“Guess what, Mom?” he says solemnly when he’s done. “Big news. I don’t want to be an astronaut anymore.”
“Oh, really?” I try to hand him a slice of bread with goat cheese and salmon, but he dodges the sandwich and grabs a sugar cookie with sprinkles instead, grinning mischievously. “What do you want to be?”
He squints at me. “A plumber,” he announces. “Or a construction guy. Like Jakob.” He takes a big bite of the cookie. I put the gold sprinkles on top, just for Gus, for courage.
My heart gives a little kick hearing that name coming from my son’s mouth. “That’s great, sweetie,” I tell him, pulling his wet little body in for a quick hug.
“Those are sensible jobs,” Henry interjects with a smile. “I wanted to be a garbageman when I was a kid.”
From what he’s told me, I know Henry doesn’t have a lot of experience with kids, but he’s pretty good with them. He treats them like he treats everyone, with civility and kindness. He talks to Gus like he’s talking to an adult. Kids respond well to that. Gus nods importantly and puffs up his chest. “Yeah, maybe Iwon’t go to space. Maybe I’ll build stuff instead.” He crams the rest of the cookie into his mouth. “Thanks for the cookie, Mom. I’m going to go around this platform ten more times,” he tells me, and jumps off the platform. “Watch me be brave and strong.”
I look at him as his head bobs to the surface of the water and he starts paddling noisily again. He looks like a sleek little seal. What would it mean for Gus if I have a partner who is absent most of the time? Perhaps it wouldn’t bother him. After all, he’s used to the absence of a father figure by now. Well, not used to it. He still misses my dad fiercely. We all do. But he’s adjusted. Kids are so resilient.
However, just because he’s adjusted to something doesn’t mean it’s the best thing for him. I’ve always dreamed I would find someone who would be present as a husband and a father. Who would be a partner in work and parenting and homelife, who would go to bed with me and wake with me in the morning, who would sit at the dinner table with us, who would stand hand in hand with me in all the little messes and decisions in life. Is it enough to have a partner who is there some of the time but misses much of the day-to-day reality of life? Could I be happy with a relationship over Zoom and text and phone calls for long stretches of time? Could I be happy with Henry and what he’s offering? I don’t know. I need to think about it.
“When you imagine your life,” Henry asks thoughtfully, wrapping a slice of prosciutto around a date, “what is it you really want, Emmie?”
The question surprises me. I consider it for a moment and find myself stymied. On the one hand, I can conjure up my birthday vision and point to it as my North Star. But then I wonder if that is really being honest with myself. I think of the vision—Henry on one knee, the shop flooded with afternoon light, the dress thatglows like sunshine itself. Those are all things I want—my own shop, the love of a good man—but that is just a moment in time. A beautiful moment, but just a moment, a snippet of a few seconds. What kind of life is underpinning that moment? What life leads up to that moment? I find I can’t quite imagine it.
“I don’t know what I want,” I admit to Henry in surprise. “I haven’t really given it much thought in a long time. I haven’t had the space to ask myself the question.”
I’ve spent years waiting for the vision, holding off on planning too much or hoping for too much while I waited to see what my future held. And then when my dad got his diagnosis and I found out I was pregnant with Gus, my life became about serving others, not about what I wanted anymore. It was about what the people I loved needed from me.
I remember the phone call—Mom and Dad were both on the landline in their house, I was just off a long shift at the Genin workshop. Dad’s voice was heavy as he shared what the doctors had found in the scan. Since that moment, my life has not really been my own. It’s been sacrificed for others—Dad when he was sick, Mom as she faces deteriorating health, Gus as he grows, and the store as it faltered slowly, so slowly. All of these things have been on my shoulders for so long that I don’t know how to imagine a life where I am not tied to these responsibilities.
“But surely you have dreams?” Henry asks gently. “Things you hope for?”
I flush and reply quickly, “I mean, yes, of course. I’ve always wanted to open a chocolate shop, among…other things.”
But what other things, exactly? The question is flustering me, because honestly, I’m not sure what other things I want. Somewhere inside the demands of being a daughter and a mom, a business owner, a caregiver, an accountant and fudge maker, a driver andhome cook, a scheduler, a nurse and organizer, I realize I’ve lost my sense of just being Emmie. I have been using all my time and resources, brainpower and willpower, to keep our family together as best I can, and somewhere along the way I’ve lost all sense of what I want, who I am, and the life I dream of.
It happened so gradually, I didn’t realize it until now. I’ve been sandwiched between responsibilities for so long that I cannot quite recall who I am or what I want without all the demands pressing in on me from all sides. What does Emmie want? Much to my chagrin, I have no earthly idea. It’s been many years since I had the time or energy or opportunity to ask that question and figure out the answer.
Henry seems to pick up on my inner turmoil. He lays a hand gently on my knee, and the warmth is comforting. “We don’t have to figure it all out now,” he tells me. “It’s okay to see how things go. If you’re willing, I’d love to keep seeing you after I leave. Take some time and tell me if that is something you want.”
He sits up, checks his watch, and winces. “I’d better get back to the house and pack my suitcase. My flight to Vancouver leaves at five a.m.”
“Gus, one more lap, honey, and then we have to go,” I call to Gus, who is tirelessly paddling round and round the platform, narrating as he goes. He seems to be pretending he’s a superhero of some sort. Aquaman, maybe? Henry helps me repack the picnic supplies—corking the half-full wine bottle, wrapping the cheeses in their white paper. “How are you feeling about the competition?” he asks.
I sigh. “Nervous. Unprepared.”
I’m as prepared as I know how to be. Truthfully, I’ll probably never feel prepared enough for a competition of this caliber. I’ve done the best I can, and I have to trust my chocolates and rest inthe knowledge that I am presenting my best. Whatever happens during the competition is out of my hands.
“Don’t worry,” Henry says reassuringly. “The hard part is behind you. You’ve got three strong entries. You should be proud of your work, and I think the judges will agree.”
Picnic hamper packed, he stands and I join him, shaking breadcrumbs from my cover-up.
“Gus, time to go,” I call, and Gus paddles toward the ladder, complaining about having to leave the water but obeying.
Back on shore, we return the rowboat to Ed, and Henry walks us to our car. Gus trails behind me, dripping wet and pretending a stick he picked up is a nail gun. He’s making rat-a-tat sounds and nailing everything in sight.
“Thank you for a lovely late afternoon,” Henry tells me when we get to my old Honda. He puts the hamper in the trunk and reaches to give me a hug. I inhale the elegant tea scent of him, mixed with briny ocean water. He’s still a little bit damp. “I’ll see you in Vancouver at the awards dinner,” he says. “I’ll be cheering you on. And afterwards we could grab a drink if you’d like. I know a great little spot for cocktails. The owner is a friend of mine.”
“Sounds perfect.” I’m so nervous about the competition that I can’t enjoy the fact that Henry wants to take me out afterward. I force a smile anyway.
“Good luck and don’t worry, Emmie.” Henry meets my eyes with an encouraging smile. “You’ll be great.” He presses a quick kiss on my cheek. “Call me when you get to the hotel, okay?”
“Thanks,” I murmur. “I will.”
