“Take your time. But, it’s not over,” she whispers into my ear as she kisses my cheek.
The thread of impending tears causes me to simply nod and smile as I wave goodbye and walk to my car in a daze.
It’s not over.
Chapter 43
From the littlest mouths come the most sobering truths.
As I pack Max and Ollie’s bags to take them to Eric’s for Thanksgiving, Max tugs on my skirt.
“Mommy?” He doesn’t sign it, even though Ollie’s in the room. I’ve learned over the last three months that this means he’s sad or angry.
I sign to Ollie that I’m going to help Max in the bathroom and I’ll be right back. Once inside the bathroom, I sit on the toilet seat and hold Max’s hands.
“What’s up, Honey?” It feels weird not signing, but, admittedly, the break is nice sometimes.
“When will Ollie be able to hear again?” His round cheeks redden as he looks at the floor. He learned that from me, so I fix it.
Lifting his chin with my finger, I smile as his eyes meet mine. “He won’t be able to, Honey. Not anymore.”
“But I want him to.” His chin quivers as his dark eyes fill with tears.
With a heavy breath, I pull Max into a hug and tell him it’ll be okay. That’s something I miss terribly with Oliver, being able to hold him to my chest and comfort him with words at the same time. Hindsight might be 20/20, but it’s also a cruel bitch. It’s nothing worth beating myself up over, I’ve learned. I can’t go back and whisper stories to him as he falls asleep, or say anything that will comfort him when his eyes are closed in a screaming tantrum, but I’ve been able to form new traditions with him that make us both happy. It’s our new normal. And, it’s one in which I haven’t cut for five months. I’ll take it.
Eric and I arranged to have the boys be with him for Thanksgiving, and I’ll get them for Christmas Eve/ Morning, and they’ll go to his house on Christmas night. Last night the boys and I had our own Thanksgiving feast, and they’re mostly thrilled that they get two days of lots of food. I know we’ll have to adjust schedules as they get older, and maybe even try a holiday together but, for now, this is how it is.
“Hey guys!” Eric swoops them both in his arms when we arrive at his apartment.
He’s been dating someone for a couple of months, and he seems pretty happy about it. He says he hasn’t brought her around the boys, yet. I believe him, because I have to. We got into one argument last month when he asked if I was seeing anyone and I said no.
“Come on, Natalie, you don’t have to lie to me.”
“I’m not lying. You don’t need me to be with someone in order for it to be okay that you are, Eric. It’s fine. Really.”
“You’re not seeing Ryker?”
“No.” I was infuriated at his tone, “I haven’t even talked to him since a week or two after the boys’ birthday party.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . .”
The fact is, because I just haven’t been ready. And, the longer you go without calling or texting someone, the harder it is to make the next move. Snow is falling, and I’m sure Ryker’s farm is sort of shutting down for the winter, so I haven’t texted him about the boys going there. Until last month, he’d send me a text every now and then asking how I was doing, but through November there’s been no sign of him.
“Natalie,” Eric calls me away from my head.
“Yeah?”
Setting the boys down, he tucks his hands in his back pockets. “I want to talk to you about something.”
Fun.
“Sure, what’s up?”
“I’m buying a house.”
“Oh,” I feel a little dizzy, “that’s great!” I force, and I mean force, a smile. “Where?”
“Down on Dana Street.”
Of course. When we’d take walks when I was pregnant, Eric and I would wander up and down Dana Street, admiring the quaint brick houses—some of the most gorgeous in Amherst. We’d point to ones that were our favorites and talk about what we’d do to the lawns.
“That’s exciting . . . wow. Um, when do you move?” I’m starting to feel a little itchy about the life I chose to leave, until I take a breath and remember that it was never my life to begin with.
“Hopefully by January first . . .” Eric launches into a legal spiel about how we’ll have to sit down with our lawyers to hash out that I don’t, in fact, have any interest or money in this house and it’s his purchase to make, blah blah.