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Today, I’m trying not to doze off as I wait for Rowan outside the hospital.
“Aren’t you going in?” Rowan asks, slamming the door closed. It’s after five o’clock and the sky is a dusty grey. “Mom asked for you.”
“I’ll visit her later, bud.” I muster up a smile.
Rowan puts on his seatbelt and I drive away from the hospital.
At home, I instruct my son to wash up. After grabbing a beer, I move to the back deck. The swing sits in the darkness, forlorn and abandoned. Nova and I haven’t had time to sit in it again.
She seems to have amped up her work load these days. The only time she can fit me into her schedule is for meals and meetings about Vision Tech.
Is it just me or has she been getting distant lately?
I shake my head.
It’s a strained time for everyone. Maybe she’s trying to process everything with Alexa by working harder.
Just then, I get a text from Nova.
My meeting’s over early. I’ll ask Steve to bring me over.
A smile spreads over my face. It’s like someone flipped the switch from depressing melodrama to an upbeat romantic comedy.
I storm inside. “Rowan! Change of plans. Nova’s coming over. So no pizza!”
“What?” Pre-pubescent whining comes from the direction of Rowan’s room. “No fair!”
I throw the fridge door open, looking for something I can have hot and ready by the time Nova arrives. My eyes snag on a package of chicken breasts.
Perfect.
Urgent footsteps pound into the kitchen. I feel the force of Rowan’s scowl like laser beams.
I shut the fridge and he’s there, a pizza zombie out for blood. “You said we could have pizza tonight.”
“Nova doesn’t eat pizza. She needs real food.” I take out the garlic powder, black pepper, and season-all. I used to cook only with salt and black pepper before Nova. After she accused my food of being tasteless, I went back to the drawing board.
“Is Nova the only one you think about?”
I stop, squint into the distance and then nod. “Pretty much.”
He scoffs and storms off.
Five minutes later, I get a call from Nova.
“Hey,” I wipe my hands on my apron, “are you almost here?”
“I’m in the mood for pizza. Do you mind just ordering in tonight?”
“Pizza?” Taken aback, I flip the stove off. “Since when did you like fast-food?”
“Rowan would enjoy it more.”
At the mention of my son, my eyebrows pull taut. “The kid put you up to this, didn’t he?”
“He texted saying you were going back on a promise.”
“I didn’t promise him pizza today,” I defend myself. “I said wemightif I don’t feel like cooking. And now I do feel like cooking.”
