I Found a Stack of Forks Hidden Under My Son’s Mattress – When I Tried to Take Them Away, He Said His Dad Made Him Do It
He shook his head hard.
“Are you sure? Because Mommy just bought a whole bunch, and now most of them are gone.”
“I don’t know, Mommy.”
“You can tell me if you were playing with them. I won’t be mad.”
He pressed his lips together and shook his head again. His fingers gripped the dinosaur hard enough to turn his knuckles pale.
I let him go.
I called Brandon on his lunch break. He picked up on the fourth ring, sounding distracted, like I’d caught him mid-thought.
“Hey, everything okay?”
“The forks are gone again.”
“The what?”
“The forks, Brandon. I bought 48 new ones, and there are seven left. Seven.”
He laughed.
“Cece, come on. He’s five. Kids do weird things. Remember when he tried to flush his socks?”
“This is different. He’s hiding them somewhere, and he’s lying about it. He’s never lied to me before.”
“He’s not lying. He’s playing.”
“Then why does he look terrified every time I open a drawer?”
There was a pause.
A very small one, but I caught it.
“Babe, you sound stressed. Have you eaten today? Take a nap while he’s watching cartoons. It’s forks. We’ll figure it out.”
“Don’t tell me I’m stressed.”
“I’m not saying you’re stressed in a bad way. I’m just saying, don’t spiral over silverware.”
I hung up before I said something I’d regret.
That night, I watched him tuck Alex in. He stayed longer than usual. I heard the low murmur of his voice through the door, then a small giggle, then quiet.
When Brandon came out, he was smiling
“He’s out cold.”
“What were you two talking about?”
“Nothing. Boy stuff.”
I searched his face. He kissed my forehead and headed to the shower like nothing in the world was wrong.
The next morning, he announced the trip.
“Warehouse thing. Two days. They’re paying overtime rates just to show up.”
“Since when do you travel for work?”
“Since they asked. It’s good money, Cece. I couldn’t say no.”
He packed a duffel bag while I stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him fold shirts I’d washed a hundred times. Something about the way he wouldn’t quite look at me made my chest tighten.
“Brandon?”
“Yeah?”
“Is everything okay with us?”
