The nurse nods, but also makes a face like she’s annoyed that I’m questioning her ability to do her job. I turn and walk back toward Maggie’s room, pausing just outside the door. Once again, I fail to walk in because I don’t know her well enough to know what kind of reaction she would prefer from me right now. If I walk in and try to pretend her passing out in my office wasn’t a big deal, she might be put off by my casualness. If I walk in and act like I’m concerned, she might use that concern as a weapon against us.
I think if we were more than just one overnight date in, the next few minutes might not matter as much. But since we’ve only been on one date, I’m almost positive she’s in there right now, regretting showing up at my office and regretting that I’ll see her in such a vulnerable state, and possibly even regretting that she even walked into my life on Tuesday. I feel like my next moves are extremely crucial to how all of this will turn out.
I don’t think I’ve ever worried this much about how to act in front of someone. I normally have the attitude that if someone doesn’t like me, that’s not going to matter to me or my life, so I’ve always just done and said what I feel like doing and saying. But right now, with Maggie, I’d give anything to have a handbook.
I need to know what she needs from me in order for her not to push me away again.
I put my hand on the door, but my phone begins to ring as soon as I start to push it open. I quickly back up so she isn’t aware I’m right outside her door. I walk a few feet down the hallway and pull my phone out of my pocket.
I smile when I see that it’s Justice, trying to FaceTime me. I’m relieved to have a few minutes more to prepare before walking in to see Maggie.
I accept the call and wait the several seconds it usually takes for the FaceTime to connect us. When it finally does, it’s not Justice’s face I see on his phone. His screen is covered by a piece of paper. I squint to see it, but the grade is too blurry.
“It’s too close to your phone,” I tell him.
He pulls the paper back a few inches, and I can see the number eighty-five circled in the top right-hand corner.
“That’s not too bad for a night of horror movies,” I say.
Justice’s face is on the screen now. He looks at me like I’m the child and he’s the parent. “Dad, it’s a B. My first B all year. You’re supposed to yell at me so I’ll never make another B again.”
I laugh. He’s looking at me so seriously, like he’s more disappointed that I’m not furious with him than he is disappointed in getting his first B. “Listen,” I tell him as I lean against the wall. “We both know you know the material. I’d be mad if you didn’t study, but you did. The reason you got a B is because you went to bed too late. And I already yelled at you for that.”
I woke up at three o’clock this morning and heard the television on in my living room. When I went to turn it off, Justice was on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, watching The Visit. He’s obsessed with M. Night Shyamalan. His obsession is mostly my fault. It started when I let him watch The Sixth Sense when he was five. He’s eleven now, and the obsession has only gotten worse.
What can I say? He takes after his father. But as much of me as he has in him, he’s also very much his mother’s child. She stressed over every paper and every homework assignment throughout high school and college. I once had to console her because she was crying over receiving a ninety-nine on a paper when she was aiming for a perfect score.
Justice has that over-achieving side to him, but it’s constantly warring with that side of him that wants to stay up late and watch scary movies when he isn’t supposed to. When I dropped him off at school today, I had to wake him up when I pulled into the drop-off lane.
I knew his math test wasn’t going to end well when he wiped the drool off his mouth, opened the door to get out of my car, and said, “Goodnight, Dad.”
He thought I was dropping him off at his mother’s house. I laughed when he got out of the car and realized it was a school day. He turned back to the car and tried to open the door. I locked it before he could climb back inside the car and beg me for a skip day.
I cracked the window, and he stuck his fingers inside and said, “Dad, please. I won’t tell Mom. Just let me sleep today.”
“Actions have consequences, Justice. Love you, good luck, and stay awake.”
His fingers slipped out of the window and he backed up, defeated as I drove away.