CLARA.
A message.
I did not open it.
Another arrived five minutes later.
Then another.
Theo glanced at the screen.
"You want me to take that?"
"No."
I turned the phone facedown.
We sat.
Eventually Theo said:
"What do you want?"
The question irritated me because I had no answer.
"I want Tuesday morning back."
"Can't help you."
"I know."
"What else?"
I thought about Clara.
About Logan.
About Lola sleeping in her grandmother's guest room unaware that her parents' marriage had just split open.
"I don't want to spend the rest of my life trying to convince somebody to love me."
Theo nodded once.
"That's something."
That night I slept badly.
At 2:11 a.m., I woke with my heart pounding because for several seconds I did not know where I was.
Then I remembered.
I checked my phone.
Eight messages from Clara.
Three missed calls.
I opened none.
Instead I went to Theo's kitchen.
Stood barefoot beneath the stove light.
The house was silent.
And there, at two in the morning, grief finally arrived.
Not dramatic.
No collapse.
I simply put both hands on the counter and cried.
Quietly.
I cried for the marriage I thought I had.
For the marriage Clara thought she had not.
For the version of myself who had assumed reliability was enough.
For Lola.
Mostly Lola.
At seven, Theo found me already awake.
He made coffee.
We sat on his porch.
Sunlight turned the street pale gold.
"You okay?"
"No."
He nodded.
"Better answer."
"I will be."
"That's also probably true."
I watched a delivery truck stop across the street.
"I need to straighten things out."
"With Clara?"
"No."
Theo looked at me.
"Not yet."
"With myself."
He raised his mug.
"That's where I'd start."
My first responsibility was Lola.
I called Clara's mother.
I did not tell her everything.
Only that Clara and I had a serious disagreement and I wanted to pick Lola up for breakfast before school activities later that morning.
Clara's mother was silent.
Then:
"Is everybody safe?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"Then you two handle the rest."
I respected her for that.
Lola ran toward me when I arrived.
"Dad!"
She had mismatched socks.
Purple and yellow.
Hair only half brushed.
"Grandma says you make pancakes wrong."
"Grandma has no respect for innovation."
"She says you burn them."
"Those are caramelized edges."
Lola rolled her eyes.
We ate at a diner.
She told me about a science project involving volcanoes.
I listened.
Actually listened.
At one point she stopped eating.
"Are you sad?"
Children are terrifying that way.
Adults spend hours constructing faces.
Children walk through them.
"A little."
"Why?"
"Mom and I are having a difficult time."
"Are you mad at her?"
I chose the answer carefully.
"We're trying to figure out some grown-up things."
"Did I do something?"
The question broke something open inside me.
"No."