“I see that.” I look at the time on my phone. Six-thirty. “Is your sister up?”
“Not yet. Want me to wake her up?”
“God, no.” I grab his hand and drag him into bed. “Why don’t we snuggle for a minute?”
He makes it all of two seconds before he’s squirming to get away. “This is boring. Let’s go make pancakes.”
“How about you watch a show on my phone for a minute?” I try, pulling Netflix up and clicking on a kid’s show.
He greedily accepts the device and is instantly sucked in. I sigh in relief. Mornings have gotten hard for Sara, so on the weekends, when I’m not working, I wake up with the kids to give her more time to sleep. I hope by resting more, she’ll snap out of this ongoing depression and feel more like herself.
It’s not normally an issue for me to be one to wake up first, but after a few drinks, fucking Kian, and then coming home and lying awake for hours beating myself up, I’m exhausted.
With a liquid confidence flooding my system, being with Kian wasn’t even a choice. He was so responsive, like putty in my hands. However, when it wore off and I was alone, I wasn’t so sure. I scoured my memories of Mason, looking for a conversation that’d give me a clue about how he’d feel in a situation like this. There wasn’t anything there. We didn’t talk about death, we only talked about our life and our future.
How stupidly optimistic of us.
Then, I thought about how I’d feel if the roles were reversed. I think I’d want him to move on. I’d want him to fulfill all of his dreams, especially if the one of us growing old together would never come true.
That was the only thought that finally allowed me enough peace to fall asleep. Unfortunately, that was only three hours ago and now I’m playing fun gunkle until Sara wakes up.
I doze on and off for another hour with Lou entertained next to me until Emmy joins us. After that, all bets are off and they grumble about breakfast nonstop until I agree to get up. We make pancakes, get dressed for the day, and even play in the backyard. Still, Sara doesn’t come out of her room.
By lunchtime, I’m knocking on her door. She’s not in bed, but her en suite bathroom door is closed. I stick my ear to the door and hear her crying. It kills me she’s still hurting so much.
I knock and hear her blow her nose before responding. “Just a minute.”
I set the kids up in the living room with a show and a snack, then return to Sara’s room. She’s sitting on her bed, wad of tissues in her fist, papers resting on her lap, and she’s staring out her window.
“Bad morning, huh?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I’ll just take a quick shower and then I’ll take over.”
I take a seat next to her and wrap an arm around her shoulders. “The kids are fine. It’s you I’m worried about. You’ve been sleeping more and more. You hardly ever smile.”
“I’m sad, Archer. I try not to be, I do.” She rests her head on my shoulder. “I got these in the mail yesterday. I couldn’t bring myself to open them until I got home last night.”
I take the papers from her and quickly read through them. “Divorce papers?”
“Yes. He doesn’t even want parental rights, Archer. It’s like he wants to walk away from his entire life and start over. How can he do that?” Her voice trembles.
“It’s probably for the best. You don’t want the kids growing up with his influence.” I try to reason.
“You don’t get it.” She jumps up, pacing. “We had a life together and now we’re trash to him. He’s throwing us out for a new model.”
“I do get it, but if he’s going to walk away, it’s best he doesn’t do that with the kids.”
“It’s my fault my kids are going to grow up without a dad. If I’d tried harder, made him more of a priority.”
“Sara! Listen to yourself. This wasn’t your fault. He’s an asshole. If he wanted to find a way out, he would do that regardless of what you did.”
“I just need to be alone for a while. Can you please take care of the kids?” She wraps her arms around herself and turns back to the window.
“Maybe you should do something fun with them today. Get out of the house.” I suggest.
“Not right now.”
I know I’m not going to change her mind. Instead, I pack the kids a lunch and we walk to the park for a picnic. While they chase each other around and go down the slide a hundred times each, I think about how to best help my sister.
We’ve discussed finding a therapist. She objected and turned it around on me, telling me I should see a professional also. While I don’t deny that things have been rough for me, I’m coming out of the depression I’ve spent the last year living in. I’m not all the way there, I still have my issues, but at least I’m trying. Sara seems to be pulled further down every day. It scares me, but I can’t force her to do anything about it.
“Archer, push!” Emmy calls out from in front of the swing. She tries to heft herself up, grunting as she struggles to get her knee on the rubber strip of the swing. I chuckle and jump up to help.
“Hold on, tiny tot. I’m coming.”
The next couple days fly by. Between working at the docks and taking care of the kids, I barely have time to think. Sara retreats inside herself more and more. She won’t talk about the divorce or finding a lawyer. I come home from work to find the house a mess, the kids staring at the TV, and her buried under blankets on her bed.
I want to help her, but I have no idea how. By the time Saturday rolls around, I get the idea to ask Kian how she’s been at work. We’ve been texting all week, mostly at night after I get the kids to bed. We have very different schedules, so we haven’t seen each other, but with Sunday and Monday being his off days, I’m hoping to rectify that.
“Hello,” he answers on the first ring.
“Hey.”
“It’s my favorite fisherman. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Just got the kids up and ready.”
“You sound like such a housewife,” he teases.
“I feel like one lately. That’s kind of why I’m calling.”
“What’s up? Need to borrow my feather duster?”
“Maybe, but that’s not why I called.” I fix my third cup of coffee for the day and go outside where I can watch the kids play in the backyard. Sara is still sleeping. She’s always sleeping.
“Go on.”
“It’s Sara. She’s been a little sad lately and I was wondering how she’s been at work.”
“I’m taking it she isn’t a ray of sunshine for you either?”
“I’m worried about her.” I admit.
“Want me to talk to her? I don’t know her well, so maybe she’ll respond better to me saying something.”
“If you do, don’t tell her I told you to. God knows she doesn’t need more reasons to yell at me.” I scratch my fingers through my beard.
“No problem. I’m an expert at forcing conversations.”
“I’ve noticed that about you.” I chuckle.
“What else have you noticed about me?” His voice turns flirty.