“Yes.”
“That’s kind of hilarious.”
“It wasn’t hilarious to me, Nathan.”
He glanced over, still smiling like this was nothing. “Come on, Emma. She was probably just joking around.”
“She wasn’t joking.”
“You’re taking this way too seriously.”
I turned toward the window and didn’t answer. That response — you’re taking this too seriously — bothered me more than anything Barbara had said. Because Nathan knew the truth. He knew exactly how much I carried. And he still enjoyed being praised for work he barely touched.
The next week didn’t look any different.
Owen cried at two in the morning. I got up.
Ava spilled cereal all over the counter before preschool. I cleaned it, wiped down her shirt, redid her ponytail while she squirmed.
Nathan kissed us both goodbye and announced, already halfway out the door, “Big presentation today. Wish me luck.”
That Saturday, Ava asked him to make pancakes with her. He cracked two eggs into a bowl, let her stir, took a picture on his phone of her holding the whisk — and then called out toward the hallway, “Emma? Can you take over? I think Owen needs a change.”
Before I’d even answered, he was already climbing the stairs toward the shower.
The following weekend was Barbara’s birthday. She’d invited the entire family for dinner.
I almost stayed home. Instead, I packed everything the kids might possibly need — diapers, wipes, a spare outfit for Owen, Ava’s pajamas, his eczema cream, two bottles, a bag of crackers, her favorite rabbit book, and the stuffed rabbit she flatly refused to sleep without.
Nathan grabbed his keys off the counter. “Ready to go?”
I looked down at the diaper bag, bulging at the seams, strap already digging into my shoulder. “Apparently.”
What Nathan didn’t know was that I’d made a plan of my own two days earlier. I’d booked two spots at a pottery studio a few blocks from Barbara’s house — the kind of place Barbara had talked about trying for years and never actually gone to. And if I’m being honest with myself, I also just wanted one evening where nobody’s first instinct was to come find me.
At Barbara’s, the routine kicked in almost the second we walked through the door. Owen got fussy — I bounced him against my shoulder until he settled. Ava wanted juice — I found the good cups, the ones with lids that didn’t leak. Nathan sat beside his brother, deep in a conversation about football I couldn’t have cared less about.
Over dessert, Barbara started reminiscing about how hard it had been, raising two boys back in the day.
Nathan leaned back in his chair, perfectly relaxed. “Things are different now, Mom.”
Barbara smiled at him fondly. “They are. Fathers actually help these days.”
“I’m a very hands-on dad,” Nathan said, and I watched him say it with a straight face, like it cost him nothing. “Always have been.”
Something in me went very still. Very calm.
I smiled at him across the table. “You’re right.”
Nathan blinked, mid-bite, clearly not expecting agreement.
