The Things We Wish Were True

Lance needed to find a babysitter or he was going to lose his job. He had to stop depending on that neighbor lady, Zell. She was like a fairy godmother, showing up just when he was about to explode, taking the kids to the pool so he could work for a few hours without interruption.

He grabbed the bag that held the kids’ pool things—sunscreen and towels neatly rolled, a box of snack crackers, some change for the drink machine. He had not put this bag together; Zell had. He wondered if he could hire her to come over and create this same degree of organization in every aspect of his life. Maybe this was why Debra had liked her. Now that she was gone, he remembered how often Debra used to mention Zell, back when he didn’t pay attention because he took everything for granted. He’d barely listened to his wife then. He wasn’t sure what role Zell had played in Debra’s life, and of course, he couldn’t ask Debra now.

“Lilah,” he called, “let’s go!” He wanted the kids gone. He wanted the house quiet. He’d promised himself he would not work today. He would take a true break. Watch sports—it didn’t matter which sport, anything on ESPN would do—drink beer, sit around in his boxers. He would not be Dad today. He would not hop up to solve anyone’s problems. He would sit for longer than a five-minute stretch. At lunch, he would make a big, messy hoagie sandwich and devour it on the couch. He would not use a plate. He would burp and fart and not have to apologize for it because he would be no one’s role model for a good couple of hours. He had fantasized about this time nearly as much as he used to fantasize about sex.

Who was he kidding? He still fantasized about sex. When he wasn’t too damn tired to do so. But he did not fantasize about Debra. He couldn’t bring himself to do that. It just seemed wrong. The women he fantasized about now were always faceless.

The kids materialized from wherever they’d been keeping themselves, their faces as drawn as if he were sending them off to do math problems all day. “You guys ready?” he asked, clapping his hands together, ignoring his children’s obvious displeasure.

Lilah and Alec nodded glumly.

“OK, well, Zell said to come on over whenever you were ready!” He opened the door, a blast of hot air hitting him in the face as he did. On the heels of the early spring came the unrelenting heat and humidity of summer, something he’d never gotten used to and would not mind leaving behind if he got the chance to return to Ohio, something he’d been discussing with his sister lately. She thought it would be a good idea, considering the circumstances, and he didn’t entirely disagree.

“Have fun, guys!” he said, waving them in the direction of Zell’s house.

Obediently they trotted out the door. As Lilah passed him, he looped the bag over her capable shoulders, ignoring the way they slumped forward. This had been awful for the kids, too. Their summer vacation had probably not felt like a vacation at all. He tried not to think too much about their feelings. Because what could he do about it? What could he change? Debra was gone, and he was holding things together without her. He was doing the best he could. It had become his mantra.

He closed the door behind them and paused to take in the quiet house, inhaling the silence like a drug. He stood utterly still, just breathing. Usually when Zell took the kids, he increased his pace, scurried around doing laundry and dishes and paying bills and squeezing in work wherever he could. He worked when he should be eating, sleeping, showering. Taking this time for himself felt decadent, wasteful, as luxurious as that spa Debra had convinced him to go to with her years ago. It felt . . . selfish. But he wouldn’t think about that now. He would enjoy this.

He watched from the kitchen door as Zell ushered Lilah and Alec into her car. He stayed just out of sight as the car’s engine whirred into motion and the lights came on. He stood frozen in place until the car—and his children—were gone, feeling guilt wash over him as he thought of Alec’s words upon hearing that it would be Zell—and not Lance—who would be taking them to the pool today. “You never have fun with us anymore, Dad.”

He’d told his son to quit whining, and yet, the kid had a point. Lance never had fun anymore. Period. He cast a longing glance at the TV and at the fridge with the six-pack of beer inside, bought for just this occasion. Then with a sigh of surrender, he headed upstairs to change into his swim trunks.

But he was taking the beer with him.





BRYTE


She held Christopher’s hand as she led him over to the pool, barely listening to his chatter about the ducks on the lake and the clouds in the sky. Instead, she tried to watch Jencey without appearing to. Jencey’s girls were playing with another girl, all three running from the girl’s brother whenever he came near them. Jencey, seemingly oblivious to their shrieks, was reading a People magazine on a chaise lounge.

She helped Christopher into the pool and glanced longingly in her old friend’s direction, looking away too late when Jencey unexpectedly looked up from her magazine. Busted, she raised her hand in greeting as if she’d meant to catch Jencey’s eye the whole time. “I thought that was you!” she said, her voice too loud and excited. As kids, she’d always been the awkward one, the tagalong just trying to match her steps to Jencey’s. It was funny how lightning fast she could fall back into her old, awkward ways. She wished some of her friends were around—friends who only knew her now—but the overcast day had kept them away.

Jencey returned her wave and went back to reading her magazine as Bryte, disappointed, focused on her son and took her designated seat on the hot concrete, the heat radiating through her swimsuit. She talked to Christopher, cheered his continued attempts to submerge his face underwater, and did her best not to look back over at Jencey, who, finished with her magazine, had closed her eyes and appeared to be sleeping.

Bored, Bryte’s mind wandered to the e-mail she’d received that morning from her former boss, the one marked “Urgent,” asking her to come in for a meeting regarding her return to work. Minutes later, according to the time stamp, she’d received another e-mail from a coworker begging her to come back.



The place isn’t the same without you! We miss you! We NEED you!



While it was nice to be wanted, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go back there. She wasn’t sure she could get excited about selling technical training to Fortune 500 companies again. And yet, returning to work would stop the second-child discussion in its tracks, at least for a while.

“Ouch!” Jencey said as her backside made contact with the hot concrete, jarring Bryte from her internal debate.

Bryte gave her a welcoming smile, glad for the distraction. “Hi,” she said.

“I’d tell you that I used to have to do this when mine were little, but I mostly had help with this part of motherhood,” Jencey said, gesturing to the shallow end and to Christopher donned in water wings.

“You were lucky,” Bryte said, even though she didn’t really feel that way. Tiring as it was, she wanted to experience every moment with her only child. Because he would be their only child, if only she could figure out how to make Everett understand that. Using a return to work as an excuse to put the debate off was sounding even more appealing.

“Mom, when can Lilah and I have a sleepover?” Jencey’s oldest ran over to ask, breathless from running. Her name was Pilar. The youngest was Zara. As girls, Jencey and Bryte had dreamed up baby names. Neither Pilar nor Zara had, so far as Bryte could recall, ever been on Jencey’s list. But then again, Christopher hadn’t been on Bryte’s.

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