She asks as casually as she can, “So … you want to tell me why you didn’t play today, sweetie?”
“My stomach hurt.” Bennett pops another M&M’s in his mouth.
“Seems like it’s better now,” she replies gently as she turns onto Wisconsin Avenue.
“Um, yeah…”
“And last week?”
Bennett doesn’t answer.
“Jacob’s mom says you didn’t play then either.”
“I hope the honeybee is okay.”
“I hope so, too.” Marissa lets the baseball games drop for now.
When they get home, Bennett runs up to his room to feed Sam, his gecko. He desperately wants a dog, but Matthew is allergic, so the little green creature is the only pet in the house. Marissa takes tortillas, a bell pepper, cheddar cheese, and cooked chicken out of the refrigerator to assemble quesadillas, then pulls out her phone. She has three texts: The first is from her mom—who has recently discovered emojis—and its four lines are filled with hearts, kisses, flowers, and a random broccoli floret. The next is from Polly, asking if they can talk. And the third comes from Matthew, telling her that he’ll be out late with his client.
The reply to her mother is easy; Marissa shoots back a row of hearts. Polly is more complicated. Marissa finally suggests a coffee before the store opens tomorrow. Now that Marissa is no longer going to Pinnacle, her mornings have more give. Polly responds immediately: Of course! See you then! Marissa considers asking Polly if she is sleeping at the store again, but decides to let it go. The last thing Marissa wants is to spark a long exchange.
Marissa turns her attention back to the most important message, Matthew’s, trying to glean the subtext. He didn’t respond that he loved her, too, but neither was he curt, and he did write, Sorry, babe.
She thinks about telling him she’ll wait up for him, or asking him to check in with Bennett, who has migrated to the family room. But in the end, she simply writes, Ok. Good luck!
Marissa sets down her phone and pours herself a glass of Sancerre. She closes her eyes and takes a sip, thinking that the first taste of morning coffee and the first one of evening wine have to rank up there with the world’s greatest pleasures.
She unwraps the block of cheese and begins to grate it. Her chest feels tight, and she tries to match her inhalations and exhalations to the back-and-forth motion of her hand.
She has almost filled the small bowl when Bennett shrieks, “Mom!”
Marissa’s knuckle scrapes against the grater. “Shit,” she mutters. A tiny drop of blood is on her finger, but at least Bennett isn’t there to remind her about the curse jar.
“Mom!” Bennett yells again. “I can’t find my Cub Scout rope!”
Cub Scout rope? She has no idea what he’s talking about. Then it comes to her—at the last meeting, all the Cubs were sent home with a white, foot-long length of rope to practice their knots.
“Isn’t it in one of the baskets by the TV?” Marissa calls back.
She remembers Bennett attempting to tie square knots in the family room, chewing on the inside of his cheek the way he always does when he is concentrating.
Even now she can still hear the instructions he’d memorized:
Loop on top, rabbit runs up through the hole, back around the tree, down the hole again.
“No! I looked!”
“Sweetie, I’m making dinner, so—”
“I need it now!” Bennett’s voice hitches.
Marissa hurries into the family room and sees Bennett sitting in the middle of the rug, all of his toy bins emptied around him.
“It isn’t anywhere!” Bennett is on the verge of tears.
Marissa sinks to her knees and sorts through the puzzles, Marvel action figures, Star Wars lightsabers, and board games. She and Bennett peer under the chairs and the couch that Marissa deliberately stained. They even remove all of the cushions. But the rope is nowhere.
Finally Marissa says, “We’ll have to get another one.”
“But my test is tomorrow!” Bennett begins to cry, his face reddening.
“Honey—”
Bennett’s wail drowns her out. He throws a Harry Potter wand across the room, barely missing a lamp.
“Bennett!” Marissa can’t recall her mild-mannered son having a tantrum like this since he was a toddler and grew overtired at the Sesame Place Theme Park.
She reaches over and enfolds him in her arms, feeling his body shudder with sobs.
“I was supposed to be practicing. I’m going to fail.”