Jett wraps his arms around me, squeezing me so closely that I can smell his deodorant. He kisses the top of my head several times, then pulls back to kiss my lips. “I’m going to miss you way more.”
“Good. I don’t need you forgetting about us while you’re off being a famous professional dirt bike racer.” Before we left, he’d woken up Harper and given her a long goodbye. She didn’t cry this time, so that’s an improvement. This time she has Arko by her side, and he makes her happier than ever.
Jett grins. “It’s impossible to forget you.”
He kisses me again. A horn honks behind us—some impatient driver who’s tired of watching us be all lovey-dovey. Jett holds up an apologetic hand to them, then grabs me into one last, lingering hug. “Love you.”
”Love you, too.”
I drive back home, stopping to get myself a fun little drink at the first coffee shop I come across. It’s a couple hour drive to the nearest airport, perfect for zoning out and listening to podcasts or audiobooks. I don’t listen to anything this time. I just sip my iced vanilla latte and visualize how I’ll decorate our house once it’s rebuilt. I don’t really care how I’ll decorate the rental house…and we need a rental house first before I can even think about decorating.
Ugh.
I check the rental listings every hour. Maybe even every half hour on some days. I wait anxiously for the page to load on my phone, hoping that maybe this time will be the time a brand new listing appears. A few times it has happened…but the new listing is for a house that’s too expensive, or too cheap, or doesn’t allow dogs, or has no good back yard.
After work, Harper and I walk over to my parents’ house for dinner. I feel guilty spending so much time with my in-laws and not my own parents. Dad’s grilling chicken and sausage skewers tonight, one of my favorites. Harper and Arko run wild through their house with my little brother Elijah, and it’s good to hear her laughter and see how much joy this new dog brings the whole family.
Mom listens intently while I recap the whole situation of looking for a rental house. “What about an apartment?” she asks while chopping lettuce for a salad.
“An apartment wouldn’t be any better than just staying where we are now. It’s too small and there’s no good yard, and just—blah.”
She nods. “I feel you. Hopefully this time will go by quickly so you can get back in your real home.”
I steal a slice of cucumber. “Thanks, Mom.”
After dinner, the family hangs out in the huge living room, watching TV. Elijah and Harper attempt to play a board game but quickly give up on it and make up their own rules instead. I curl up in the corner of the couch and scroll social media on my phone. There’s already dozens of posts with Jett in them. Fans, excited that they got to meet him, and companies showing off their gear that he’s wearing. I scroll through the comments, reading nonstop speculation about if he’s coming back for good, or if he’s just a tease.
I ignore the comments making snarky gossip about his home life.
A little hand tugs at my sweatpants. “Mommy?”
“Hi, baby.”
She hands me a piece of tan construction paper. “This is for you.”
”Thank you,” I say, unfolding it. She’s drawn another blue house, with a swing set to the side and our family in front of it. Arko lays on the porch, while Daddy stands with his arm around me. She’s drawn herself wearing a pink dress and sitting next to Arko.
”You drew your blue house again,” I say, admiring the artwork.
”It’s our house!” she says, pointing to the second floor left window. “That’s my bedroom! Or maybe that one,” she says, pointing to the right window. “I want the big room.”
“And what’s in your hand?” There’s a yellow and white blob on top of her stick-figure hand.
”Ice cream!”
“This is beautiful, thank you so much.”
”Welcome, Mommy!”
She runs off to play with Elijah, and I look back at the phone in my hand. Maybe I should stay off this thing for a while. No good can come from endless doomscrolling, especially when my own husband is the subject of so many gossip posts. I don’t even care that he’s mildly famous. I think what really makes my heart ache and my anxiety ramp up isn’t my husband’s fame.
It’s something else entirely, but I don’t know what.
Jett has motocross. No one can take that away from him. He has the family business, and tons of clients who come to him for motocross lessons. Sure, I work there too, but anyone can do my job. I don’t need any special dirt bike skills or talents to do office work. Only the guys in this family are skilled enough to give lessons and help grow young riders into future professional racers.
What do I have?
What do I do?
