Page 73 of Midlife Crisis

For the love of all that’s holy, what?

“When is it due?” I’m holding my breath, but I know the answer.

“Thursday.” Thankful for small miracles, this gives us two nights to work on this thing. I don’t even want to ask how long he’s known about it or complain that he has baseball practice in an hour and we don’t have a single supply. After two hours and a hundred dollars at the local hobby store, I have the ingredients for a kickass volcano. Of course, it’s almost nine o’clock when Liam gets home from practice, and he wants to start the project. We’re mixing up paper maché batter because I can’t have the kid who wants to use a simple soda bottle and a mint candy.

“We need to make it look as real as possible.” He uses hand motions to emphasize the boom he thinks this project should express. He’s been working on research behind the scenes, and I’m proud of him for not asking me for every detail. I’m more worried about his paper than the physical volcano, but tonight I don’t have time for proofreading. As he’s stirring up the mush for the maché, the doorbell rings, and I can’t imagine who is soliciting at this hour. Assuming it’s a marketer of some type, I peek through the window first and find Hank standing on my stoop.

“Hank.” As I open the door, I breathe out his name like I need to intake him for air. He looks so good standing under the front light, his hands in his pockets like a nervous teenager. My heart skips a beat. “What are you doing here?”

He looks down at his feet for a second and then up at me, eyes silvery.

“You broke up with me.” My mouth opens, ready to protest. I didn’t. I just wanted to give him the space he’ll need for his son. He speaks before I can explain. “I decided I’m not letting you.”

He steps into the living room, forcing me against the door, and kisses me tenderly in his Hank way. Soft pulls and full exploration like he wants every corner, every crevice before he’ll release me. I’m stunned into submission, and my eyes remain closed even after he pulls away.

“Mom!” My name brings me back to reality. I hear the scrape of a kitchen stool on the wood floor.

“Hank, tonight probably isn’t a good time to—”

“Hank,” Liam calls, standing between the kitchen and the living room. “Come see my volcano.” Hank peers down at me, a smile slowly forming. He leans in to kiss me quick, and I brace myself for the too-short connection. Only he stops, lingering. After three short pulls at my lips, he steps back. I’m stunned again. He’s changed it up. Still holding the doorknob, my back against the wood, I watch his backside as he heads for my kitchen and Liam’s science experiment.

+ + +

Around ten, the paper maché needs to set. Hank has helped Liam practice the volcano over the sink as a test.

“All experiments need a run-through before the real explosion,” Liam tells me although I’m certain this is something Hank said. “Results can be inconclusive without thorough investigation.”

I snort at the scientific jargon before telling Liam he needs a shower and bed. Staring at the mess he made, I shake my head while Hank gathers up the supplies and forms a neat arrangement on my island counter.

“Thank you for this.” I nod at the organization and a hearty looking mound that might resemble a volcano once it’s painted.

“Glad to see you feel better.” He winks.

“Thank you for that as well.”

“Anything you need, little lady.” His hands work to clean up, but I sense he’s doing it to distract himself.

“How was Lawson?” He stills, pressing down on the island. His head hangs.

“I’m in over my head. I wanted this so badly.” His head shoots up. “No, I wanted the truth so badly. Yet now that I have it, it isn’t helping. I’m more angry with her than I was before. And I hate myself for all the things I did, thinking it’s my fault Lawson is the way he is.”

Stepping toward him, I grip his wrist.

“You know that’s not true. It’s genetics and mutations and all kinds of things I don’t understand, but it wasn’t something you or even Kit, for that matter, did. Lawson just is who he is.”

Hank nods, taking my hand in his and raising it to his lips.

“I can’t do this alone.” The implication lies underneath. He wants me to be there for him.

“I’m so sorry for the other night. I shouldn’t have walked out like I did.” His hand cups my jaw.

“Please forgive me for what I said.” He swallows, unable to repeat what he did. “It just slipped out, and it will never, ever happen again.” His head lowers to rest against mine. I prepare to tell him he can’t know such a thing when he explains. “I had this moment when she was in my head because you were speaking about her, and then you had the look like you were ready to bolt. And then I pushed you through the door by calling out her name. I’m so sorry.”

“It was a lot to take in at once. You hadn’t exactly told me the truth about Lawson.” We haven’t covered this omission yet, and I need to know. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You had the interview, and I wanted you to focus on the job. I knew it was important to you, and I didn’t want to be any cause for distraction. You’re a worrier, little lady. You would have deviated.” He’s right in some ways. His revelation would have consumed me as it has the past few days. “You needed to do you.”

“I thought we could do us,” I whisper, and to my surprise, his mouth crooks.