Chương 10
She stared at him.
He almost smiled.
“Sorry.”
Sarah shook her head.
“Good night.”
He opened the door.
“Sarah?”
She looked at him.
“I’m not going to disappear.”
She hated that part of her still wanted to believe promises because they came from his mouth.
“Don’t tell me,” she said. “Show him.”
Daniel nodded.
Then he left.
January was ugly.
Not catastrophic.
Worse in some ways.
Ordinary and difficult.
Leo developed stomachaches on school mornings.
The pediatrician found nothing physically wrong.
His teacher emailed Sarah because Leo had stopped volunteering answers even when he clearly knew them. He forgot two homework assignments in one week, something he had never done before. On Thursday he cried because his blue water bottle was at Daniel’s apartment and refused to use the green one from the cabinet.
Sarah almost drove across town to get the blue bottle.
Then she stopped.
“Use mine today,” she said.
“I don’t want yours.”
“Then use the green one.”
“I hate the green one.”
“You liked it last month.”
“I hate it now.”
Sarah stood in the kitchen at seven twelve in the morning wearing one earring and holding a travel mug.
She was late.
Leo was late.
The dog needed to go outside.
Her patience snapped.
“It is a water bottle, Leo.”
He went still.
Sarah heard herself.
He looked down.
She put the travel mug on the counter.
“I’m sorry.”
“I just want my stuff where it’s supposed to be.”
The sentence took the anger out of her.
She sat at the table.
“Me too.”
Leo looked up.
She held out her water bottle.
“It’s black. Very boring. No one can hate it.”
He took it.
At school that afternoon, the counselor called.
Ms. Patel had warm eyes and a habit of leaving long pauses after questions, which Leo distrusted immediately.
Sarah and Daniel sat beside each other in chairs built for adults but designed to make everyone feel like a child.
Leo sat across from them.
Ms. Patel asked how things were going between houses.
“I don’t live at Dad’s,” Leo said.
Daniel shifted slightly.
Ms. Patel did not look at him.
“What would make it feel like you lived there?”
Leo shrugged.
“More stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“My stuff.”
“Can you give me an example?”
He thought.
“My rocks.”
Sarah blinked.
“You want your rock collection there?”
“Some of it.”
Daniel said, “We can do that.”
Ms. Patel lifted one hand.
Daniel stopped.
She looked at Leo.
“Would you like your dad to move some rocks, or would you like to choose which ones?”
“I choose.”
“Okay.”
Leo looked at his parents.
“And I need a calendar.”
Sarah said, “We have one.”
“No. You have one.”
He turned to Ms. Patel.
“They say things like ‘Thursday after school through Friday morning’ and then they talk about weekends.”
Ms. Patel nodded.
“What would help?”
“A normal calendar. With colors.”
Daniel looked at Sarah.
Sarah saw his instinct to say they could make one.
She waited.
Ms. Patel asked, “What colors?”
“Blue for Dad. Green for Mom.”
Sarah almost objected that green was not her favorite color and then recognized how absurd that would be.
Leo continued.
“Yellow if we’re all doing something.”
Daniel looked down.
There were very few yellow things left on their future calendar.
Ms. Patel noticed.
She said, “Would it help to know there may not be many yellow days?”
Leo’s eyes flicked toward his parents.
“Yes.”
“Do you want yellow days?”
“I don’t know.”
Daniel rubbed his thumb against the chair arm.
Ms. Patel asked, “What do you want your parents to stop doing?”
Leo answered immediately.
“Looking at me after I come back.”
Sarah frowned.
“What do you mean?”
Leo turned to her.
“When Dad brings me home, you look at me like you’re checking if something happened.”
Sarah opened her mouth.
Closed it.
He looked at Daniel.
“And you ask if Mom said anything.”
Daniel’s face went red.
“I asked once.”
“Three times.”
Daniel looked at the floor.
Ms. Patel said, “Anything else?”
Leo’s voice went smaller.
“I don’t want to tell them stuff about each other.”
Sarah felt heat behind her eyes.
“What kind of stuff?”
“Dad asked if you were sleeping okay.”
Daniel looked horrified.
“I was trying to make sure—”
Ms. Patel raised a hand again.
Daniel stopped.
Leo continued.
“Mom asked if Dad’s apartment is clean.”
Sarah stared at her hands.
“I was joking.”
Leo looked at her.
“Was I supposed to say no?”
Sarah had no answer.
Ms. Patel leaned back.
“Leo, would it be useful if your parents agreed not to use you to get information about each other?”
“Yes.”
Daniel nodded.
Sarah did too.
“Good,” Ms. Patel said. “That’s a family rule, then.”
On the drive home Sarah cried at a red light.
Quietly.
She wiped her face before Leo noticed.
He noticed anyway.
“Are you sad?”
“Yes.”
“Because of what I said?”
“Because you had to say it.”
He watched the houses go by.
“I wasn’t trying to be mean.”
“I know.”
“I like Dad’s apartment a little.”
Sarah’s chest tightened.
She kept her eyes on the road.
“That’s good.”
“You sound weird.”
“I’m working on it.”
Leo looked at her.
“Ms. Patel says feelings can be two things.”
“She’s right.”
“I can like it and hate it.”
“Yes.”
“Can you be glad and mad?”
“Absolutely.”
“At the same person?”
“Especially at the same person.”
Leo nodded.
“That sounds annoying.”
“It is.”
At home they made the calendar.
Blue for Daniel.
Green for Sarah.
Yellow for joint events.
They did not yet have a permanent schedule because their attorneys were still exchanging proposals, but they filled in January.
Leo stared at the page.
Seven blue nights.
Twenty-four green.
“Why so much green?”
Sarah sat beside him.
“Because that’s the temporary plan.”
“Who picked it?”
She hesitated.
“I proposed it.”
His face changed.
“Why?”
“Your dad travels for work some weeks.”
May you like
“He said he can travel less.”
“He says he can.”
