Page 47 of The Write Choice
Frankly the whole dinner is nice, which is unexpected. It’s cozy and filling. My parents mostly focus on the kids, and Katie relaxes even further as we eat.
Once we’ve all had our fill, Katie announces that it’s a school night and ushers the kids up to bed. My parents take the hint and leave earlier than they would normally, and I’m left thinking this whole evening was a success despite the rough start.
Katie comes down the stairs and flops on the couch. I finish cleaning up the kitchen, then move her legs so I can sit and rest her feet on my lap. She opens one eye to glare at me.
“You left me alone with your mother,” she says tersely.
“I’m sorry. My team—”
“You were the one who set this up, and then you were late,” she cuts me off.
I guess the evening wasn’t as great for everyone as I thought. Sighing, I rub the bottom of her feet with my thumbs. “I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
She opens both eyes and rolls her head to the side, staring at something in the distance. She’s silent for a minute, then lets out a harsh breath through her nose. She doesn’t look at me as she says, “You know, I was hopeful for a few days there that you’d really be home on time, every day, from now on.” She pauses and still avoids at me. “It just makes me so… sad.” She says it so softly, and her expression pierces my heart. It’s one of defeat, but it’s also guarded. Like she let herself hope one too many times and won’t let herself do it again.
It was just one night, but I can’t blame her for thinking I’m falling into old patterns. I slide out from under her feet and sit on the ground so we are eye-level. “I’m trying, Katie. I hope you can see that. I wish I could be perfect for you. I want more than anything to be here for you and the kids.” I hope she can tell I’m being sincere.
It must work, because her expression softens. “You invited them, then didn’t show. They thought you had left the office right after them. You didn’t call or anything.”
I didn’t even think to call. I never called before, but I suppose that’s when coming home late was the norm.
I kiss her forehead. She doesn’t pull away, which is a good sign. I return to the couch. “I really am sorry, Cat. I’m…” I trail off. “It’s been a lot. I’m doing a lot more designing than I should, given I have a team. My parents are constantly warning me not to fuck up. It’s not what I thought it was going to be.”
“I suppose we have that in common.” It’s a jab, but there’s not a lot of teeth to it. If anything, she still sounds defeated.
Her phone buzzes from where she tossed on the table. She grabs it and reads something, frowning.
She narrows her eyes, looking at me. “Did you give Mac my number?”
“I imagine Daniel gave Mac your number. Why?”
“She just invited me to some…” she trails off, checking her messages again. “Pasta night? On Friday with her and Jenny.”
The other day, I overheard her therapist suggest she meet more people. This would be a good start. “You should go,” I suggest as casually as I can.
She groans. “If I had known moving out here was going to be a revolving door of dinner parties, I would have rethought our arrangement.”
“So grouchy,” I tease.
If looks could kill, I’d be a dead man. “Do you really want to start about my mood after that dinner?”
“It was nice,” I insist.
She closes her eyes again. “It was exhausting,” she says on a sigh. I regard her for a moment without her knowing. I hadn’t realized how low she was feeling, probably because she does such a good job of shielding herself from everyone, including me lately.
“I don’t think dinner with Mac and Jenny will be exhausting,” I try again.
She scrunches up her face without opening her eyes. “They’re young, energetic, and childfree. That’s the definition of exhausting.”
“You talk like you’re twenty years older than them instead of five.”
“Mac’s younger than Daniel, which makes her younger than you.”
“Fine, six or seven.”
Her eyes fly wide open. “She was twenty-two when Mason was born.”
I chuckle at her revelation. “You say that as if it’s a lot younger than twenty-four.”
