Good night.” I climb down from the stool and turn off his lights on my way out of his room, closing the door behind me.

When I come downstairs, Katie is still in her studio, though I notice there are a few pieces of pizza missing from the box I had left open on the counter. I smirk at the thought of her scurrying out and squirreling away pizza to eat while we were all upstairs.

By now, it’s completely dark outside, and the lights in the living room cast a warm glow about the space. I walk around, pulling the curtains closed, then settle on the couch with my research on past Leade Park High School additions and the wish list for this new student center from the school board. It doesn’t seem like an overly complicated project, but it will take some creativity to extend the building in a way that’s aesthetically pleasing. No one wants an addition that looks like it was slapped onto the side of a building.

It’s not long before I have blueprints and sketches strewn about the coffee table. I grab the packet of research the district put together about other area schools’ student centers and flip through it. It’s all helpful, but I know I won’t be able to get anything solidified until I tour the space and talk to some people about their priorities for the building. Everything I’m looking through is speculation and wishful thinking.

I lean against the couch cushions, resting my head back and looking up at the ceiling. I roll my head over to see what I already know: Katie’s door is still closed. I didn’t exactly intend to wait for her to come out, but it seems I’m poking around at all of these papers for that very reason. I’ve been working in this spot while the house was empty, but I have an office in the basement I can move into. I probably should, actually, so the kids don’t grab the papers and tear them or start coloring them when they wake up tomorrow morning.

And yet, I stay right where I am. Knowing Katie is just on the other side of that door, I can’t seem to pull myself away. It’s been a week since I’ve even seen her, and I find myself wanting to see her again before I go to sleep. I wasn’t able to get nearly my fill of her before she closed that door.

I grab the book I’m reading instead. It’s Daniel’s latest, which he doesn’t know I haven’t finished yet. I open it to where I left off. The reviewers all called this book a love letter to teaching and learning, but I can pretty much pinpoint the exact chapter he was writing when he fell in love with Mac. He wasn’t kidding when he said being happy was detrimental to his signature angst. I’m not much of a reader—obviously, it’s taken me two years to get around to reading my best friend’s novel—but even I can see the shift in his writing with this book.

But I can’t concentrate. My mind is shifting back and forth between Katie and my earlier conversation with my brother. I’d have to be an idiot not to see a connection between the two of them.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, tipping my head back against the couch again. I don’t like making him angry, but I’m not sure how much more I should give him. I should set better boundaries, not enable him. But I’m not sure how else to help him from here. I take a few deep breaths and try to forget about it.