The Burning Side(44)
A promise from her means so little, yet my requests unfurl between us. Have dinner with me. Marry me. Make a home with me. Have children with me. And please, for God’s sake, put our children first when it all comes crashing down.
“You think so little of me.”
“I’m talking about the kids. Don’t make this about you.”
She steps closer, jutting her chin out as she looks up at me. “Of course I’ll do what’s best for them, same as I’ve tried to do every day of their lives, including the many days when you couldn’t even be bothered to show up.” She strides past me unsteadily, and she goes upstairs.
I lie on the couch, letting out a long exhale and thinking of the many days when April didn’t want me to show up. A few days after Cody happened, I did realize I had forgotten April’s birthday. But a forgotten birthday is nothing compared to an affair.
Come morning, I realize I’ve forgotten something else: the tooth fairy.
Naturally, there are tears. Sadie’s eyes like saucers, she sniffles and looks up. “Why didn’t she come?”
And now I wish we had lied to her so that we could blame this on an imaginary fairy instead of having to look her in the eye and admit that I forgot about her very first lost tooth.
But April yanks me into the other room and whispers, “Quick, let me see your phone.”
I hand it over, frowning.
She turns it on silent and frenetically types out a text: GIVE MY APOLOGIES TO MISS SADIE TORRES. I GOT DELAYED IN ASIA BECAUSE MY WINGS GREW TIRED. (FAIRIES NEED REST TOO.) ASK HER TO FORGIVE ME AND PUT HER TOOTH BACK UNDER HER PILLOW. I’LL COLLECT IT TONIGHT!
April reads it back twice, checking for reversals. In her own phone, she changes my name to TOOTH and my last name to FAIRY, and then she sends herself the message. She spins back toward our daughter. “Look!” She waves her phone. “The tooth fairy sent a message!”
Sadie squints skeptically, a hand on her hip. They read the screen together, and her eyes widen when she sees the sender’s name, mystified as to how her parents could possibly do such a thing. “How can a fake fairy send a real message?!”
April winks. “Should we respond?”
“Hmm, I guess just say that I’ll put the tooth back under my pillow like she said?” Sadie brightens. “And I hope her wings get some rest!” She leaves the room with her tooth in its mint tin and a little hop-skip. It was brilliant on April’s part. Instinctively I grab her hand, a small squeeze to say, We did it! A child’s lost tooth is not the most important thing, but it’s the most important thing to one person in one moment.
April smiles at me, and it makes my heart drop. She’s a good mother, a truly thoughtful person. And unfortunately, I still love her. This love is akin to hunger—not always present but always returning. I don’t know if this makes me strong or weak or merely human, but I do know those pink underwire daisies continue to taunt me. How does someone have a successful divorce? How can we do this where I won’t be tempted to ignore the scathing pain she caused and trip back into it, but also where I won’t fester and trip into a hatred that might embitter our children?
School starts next month. April will stay with her parents to help with Billy, but my job is in Argyle and I don’t need that commute. We don’t need this confusion. The fundamental issues beneath our scaffolding remain: I don’t trust her, she doesn’t want me, and this marriage is ending. We were never going to be able to stay in this sojourn, this catch of breath. The study of history has taught me two things, simple yet key. One: some things last. Two: most things don’t.
We can still conspire about the tooth fairy and parent our children together, but we don’t have to be married to do this. It will be better for all of us, eventually.
Sadie is showing Billy the new gap in her teeth. Deb is setting out cantaloupe and breakfast sausage. April is opening the big kitchen window, and morning light is filling the room.
This family. This home with all its oppressive beauty.
I have to get out of here.
DEB
July 15, 2022
“IT’LL BE OVER SOON.”
I’ve always offered this phrase to my family when something is unpleasant, because life is short and soon is always. It’s meant as comfort, but it doesn’t feel that way as I offer it to Billy along with a bagged lunch of beef jerky, raisins, and cashews. He’s doing a root canal this morning, which is his least favorite. But it’s his last week as a dentist, so the tolerated thing is suddenly a thing we would gladly keep, if only we could.
He accepts the lunch and platitude. “Thanks.”
“Maybe you can help the tooth fairy in your retirement. She seems to need it.”
This wins a weak smile. I hand him a pill, and he swallows it dry. He is walking to work because his bike needs a new inner tube, so he ambles off toward reamers and files and drills and tubes of fluoride. For the last time, he will dig into the thicket of a mouth, remove infected pulp, and save a tooth. His procedures now have several attendants. A week from now, his practice will be in someone else’s name.
Otto is dropping Cheerios one by one onto the kitchen floor as Cameron rounds the corner, having slept through the tooth fairy fiasco. He grabs a boiled egg, taps it on the counter, and starts to peel. “So, I’ve got news.”
Oh good Lord, I do not want more news.