Page 59 of The Write Choice

Mason grimaces as he watches me eat, then puts the sunflower seed butter down on the counter. I glare at him, daring him to comment. He does not. Smart kid.

“Dad?” he asks. “Am I allergic to anything?”

“No,” I answer simply, picking a new knife from the drawer and making a new sandwich. Then, I look around. “Where are the plastic sandwich bags?”

“We don’t use those anymore. We use the reusable ones.”

“The what?” I ask. Mason tosses one to me. I pick it up and turn it over in my hand. “Huh. These are kind of cool.”

“Mom says they save the planet and our money.” There’s a note of pride in his voice. While saving the planet from plastic pollution is admirable, I resist the urge to tell him we don’t need to save the two dollars on a box of plastic sandwich bags. And that corporations could do a hell of a lot more to reduce pollution than we ever could.

How does Katie do this every day? I find myself wondering, which makes me pause. Katie does this every day. While I sip my coffee, not once thinking about how much she does in such a short amount of time. She makes it look so easy.

It’s definitely not easy.

But we’re late, so I’ll have to come back to this revelation later. Finally, with lunches packed, kitchen tidied, breakfast eaten, shoes on, water bottles filled, and backpacks loaded, we leave the house. Ten minutes behind schedule, but not terrible, all things considered.

I drive as fast as I can without endangering anyone, and we make up a little time. We drop Christine off first, despite Mason’s whining that he doesn’t want to get out of the car to walk her into the building. Too bad. I’m not leaving him alone in the backseat.

By the time we make it to Mason’s school, the bell to let the kids in the building is just ringing. He hops out of the car and waves, running into the front door with his backpack bouncing behind him.

Made it. I’m counting this as a win.

I reach down to the center console to take a celebratory sip of my coffee, only to find the cupholder empty. Right. I didn’t have time to make coffee this morning.

There are about ten coffee shops on the way to the office, though, so it’s still a win.

It’s hard for me not to get lost in my work. I tried to explain it to Katie once, and she told me to set an alarm. It sounds dismissive, but it wasn’t; she just wanted me home, which was fair. If it weren’t for her and the kids, I’d probably sleep on the sofa in my office more nights than not. I used to do that before Katie and I got married. But that was because my office was closer to her studio apartment than my place was, and I wanted to be near her every extra second.

Today, though, I’m not working very well. I can’t focus. I’ve been staring at the design I’ve been drafting for a good three hours, with no progress to show for it.

My mind continues to drift to that time when Katie’s belly was swelling more and more each day. Feeling Mason’s surprisingly powerful kick against my hand. Her finally agreeing to let me spend the night once after I showed up daily for months. Her admitting how embarrassed she had been about the drinking. How hard it was to throw it all away and not reach for it. How much calmer she felt about it all when I was around. Me gripping her hands, telling her how in awe of her I was. How much I loved her and the baby.

It took her so long to let me in, but once she did, it was like the rays of a thousand suns shining on me. It sounds cliché because it was. There’s no other way to describe it. She had this crusty exterior that I had to chip away at, but it was so worth it to get through.

And now, that crusty exterior is back. I tried to start chipping at it again, and I was probably doing a pretty good job, but work got busy, and I haven’t been able to step away. My red flag is that I’m the type of person that once I start something, I need to finish it. This does not bode well for balancing home life and large-scale projects. Like additions to high schools. Like managing an architecture firm.

I’m worried about Katie. I know she doesn’t want to fall back into her old patterns, and I’m afraid to ask her how tempted she’s been to do so. I’m also worried about this job. I know how important it is for me to knock this one out of the park—for my career, and for the firm. It’s turning out to be a larger job than anyone had expected.

The school board wants several options to choose from. So, while the basics of the addition will remain the same—larger cafeteria, faculty lounge, and these nebulous educational spaces—they want options for layout and design. Which means my team and I have had to draw several versions of the blueprints, and also render 3-D mockups, while putting together presentations about each. It’s no small task, that’s for sure.

The senior architect, Jasper, and I are each drafting one design option, and the three junior architects are working on another. At least, I think they are. I’ll find out at our team meeting on Monday. But, with about one month until our final presentation, the clock is ticking.

I skip lunch and set an alarm to pull me out of my reverie. I want to be sure I leave on time for dinner. I won’t leave Katie alone with our friends if I can help it, and the way this day is going, I’m going to be lost in thought for the rest of it.

Sure enough, I jump about a foot when my alarm goes off at the end of the day. My mind had drifted once again, but this time, to my brother, Shane. I haven’t heard from him in a while. Not since he called a few weeks ago asking for money. My brain often connects Shane and Katie, usually when I’m worried about one or both of them. Right now, it’s both.

I shake it off, silencing the alarm and shutting down my useless computer. Well, I suppose the computer is only as useless as its user today. I shove the laptop in my bag, throw my coat over my shoulders, and power walk out the door with my head down. By some Friday miracle, no one stops me.

By the time I make it home through some awful Chicago traffic, there are two extra cars parked on the street, and I can make out multiple silhouettes throughout the kitchen. It seems everyone is here but me.

I rush into the house and shrug out of my coat, making sure to hang it up before joining everyone. When I enter the room, everyone but Katie lights up with greetings. My wife just turns her back to me to check on the food in the oven.

“It smells amazing,” I offer.

“Chicken parmesan,” she grumbles. The whole room falls silent. Daniel catches my eye from across the kitchen and smiles sympathetically. Mac winces.

“I’m sorry I’m late.”