“Why are you getting upset again?”
“Because I know what you’re trying to do.”
“What am I trying to do?”
“You’re trying to get me to apologize, but I didn’t do anything wrong. Do you want me to say that I’m sorry for getting a good job? Or to apologize for trying to dress like a professional? Or for getting a bite to eat because I was shaking? Did you ever stop to think that maybe you should apologize for trying to pick a fight in the first place?”
“I wasn’t trying to pick a fight.”
“That’s exactly what you were trying to do,” she said, staring at me like I was crazy. “You got upset as soon I told you that I’d already eaten, and you wanted to make sure I knew it. So I tried to be sweet. I invited you to the dining room to show you what I got. I kissed you. And right after that, you started in on me, just like you always do.”
I knew there was some truth in what she said. “Okay, you’re right,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’ll admit that I was disappointed that you’d eaten before you got home—”
“Ya think?” she said, cutting me off. “And that’s the thing with you. Believe it or not, you’re not the only one with feelings around here. Did you ever stop to think about the pressure I’ve been under lately? So what do you do? Make things hard as soon as I walk in the door and even now, you can’t let it go.” She stood from the couch and kept talking as she started to leave the room. “I just wanted to watch my show and read my magazine and sit with you without fighting. That’s it. Was that too much to ask?”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to lie in bed for a while, because I want to relax. You’re welcome to join me, but if you’d rather start arguing again, then please don’t bother.”
Then she was gone. I turned off the television, sitting in silence for the next hour, trying to figure out what had happened to my wife and me.
Or, more specifically, how I could make things better between us.
I woke up late on Sunday to an empty bed.
I tossed on a pair of jeans before trying to tame the oddly shaped waves of hair that greeted me in the mirror every morning. It was a disappointing predicament, made worse by the fact that Vivian usually woke looking already groomed.
Since Vivian had been asleep by the time I crawled into bed, I wasn’t sure what to expect but as I approached the kitchen, I could hear my wife and daughter laughing.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Daddy!” London called out.
Vivian turned and winked, smiling at me as though the night before had never happened at all. “Perfect timing,” she offered. “I just finished making breakfast.”
“It smells fantastic.”
“Come here, handsome,” she said.
I approached, assuming she was trying to gauge my mood, and when I was close, she kissed me. “I’m sorry about last night. You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. And I’m sorry, too.”
“How about I make you a plate of food? I made the bacon extra crispy for you.”
“That would be great.”
“Coffee’s ready, too. The creamer should be right there.”
“Thanks,” I said. I poured a cup and brought it to the dining room table, taking a seat next to London. I kissed the top of her head as she reached for her milk.
“How’re you doing, sweetie? Did you have any good dreams?”
“I can’t remember,” she said. She took a gulp of milk, which left the trace of a milk mustache.
Vivian brought two plates to the table, with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, placing them in front of us. “Do you want some juice? There’s some fresh-squeezed orange juice.”
“Sounds great. Thanks.”
Vivian brought those over as well, along with her own plate. Unlike ours, her plate had a small portion of scrambled egg whites and fruit.
I took a bite of bacon. “What time did you get up?”
“An hour ago, maybe? You must have been exhausted. I don’t think you even heard me get out of bed.”
“I guess I must have been,” I said.
“I will say that if you hadn’t gotten up, I was about to send London back there to jump on you.”
I turned toward London, my mouth agape. “You wouldn’t have done that, would you? If I was still sleeping?”
“Of course I would have,” London said, giggling. “Guess what? Mommy is taking me to the mall to pick up her clothes, and then we’re going to the pet store.”
“What’s at the pet store?”
“Mommy said I could get a hamster. I’m going to name her Mrs. Sprinkles.”
“I didn’t know you wanted a hamster.”
“I’ve wanted a hamster for a long time, Daddy.”
“How come you never told me, sweetie?”
“Because mom said you wouldn’t want one.”
“Well, I don’t know,” I said. “It’s a lot of work taking care of hamsters.”
“I know,” she said. “But they’re so cute.”
“They are cute,” I admitted, and for the remainder of breakfast, I listened while London tried to convince me she was old enough to take care of a hamster.
I was sipping my second cup of coffee in the kitchen while Vivian began loading the dishwasher; in the living room, London was playing with her Barbies.
“She’s old enough to have a hamster, you know,” Vivian commented. “Even if you’ll have to clean the cage.”
“Me?”
“Of course,” she said. “You’re the dad.”
“And in your mind, helping my daughter clean a hamster cage is part of the job description, right?”
“Think of it as a good way to bond with her.”
“Cleaning hamster poop?”
“Oh, hush,” she said, nudging me. “It’ll be good for her. She’ll learn responsibility. And besides, it’s a lot easier than getting her a puppy. She’s also in love with the neighbor’s Yorkie, you know, so consider yourself lucky. Did you see the newsletter from the country club?”
“Can’t say that I did.”
“They’ve got some good programs for kids, including tennis. It’s three days a week at nine in the morning for four weeks, so it wouldn’t interfere with any of her other activities. Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday.”
From where I was standing, I could see my daughter and noted again how much she resembled her mother. “I don’t know if she’d like it,” I answered. “And about London. I’ve been meaning to ask—what are you thinking when it comes to her?”
“What do you mean?”
“Day care,” I said. “You’re starting work tomorrow. Who’s going to watch her?”
“I know, I know.” A tinge of stress colored her response as she rinsed and loaded another plate into the dishwasher. “I meant to research some day cares last week, but I just didn’t have the time. It’s been all I can do to keep my head above water and I still feel like I’m not prepared for tomorrow. The last thing I want is for Walter to think I’m an idiot while we’re at lunch.”
“Lunch with Walter?”
“My new boss? Walter Spannerman?”
“I know who he is. I just didn’t know you’d be having lunch with him tomorrow.”
“I didn’t either until this morning. I woke up to an email with my orientation schedule. They have me on the run all day tomorrow—human resources, the legal department, lunch, meetings with various vice presidents. I have to be there at seven thirty in the morning.”
“Early,” I said. I waited, wondering if she’d return to the subject of who would be watching London. She rinsed some utensils and loaded them in the dishwasher, remaining quiet. I cleared my throat. “And you said you haven’t been able to find a day care center for London?”
“Not yet. I called some friends and they said the day cares they use are good, but I still want to see for myself, you know? Do a walk-through, meet the staff, discuss the kinds of programs they can offer. I want to make sure it’s the right place for her.”
“If you have the names, I can call and make an appointment for us.”
“Well, that’s the thing. I have no idea what kind of hours to expect this week.”
“I’m sure I’d be able to set up an evening appointment.”
“It’s probably better if I do it, don’t you think? I’d hate to have to cancel.”