I can’t help but smile, and then I let out a long breath.
“I have a few frozen pizzas. Mind if I come up and we have a Friday night pizza party?”
“I can cook, Faith. You’ve already done enough.” I feel awful that I’ve killed her entire day.
“I know you can. This is me asking for a favor. Maybe I just don’t want to be alone.” She’s still smiling, but a hint of sadness touches her eyes.
The tables have turned. I get to help her. I can help her. I unbuckle my seatbelt and nod once in all-out agreement. “Friday night pizza party it is. Let’s do this.”
The rest of the evening is spent in apartment three—the five of us eating pizza, Kira even tried a piece when Faith offered it, which is groundbreaking considering it’s not one of her normal foods; singing karaoke, Kira’s rendition of “Hello” by Adele was over the top dramatic and made all of us smile; and watching a Disney movie we’ve all seen dozens of times but still love.
It was the best ending to one of the worst days I’ve ever had.
She’s kind of a bitch
present
The chorus from “Evil Woman” by Electric Light Orchestra is blaring at me, unkindly waking me from a deep, somewhat enjoyable sleep. It’s Miranda’s ringtone. I know it’s juvenile, I know, but it’s an inside joke that takes the edge off and allows me to answer the phone with an unfeeling, “Hello,” rather than an aggressive fuck you.
“Where in the hell are you?” she screeches.
I open my eyes and try to adjust to wakefulness, partial blindness, and verbal aggression all at the same moment. I have to admit I don’t like any of them and close my eyes again before I answer, “What?”
“Where in the hell are you?” she repeats louder this time. “I’ve been waiting for ten minutes.”
Shit.
Shit.
With everything that happened yesterday, I forgot about Miranda being in town this weekend for my kids. Think, Seamus, think. I can’t let her know I forgot, or she’ll use it against me, and I don’t feel safe driving yet until I adjust to my vision change. “I was just about to call you. The battery must be dead on my car. It won’t start. You’ll have to pick up the kids here at my place.”
She huffs. It’s a huff that’s so heavy with irritation at the inconvenience that I can practically feel it come through the phone and assault my cheek.
I rattle off apartment three’s address and hang up without another word.
I wake the kids immediately and begin packing their backpacks with a change of clothes for each of them while they get dressed. The pizza party ended late last night, and they’re all struggling to get moving, but the longer I watch them their actions aren’t slowed by sleepiness. I know my kids inside and out. This is a slow act of defiance, intentional or not; they don’t want to go. The smiles from last night are wiped clean, replaced by an air of reticent duty.
“What’s wrong, mate?” I ask Rory. He’s my most forthright child, I know he won’t hold back.
“I don’t want to go with Miranda.”
You would think with my low opinion of my ex-wife that his statement would make me happy. Ecstatic. But it doesn’t. It breaks my heart. “Why?” I ask gently.
“She bloody ignores us, Dad. She takes us to a hotel. We swim. She works—yapping on her phone and typing on her laptop the entire time. It’s bollocks. Why even bother?”
I look at Kai for confirmation. He nods.
“I’m sorry.” I am. So very sorry. I want to say more, offer them comfort, but there’s a knock at the door. I squeeze Rory’s shoulder so he knows I hear him and I understand, before I have to transition them into Miranda’s visit. “She’s here. Better grab your bags.”
When I open the door, prepared to face down hell, I’m offered a welcome reprieve. It’s Faith. “Good morning, neighbor.” She’s standing on the W…E mat smiling.
“Good morning, neighbor,” we all respond in unison. The cheerful greeting is executed with the uncheerful tone of a somber morning.
Faith frowns. “Maybe I should’ve just said morning and left out the good?”
We all step out of the doorway to offer her entry.
Kira perches on the arm of the couch with Pickles the cat hugged under her arm. “Mommy’s coming to get us.” Even my trusting, happy, little girl seems off this morning.
Faith sits down next to her and puts her hand on Kira’s back. I know what she’s doing, touching amplifies words. They’re louder and more easily understood in your mind when two people are touching, even casual touch. It’s a direct path for communication, fleshed out of one body and into another. “That’s great, Kira. I’m sure your mom misses you very much since she lives far away and doesn’t get to see you often.”
Kira shrugs. It’s not the shrug of a five-year-old. It’s a shrug with some age, with the misgivings that only time and experience extend. It’s deflating.