Maybe . . .
Maybe she should have talked to Neal this morning before he left. Really talked to him. Made sure everything was okay.
But by the time Neal’s alarm went off at four thirty, he was already out of bed and mostly dressed. Neal still used an old Dream Machine clock radio, and when he came over to the bed to turn it off, he told Georgie to go back to sleep.
“You’ll be a wreck later,” he said when she sat up anyway.
Like Georgie was going to sleep through telling the girls goodbye. Like they weren’t all going to be apart for a week. Like it wasn’t Christmas.
She reached for the pair of glasses hooked over their headboard and put them on. “I’m taking you to the airport,” she said.
Neal was standing outside his closet with his back to her, pulling a blue sweater down over his shoulders. “I already called for a car.”
Maybe Georgie should have argued then. Instead she got up and tried to help with the girls.
There wasn’t much to do. Neal had put them to bed in sweatpants and Tshirts, so he could carry them out to the car this morning without waking them.
But Georgie wanted to talk to them, and anyway, Alice woke up while Georgie was trying to slide on her pink Mary Janes.
“Daddy said I could wear my boots,” Alice croaked.
“Where are they?” Georgie whispered.
“Daddy knows.”
They woke Noomi up, looking for them.
Then Noomi wanted her boots.
Then Georgie offered to get them yogurt, but Neal said they’d eat at the airport; he’d packed snacks.
He let Georgie explain why she wasn’t getting on the plane with them—“Are you driving instead?” Alice asked—while he ran up and down the stairs, and in and out the front door, double-checking things and rounding up bags.
Georgie tried to tell the girls that they’d be having such a good time, they’d hardly miss her—and that they’d all celebrate together next week. “We’ll have two Christmases,” Georgie said.
“I don’t think that’s actually possible,” Alice argued.
Noomi started crying because her sock was turned the wrong way around her toes. Georgie couldn’t tell if she wanted it seam-on-the-bottom or seam-on-top. Neal came in from the garage and whipped off Noomi’s boot to fix it. “Car’s here,” he said.
It was a minivan. Georgie herded the girls out the door, then knelt down next to the curb in her pajama pants, kissing both their faces all over and trying to act like saying goodbye to them wasn’t that big of a deal.
“You’re the best mommy in the world,” Noomi said. Everything was “the best” and “the worst” with Noomi. Everything was “never” and “always.”
“And you are the best four-year-old girl in the world,” Georgie said, smashing her nose with a kiss.
“Kitty,” Noomi said. She was still tearful from the sock problem.
“You are the best kitty in the world.” Georgie tucked Noomi’s wispy yellow-brown hair behind her ears and pulled her T-shirt smooth over her belly.
“Green kitty.”
“The best green kitty.”
“Meow,” Noomi said.
“Meow,” Georgie answered.
“Mom?” Alice asked.
“Yeah?” Georgie pulled the seven-year-old closer—“Here, give me all your hugs”—but Alice was too busy thinking to hug back.
“If Santa brings your presents to Grandma’s house, I’ll save them for you. I’ll put them in my suitcase.”
“Santa doesn’t usually bring Mommy presents.”
“Well, but if he does . . .”
“Meow,” Noomi said.
“Okay,” Georgie agreed, holding Alice in her left arm and scooping Noomi close with her right, “if he brings me presents, you take care of them for me.”
“Mommy, meow!”
“Meow,” Georgie said, squeezing them both.
“Mom?”
“Yes, Alice.”
“The true meaning of Christmas isn’t presents anyway, it’s Jesus. But not for us, because we’re not religious. The true meaning of Christmas for us is just family.”
Georgie kissed her cheek. “That’s true.”
“I know.”
“Okay. I love you. I love you both so much.”
“To the moon and back?” Alice asked.
“Oh my God,” Georgie said, “so much farther.”
“To the moon and back infinity?”
“Meow!”
“Meow,” Georgie said. “Infinity times infinity. I love you so much, it hurts.”
Noomi’s face fell. “It hurts?”
“She doesn’t mean it literally,” Alice said. “Right, Mom? Not literally?”
“No. Well. Sometimes.”
Neal stepped forward. “Okay. Time to catch a plane.”
Georgie stole half a dozen more kisses while she buckled the girls into their car seats, then stood by the side of the van with her arms folded nervously across her chest.
Neal stepped up to her and looked over her shoulder, like he was thinking. “We land at five,” he said, “Central time. So it’ll be around three here. . . . I’ll call you when we get to my mom’s.”
Georgie nodded, but he still wasn’t looking at her.
“Be safe,” she said.
He checked his watch. “We’ll be fine—don’t worry about us. Just do what you have to do. Rock your meeting.” And then he was hugging her, sort of, an arm around her shoulder, his mouth bumping against hers. By the time he said, “Love you,” he was already pulling away.
Georgie wanted to catch him by the shoulders.
She wanted to hug him until her feet left the ground.
She wanted to tuck her head into his neck and feel his arms a little too hard around her ribs.
“Love you,” she said. She wasn’t sure if he heard her.
“I love you!” she shouted at the girls, knocking on the backseat window and kissing it because she knew it made them laugh; the back windows of their Prius were covered in kiss smears.
They were waving at her like crazy. Georgie stepped away from the van, waving with both hands. Neal was in the front seat talking to the driver.
She thought he might have looked back at her once, before the van turned the corner—her hands froze in the air.
And then they were gone.