Page 28 of The Write Choice

I eye her across the table. Is knowing people who can do you favors how people get things done around here? If so, it’s not as different from New York City private school life as I thought.

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s not anything untoward or anything like that. There are spots in all the classes. Chloe will just make sure he’s put with the same teacher as Brody. If you want,” she adds.

“That would be great, honestly. Mason…” I trail off, not exactly sure how much I want to share. “Well, he had some trouble making friends at his old school. He didn’t quite fit in.”

Ashley nods knowingly. “We had the same issue with my daughter, Amelia. We couldn’t get her to take her nose out of her book long enough to make friends. She’s at an actual playdate now.”

I smirk, thinking about the pile of books it took Mason less than twenty-four hours to sprawl around the new house. Sounds familiar. “What did you do?” I ask.

“Incidentally, we put her in private school.” Ashley glances at me, then back to her work. “Mason is your oldest?” she asks.

I nod, then decide to just write down our old pediatrician in New York for now and move on to the rest of the form.

“I’d like to say it gets easier,” Ashley says, then sighs. “It doesn’t. But sometimes you just need to shake things up a little to get them moving back in the right direction. You know what I mean?”

I look at her across the table, and she meets my gaze, smiling as if this burden of parenthood has united us in some way. Maybe it has, but I don’t know how long I’m going to be here, so I’m not sure how much energy I want to expend on friendships that may or may not continue past March.

I hear Mason and Brody giggling in the back room, and glance at Christine and Caleb happily smashing their cars together on the floor next to the desk. An unexpected pang shoots straight through my heart at the thought of my two babies working so hard to make friends here only to be ripped from them in a few weeks. I realize that in all my stringing Brandon along, I’m doing it to them, too. It almost physically hurts to think about it. But I also know that I deserve to be happy, and so far, the best I can say about this move is that I’m conflicted.

I glance at Ashley, who has turned back to her cutting. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “I know what you mean.”

“Do you work outside the home?” Ashley asks, still focusing on her task. Little stars about the size of my palm fall from the construction paper onto the table.

“No,” I say tersely. “I used to but…” I trail off.

Ashley shrugs in a completely non-judgmental way. “Do you work inside the home?”

“Aside from parenting and housework? Not exactly. Though I’ve been trying to get back into painting recently.” I’m not sure what makes me add the last part, but it’s out there now. Like toothpaste from the tube, I can’t suck it back in.

“You’re an artist?” Ashley asks, looking up excitedly. “Oh, that’s so cool! I always wanted to learn how to draw, but law school got in the way. Chloe does digital illustrations on commission sometimes.”

Chloe comes in from the back room, eying her excited sister warily. “Why did I hear my name?”

“Katie is an artist! I was telling her about your drawings.” Ashley grins.

Chloe turns to me. “Oh, nice. What’s your medium?”

“Acrylic on canvas, usually. I never got into the digital stuff. Staring at the screen hurts my brain.” I give her a self-deprecating smirk.

She nods in understanding. “It’s not as relaxing as other media, but it pays better. Everyone wants digital art now. But I really started using the tablet when I thought about writing a children’s book a while back. Thought it might be easier to start digital instead of transposing it.”

“Writing and illustrating a children’s book would be a dream.” I’m not sure why I say it. I’ve never thought about writing one before, but reading the kids their bedtime stories always fills me with a sense of calm. It’s an attractive notion, that someone might feel that way about something I created.

“Hey, why don’t we get the kids together soon?” Ashley jumps into the lull in the conversation. “Brody and Mason seem to have hit it off.” She ticks her head toward the back room as a fit of giggles floats toward us.

“Um… sure,” I say. “Let me give you my number.” I grab one of the scraps from the stars Ashley’s been cutting out and write it down, then hand it to her. She smiles brightly, tucking it into her pocket.

Mason runs out of the back room, kicking Christine’s car in the process. Christine howls, and Mason shrugs his shoulders up to his ears trying to shrink himself, his eyes wide. I rush over to pick up Christine, who puts her little arms around my neck and squeezes her legs around my torso. I rub her back while glaring at Mason, who leans over to pick up the car and tries to hand it to her. She just wails louder and shoves it away. Mason shrugs, having lost interest after his minimal attempt at rectifying the situation.

“Mom?” Mason asks, raising his voice to be heard over Christine’s crying. “Can I go to lunch with Brody and Ben?”

“You think now is a good time to ask this?” I grind out between clenched teeth, still rubbing Christine’s back as she calms slightly. She rests her head on my shoulder and puts her thumb in her mouth, a sure sign that she’s both hungry and tired.

Ben comes into the room with Brody at his heels. “Seriously, Katie, I’d be happy to take Mason with us. We’re just headed to a restaurant up the street. You can get Christine down for a nap and have a little time to yourself. I’ll bring him home in a few hours.” Ben somehow manages to stand just over the line between boyish charm and major dad energy. He looks almost as pleading as the younger boys do.

Back in New York, I would never have allowed Mason to go to lunch with a man I hardly knew, but the few hours I had alone last night in my new studio were heavenly, and I’m itching to get back to it. I look at Mason, who has his hands clasped together under his chin and is giving me his best pretty-please eyes.

I sigh, resigned. “Let me text your dad, okay?” He should at least have a say in this, I suppose. Or, if he says no, it can be his fault and not mine.