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I couldn’t stop chuckling, occasionally tossing popcorn into my mouth while I counted his laps.
He was on twelve. I wondered how many he could stand before he collapsed, though he showed no signs of stopping. He’d sleep like a baby tonight.
When I realized that was probably what his mother intended, I commended her ingenuity.
Sometimes I wondered what it’d be like to have kids. I imagined being married to someone I didn’t fight with and who didn’t fight me. Who I didn’t want to change and who loved me for who I was. I’d picture afternoons like this, a couple of genetic replicas running around screaming Ninja Warrior! Tiny hugs, bedtime stories. Christmas mornings and Fourth of July fireworks.
And inevitably, I’d think about watching those children grow up, only to wither away from chemotherapy or worse.
The number of funerals I’d imagined in my lifetime was obscene.
I’d never really thought about death until Mom got sick the first time. I was seventeen, right at the end of junior year. When Presley made it to town that summer, I nearly collapsed into her after holding it together for weeks. She was my safe space, the place I knew I could be scared and vulnerable and honest. I’d been cut off at the knees, and her presence was the only thing keeping me standing most days. She knew every thought, every fear. Helped me carry that burden with the selfless care of a saint—a smart-mouthed saint who handled pain with a healthy dose of levity, but who was always prepared to be quiet and soften in order to take the impact of my pain.
I don’t know how I would have survived without her.
It was that summer that I decided I couldn’t—wouldn’t—have children. As impossible as it was to cope with Mom’s illness, the thought of doing this for a child—my child, a child I’d purposely brought into the world, a child whose safety and well-being were my one and only job—was unconscionable.
And thus, a line was drawn between what I wanted and what I was afraid of. In this, I had some amount of control. So the decision was made. As much as I wanted to be a father, I didn’t want to have children. Because knowing what I knew, having children felt selfish. Frivolous. Morally and ethically wrong.
So I tried to do what was right whether it was what I wanted or not.
But soon I’d be away from here, in a country where I had far bigger concerns than genetics. So many people in this world needed help, and I had nothing holding me back. My family was finally healthy and safe. The family business was booming. With the impending end of mine and Marnie’s marriage, I was untethered, free to go anywhere I pleased.
I wanted to go where I was needed. And Lindenbach didn’t need me that bad.
I caught a flash of pink in my periphery and turned to the sight of Presley walking my way.
How she’d gotten more beautiful as we aged was beyond me. Her face longer, slimmer, her jaw the perfect shape to fit in my palm. Her lips wider, a slighter version of the natural pout she used to wear. That pout was always smiling, her lips curled up at the corners even in their resting state. How many nights had I dreamed of her? She was everything I’d ever wanted, though I’d made peace with never having her long ago. When I did have her for a moment, I took advantage of every second I was given.
She was still in her uniform and white sneakers. Something about her was uncertain, just a tremor underneath her happy face. A glimmer of worry behind bright eyes.
“Hey,” she said as she sat next to me, setting her bag on the ground.
“Popcorn?” I tilted the striped paper bag in her direction.
“Thank you. I’m starving.” She shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth.
“You work at Bettie’s—she’d let you eat anything on the menu except the T-bone.”
“Yeah, well,” she said around a mouthful, “Marnie was there.”
Just like that, the joy drained out of me. “What’d she do?”
Presley sighed and sat back in the bench. “Nothing. Sent her perfectly good pie back. Told me you were still married. You know, the usual.”
“I want to say I’m glad you didn’t scratch her eyes out, but I wouldn’t fault you.”
“Meh, I just got my nails done. She’s not worth ruining a perfectly good manicure.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Through a beat of silence, her smile fell. She was nervous.
I frowned. “Are you sure that’s all? You okay?”
“I … I’m glad you came today.”
“Of course I came. Although, I’ve gotta be honest—I was hoping for somewhere more private,” I joked.
Her cheeks flamed with a nervous chuckle. She changed the subject. “I tried to find you after you left for Zambia, did anyone tell you?”
