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We love our children, but when did we stop making time for us?
I blame myself.
I haven’t adjusted well, unable to balance this new life. If I spend too much time at work, I miss my kids and feel like I’m failing at parenting. If I spend too much time with the kids, I feel like I’m neglecting my wife, and then I spiral.
Hanna—she does all of it effortlessly. Work, kids, and me. She has it down to a science, but I was never a pro at that fucking subject.
How do I get better at balancing it all?
“Dad?” my daughter, Lily, calls from the living room.
Taking my mug of coffee, I head toward her. “Yes, sweetie?”
“Do you think Mama will like this picture?” She holds up the Halloween-themed coloring page, and I smile. Not one bit of crayon is out of the lines, even though she’s only three.
Yup, just like her mother.
“Yes, Mama will love it. How come I don’t get one?” I tease and sit on the couch just to the side of her.
“You will, but ladies first, Dad,” she tells me matter-of-factly.
There I am.
Lily has her mother’s smarts and my attitude. I can’t wait to see what Ryder and Scotty are like. Will they be more like one or the other of us, or will we have made more perfect mixes?
Fucking puppet.
I think of her against me at that moment. Think about my T carved deep into her thick, ivory skin. I want to carve that same initial of my name all over her body for the world to see. An unconventional and unhinged way of claiming her as mine. I’ve been working a lot, and with that comes the constant requirement to work out and stay in shape. And the more defined my torso and hips get, the more the H she carved into me protrudes, and it is truly the mark of her power over me.
I would drop to my knees and offer my head on a platter for that fucking goddess. But lately, I’ve shown her the opposite. Rushed fucking when we get a moment without interruption, and don’t get me started on how long it’s been since the last time I took her on a date. It had to have been before the twins were born.
Maybe I could plan something for us. A romantic getaway for just us two?
Lily pulls me from my inner monologue, and I focus on her as she colors my picture next.
Soon, the storm arrives and pelts against the windows of our two-story home. The thunder starts, and I call Hanna, wanting her home before it gets too bad. The phone trills a few times before she answers.
“Hey, Theo. I’m just grabbing some things at the store before I come home.” She sounds like she’s rushing.
“Take your time. I want you home safe. How was coffee with Brenda?” I stand from the couch and make my way to the window, looking at the dark-gray clouds and the golden-hued trees swaying in the wind as they lose their leaves.
“It was good. She and James are doing well. They want to host Thanksgiving at their place this year. I told them we would like that.”
I scoff.
“Theo,” Hanna warns, understanding exactly what I meant by that reaction.
“What? You still think how they got together is okay?”
“You’re asking me that? Do I need to remind—”
“No,” I cut her off, knowing she is planning to bring up our own beginning. I’m not proud of it, even all these years later, but I don’t regret it either. Because no matter which way you spin it, the outcome will always be the same.
Hanna Fitzgerald is fucking mine now.
“Okay then. So we aren’t going to judge your sister or James. They’re happy, and that means we are for them.” She puts an end to the conversation, and I let her.
I don’t want to talk about it anymore than she does. For different reasons, of course. We discuss a few more things about what we need from the store, then end the call.
Now, I’m even more pissed at myself and kicking my own ass. I wanted to call and tell her to come home and get on the bed with her slutty cunt in the air, but instead, we made the conversation all about the mundane day-to-day things. And just as she pulls up and I plan to go to the car, fuck her mouth with mine, and tell her I am sorry, the twins begin to cry upstairs.
“Lily, go help Mama with groceries. I’m going to get the boys.” She nods and jumps up, enthusiastic to help. I head up toward the boys’ room, and when I come in, they’re both crying, their little arms and legs moving wildly.
“Shh, Daddy is here.” I pick Ryder up and snuggle him into my right arm, and once settled, I repeat this with Scotty on my left. I head back downstairs and place them in their swings in the kitchen so I can make them their bottles.
