Bailey ran her hand down the length of her blonde, curly hair and continued to stare. “He’s going to love this,” she said. She tossed her hair around.
Sean walked through the door with quickened steps. She glanced up to him, and her throat thickened with emotion. He was home. Things always seemed right in the world when Sean was home.
“Hey, honey,” she called to him.
“Hey.” He walked over, a large smile filling his face. “Check this out.” He had a hop in his step, and it was good to see. He handed her the document tube he’d been carrying, and then turned back to Bailey. As he leaned close Allyson got a whiff on his cologne, and her heart did a little leap. Yes, everything was so much righter when Sean was home.
Sean’s eyes widened at the sight of the wall and the frames she’d added. “Whoa . . .”
Allyson waved her hand toward the wall. “Yeah, she said she wanted to be an artist when she grew up, so . . .” Her chest warmed with joy to see Bailey’s pride. Bailey’s cheeks plumped up as she smiled, and she swished from side to side basking in her father’s approval.
“Whoa. That
is
awesome!” Sean hunkered down to get a closer look at Bailey’s masterpieces. He kneeled before the pictures on one knee and then placed Bailey on the other knee, wrapping his arms around her.
“You know what?” Sean exclaimed. “You have a lot of talent. This wall may be worth something some day!”
“Okay, here you go.” He turned around so she could climb on his back. “Alright.” And then with a large smile on both of their faces he “flew” Bailey over to the couch, flopping her down.
Allyson took the lid off the document tube and pulled out the blueprint. She spread it on the ottoman before her, scanning the draft. It was a nice house, a large house that a real family would live in some day. Since they first started dating in college,
this
had been Sean’s dream. Now he was living it. He made her proud, and it made it easier—okay, a little bit easier—to deal with his work trips when she knew Sean was doing something he loved.
“You know what I wanted to be when I was a little boy?” Sean asked. Bailey tipped her head in curiosity.
His expression grew serious. “A basketball player.”
A giggle escaped Allyson’s lips.
He feigned shock. “Don’t laugh. There is a fine tradition of white, short basketball players.” Allyson folded a small pair of jeans and set them to the side. Sean was the fun one, the silly one. He brought so much joy to their home, and she was blessed to be married to such a man . . . but in a way his joy made her feel deeper what she was missing inside.
Allyson laughed again, but deep down there was still that nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. The house was cleaner today, yes, but nothing was fixed. It would just get dirty again
tomorrow.
The kids would get out of control again
tomorrow.
Life
tomorrow
would be the same as life today. More work. More noise. More stress. Is this what life had come to?
And Sean’s talk of dreams hadn’t helped much. No . . . not at all. An ache that had been just below the surface began to grow, and it refused to be pushed down. Even the smiles and laughter from a moment before couldn’t keep it at bay.
Bailey turned her attention to Sean’s architectural sketches spread before Allyson. She pointed. “What’s this?”
Allyson leaned forward, peering down with her. “This is a house that daddy’s making. Isn’t it wonderful?”
Bailey pointed to a boxed-out space. “Is this a window?”
“Yeah, it is.” Sean nodded, obviously pleased she’d been able to read the draft.
Bailey tilted her head and studied it. “If you move it over here then they can see the pool.” She pointed to an opposite wall.
“Huh?” Sean scratched his head and then looked closer. Then his face brightened, and Allyson knew he liked that idea . . . and he most likely wondered why he hadn’t thought of it.
“I have to go play, see ya.” Then Bailey skipped off.
“Interesting,” he said, and she could see he was making a mental note.
Allyson picked up one of Brandon’s shirts that read,
Homework Kills Trees, So Stop the Madness,
and then turned to Sean, daring to open her heart. “You know what I wanted to be when I was a kid?”
He looked up from his plans. “What?”
“This.” She gazed around the room wistfully.
Sean’s eyes followed her.
“I wanted to be a mom. Marry a wonderful man, and I did. Have beautiful babies and raise them. And I did. I am.” The words came out more as frustration than thankfulness, and Allyson pounded a soft fist on her leg.
“I don’t get it, Sean.” She blew out an exasperated breath, trying to hold back her tears.
“This
is my dream. I’m living it, and I’m not happy.” She crossed her arms over her chest, pulling them in close. “How come I feel like this?”
Sean lowered his head, as if feeling defeat. “I don’t know.” She hugged herself hard. She didn’t want him to feel this way. It’s not like he had done anything wrong, and deep down she knew he couldn’t fix it either.
Allyson returned to folding. “I’m a horrible person,” she muttered. There. She finally said the words. She’d been feeling them. Almost from Day 1 of this parenting thing she had felt them, but they were words she couldn’t voice. It was easier to put on a smile and continue on. Always continue on.
“No, you’re not a horrible person.”
Allyson peered up at Sean from under her lashes. She could tell he was trying to figure out what to say
to her.
What to do
with her.
She swallowed hard. “I’m just tired. I’m sorry . . .”
He leaned closer to her, as if wanting her to pay attention to his words. “You don’t have to be sorry, alright? You don’t have to be sorry. You have to choose to do something for yourself.
Do something
for yourself. You have to do it. You’re the only person who can do that—”
“Sean,” she interrupted, but he continued on.
“It’s the kind of thing . . . that, if you just . . .”
“Sean!” His name came out louder than she planned. She blew out a quick breath. “I—I don’t need a lecture right now. It’s not helpful in this particular moment.”
“What?” He lifted his eyebrows. “I’m listening to you. I’m sitting here and listening to you. “
“I know, I know you’re listening,” she let her voice trail off.
“And I’m hearing you,” he added.
She smirked. “You’re doing
both
of those things? Listening and hearing?” Her eyes widened and she pressed her lips together.
He chuckled. “I am, I’m very talented.” He pointed a finger into the air. “And I’m showing marked improvement. You have to give me that. I want credit.”
The doorbell interrupted their banter.
Allyson looked to the door. Her mind raced, trying to remember if someone was going to stop by. No, she didn’t think so. She looked to Sean, and her heart sank when she saw the guilty look on his face.
“Who is that?” she asked.
Sean released a heavy sigh. “That would be Bridget.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I called Bridget and I invited her to dinner . . . and I forgot.”
“Dinner?” Allyson’s mouth gaped open. She hadn’t even thought of dinner, and that was a problem. No, actually the problem was that her family expected to eat . . . every single night.
“Open up, you community of losers, let me in. I’m hungry,” Bridget’s voice filtered in from outside.
He cast her a look that said,
Forgive me?
“It’s fine. We’ll just whip something up.” Sean circled his hands in the air, and then he rose and moved toward the front door.
“Oh, we’ll just whip something up? Because that’s how that happens.” She tossed the towel she’d been folding onto the couch. “We’ll do it together. Looking forward to whipping something up . . . together.”
***
Allyson opened the door to see Bridget standing there. Petite, blonde, beautiful, Bridget had been such a darling girl when Allyson and Sean were dating. Allyson had met Sean’s half-sister at her seventh birthday party. She’d worn a pink Cinderella dress and had long blonde ringlets. She’d embraced Allyson’s neck and planted a wet kiss on her cheek when presented with “glass slippers” that were made of a really hard, uncomfortable looking plastic. Yet the years hadn’t been easy on Sean’s sister.
“Hey, what took you so long?” Bridget asked as she strode in with baby Phoenix on her hip. She wore tight jeans, mid-Goth makeup, and Allyson noticed new hot pinks streaks in Bridget’s blonde hair with some purple ones added in for fun. Nice.
Thankfully Sean felt super guilty for inviting Bridget over without warning, so he entertained the kids while she cooked. Spaghetti with sauce from a jar. Frozen dinner rolls and salad . . . the easiest meal on earth.
But then came the dinner conversation. Allyson tried not to wince as Bridget spilled all the details of her life and even showed off her new nose ring. Bridget always said awkward things. Bridget had no filter. At least dinner tonight wasn’t as awkward as last week when Bridget wanted to show off her stretch marks.
Allyson breathed a sigh of relief when dinner ended and no new words were said that her kids would pick up and have to be grounded for tomorrow.
Sean—still feeling guilty—dismissed the kids from the table and set to work clearing it. Allyson stayed seated wondering just how far his guilt would take him. All the way to filling the dishwasher? This would be fun to see.
Sean cleaned off her plate, and then moved to get Bridget’s.
Bridget swatted at Sean’s hand. “Hey, I’m not done with that. Give it back.” Then her scowl disappeared and a smile quickly replaced it.
“So, great news. I got an extra job. We needed something more so I picked up a night shift at a bowling alley.” She stabbed her salad with a fork.
Allyson spooned another spoonful of carrots into baby Phoenix’s mouth, and she felt her eyes widen. A lump formed in her throat as if she’d just swallowed a whole carrot. Allyson had no doubt that Bridget did need extra money. Her Prince Charming had turned into a frog and had leapt away as soon as he could, running from all responsibility. The problem wasn’t Bridget’s need. It was her ability. How could the single mom add in one more thing to her already part-time job and school? Allyson knew exactly how . . . and sweat beaded on her brow.
“That is unbelievably cool,” Sean exclaimed, obviously not putting two and two together.
Allyson looked to baby Phoenix. Ten months old and the sweetest thing. She supposed if Bridget needed help—
No. Stop that!
Allyson’s mouth gaped open, and she bit her knuckle.
Oh no, here it comes. She knows I compulsively take care of people.
In the pyramid of codependence, Allyson was the peak, and all the dependent people filtered down from there. Sometimes they were shuffled slightly, depending on need, but always . . . always their needs were met by her.
My kids, her kids, other kids, kids at the park I don’t know, stray animals. I can’t say no.
She gritted her teeth and focused on Bridget. Her eyebrows lifted as she waited for the words to come.
10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . .
Bridget turned to her. “I start on Saturday night, and I was hoping you could watch Phoenix while I work.”
And then a realization popped in her head. And Allyson glanced over to the calendar on her fridge and the big red circle that she’d drawn around Saturday.
“Saturday night?” she hurriedly said. “Oh, um, normally yes. I’m glad you brought that up.” Allyson winced and turned to Sean. “Because I planned a Moms’ night thing . . . for Saturday.” She gritted her teeth.
“What?” Sean turned, a look of disbelief on his face. “You planned a moms’ night?”
Allyson scratched behind her ear. “Yeah, I planned one.”
Bridget’s mouth gaped open. “What? You always watch Phoenix on the weekends. I was sort of counting on you when I got the job.” She pointed at Phoenix with her fork.
“Yeah, um.” Allyson fought against the urge to tell her it would be fine—that she could do it. She pressed her lips tight and looked to Sean.
Instead of anger at her making plans without asking him, his face brightened. “You know how a flight attendant goes through the safety thing?” He talked with his hands, emphasizing his words, walking back toward them. “You know when you have to put on your oxygen first before assisting others?”
Allyson’s brow furrowed, and she wondered where he was going with this. “Are we flying somewhere? Is this what we’re doing?” She cocked her head to the side.
“You need your oxygen mask, Allyson. You need
your
mask on, before assisting others.” He pointed his fingers to Allyson, then to Bridget and then back to her. “Right? Before you can help others.”
Bridget sat up straighter, obviously not happy with where this conversation was going. “Wow, Sean, we get it.” She bobbed her head from side-to-side. “It’s a metaphor. I think we both . . . we got it.”
Sean pointed at his sister, like a school teacher pointing out a top pupil. “It’s a very good metaphor, thank you for pointing it out.”
He looked to Allyson. “You will go Saturday night. Saturday night,” he repeated as if making a mental note of the day. He pounded the table with his finger, emphasizing his words.
“Saturday night,” she echoed softly, partly in disbelief that this was going so well.
“You will go Saturday night?” This time his words were more like a question than a statement. “Really?” Disappointment flashed on his face.
“Oh no!” Bridget whined, catching on to the change in her brother’s countenance. “Sean’s not going to be able to play video games on Saturday night with his loser friends!”
“First of all, that’s low.” Sean pointed at her, the big brother coming out. “You don’t even know Kevin.”
“I know Kevin.”
Allyson knew Kevin, too, and for once she found herself on Bridget’s side. Obviously they had the same opinion this time.
Kevin was Sean’s best friend. They met when they were in the fifth grade. They started playing video games as juveniles. And they were still playing video games like juveniles.