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It’s starting to get close to 7:30 which is usually when Jaxon starts to get ready for bed. Yet, I don’t say anything. I know if he realizes how late it is, and his dad hasn’t come home yet, that there will be a huge fit.
Jaxon is a flexible little kid when it comes to each day looking differently, but if he thinks one thing is going to happen and it doesn’t, he turns into kind of a little monster.
At 7:45, I make the decision to start cleaning up. Getting Jaxon into bed may be difficult, and I want to give myself time to be patient and calm with him.
“Why are you putting my toys away? I want to keep playing,” Jaxon complains.
“Buddy, it’s almost time for bed. We need to clean up, then go pick which supercool pajamas you’re going to wear.”
“I want to wear… but where’s Daddy?”
And there’s the question I knew he would ask. I lick my lips and think through the best answer. “He’s gotten super busy at work. He’ll be home soon, but for right now, we have to get ready for bed so you’ll have time to give him a super big hug when he gets back.”
Jaxon hops up and goes to the windows beside the front door again.
“He’s here!” Jaxon cheers, hopping up and down.
I don’t like how my heart reacts, jumping into my throat like I don’t have every reason in the world to be mad at him.
But whenever I start to feel annoyed, I think of last night, how he invited me over, then we drank together, and talked, and… connected.
I stay in the living room, sorting through the toys, as I wait to hear what excuse Harrison gives Jaxon for being late.
“Hey, buddy!” I hear.
I pause for just a second before I force myself to continue cleaning up like normal.
As I continue tidying up the living room, I hear Harrison's voice, warm and affectionate, as he greets Jaxon. The little one's excitement is palpable, and I can't help but listen, curious about the explanation Harrison will provide for his tardiness.
"Hey, buddy!" Harrison's voice echoes through the hallway.
I hear Jaxon screaming with delight as he’s scooped up. "Daddy, why were you late? I missed you! The clock didn’t say six. It said seven, and Miss Beanna said "time for bed!"
I pause my cleaning, keeping an ear tuned to the exchange between father and son. The atmosphere is delicate, filled with a mix of Jaxon's innocent inquiry and Harrison's response.
Harrison brings Jaxon into the living room area, and there is a moment of brief eye contact that passes between us. It’s hard to read his eyes at that moment, so I focus on cleaning up the toys instead, watching while trying to look like I’m not.
Harrison kneels down to Jaxon's eye level, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I'm sorry, champ. Daddy had a really important surgery that he had to do. But now I'm here, and we can still have some fun before bedtime."
Jaxon seems to accept this explanation, the resilience of a child's understanding evident as he redirects his excitement toward the prospect of spending time with his father. Harrison glances in my direction, and for another moment, our eyes meet. There's a silent acknowledgment of the shared responsibility in caring for Jaxon.
I want to ask questions. One of them would be “could you not have texted me once you finished the surgery and were on your way home?”
However, Jaxon is thrilled with the prospect of getting extra playtime after he thought the night was over. He ignores my efforts to clean up and heads over to the bin of toys to find his dinosaurs. He starts playing with his dad as I finish putting the blocks in their own bing.
Even though Harrison is focusing on creating a sense of normalcy for Jaxon, I need to talk to him.
Harrison has one of Jaxon’s dinosaurs in his hands, and he starts chasing Jaxon around the living room. It’s only when he pauses and presses a hand to his forehead that I begin to suspect he hasn’t been at the hospital all this time after all.
I stand up and walk over to Harrison. It’s Friday, after all, and I’m expecting a paycheck.
When I get close, I smell the alcohol on Harrison’s breath, and my stomach twists into knots of unease. I don’t want to admit that there may be some jealousy there, too.
“Were you drinking?” I ask, trying to keep my voice low but not able to control the level of sarcasm in it.
“Yes,” Harrison responds, turning to look me in the eyes. “I pay you to watch Jaxon, not judge me for the activities I choose to do when you’re on the clock.”
I open my mouth to retort, but I really need the money from this week. I just want my check or however he’s going to pay me. Then, I can move on with this night and be mad at Harrison in the comfort of my own home.
