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“Thanks, you too. How are things?”
I shrug. The truth of how things are, are for another time and place. Not Christmas morning. “Things are . . .” I pause and search for the right word. “Unexpected.”
He nods, as if he gets it, which he absolutely does not. What he and Peyton have is one of a kind. I saw it when they were little. Their bond was immediate and unwavering.
“Mack filled me in a bit,” he says. “I’m sorry to hear about all of this.”
“Yeah, me too. I’m just thankful for your parents. Them helping me with Mack right now is a huge relief.”
“You know I’ll help him in any way I can. He’s always welcome at our place,” he tells me.
“I know, but I’ll be home soon. Just have to get Amelie settled in school and then I’ll be back.”
“This is going to be hard for you,” Noah points out.
I nod. “That’s the understatement of this year and next. But what can I do?”
He shrugs.
“Anyway, I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas. Don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything, especially with Mack.”
“I will and hey, good luck through the playoffs. I’m so proud of you.”
Noah beams. “Thanks. I’ll give you back to Mack.”
Before handing the phone to Mack, Noah pulls him into the screen. “Take a pic,” Noah says. Before I do, I call Amelie away from her friend, which is almost like starting a nuclear war.
“Come here and smile for a second.”
She says hi to Noah and then Peyton, then finally, we smile, and I press the button to take a snapshot. I already know this is going to be my new phone screen saver. Noah hands the phone to Mack after saying goodbye again.
“All right, go have fun, bud. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Dad. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” I do my best to keep my expression happy but I’m dying on the inside.
I wait for the screen to go black before putting my phone down. My heart’s heavy and in pain. I’m torn in two. I want to be with my son, celebrating the holidays, but I can’t leave my daughter. The fear of not knowing how things are going to go weigh heavily on me. She’s not like Mack. He’s resilient, a go-getter. Amelie’s so dependent on her mother, it’s not funny. Granted there’s a slight age difference between them, but at ten, Mack had a good head on his shoulders. If someone told Amelie she could fly like a bird, she’d try it without weighing out the consequences.
Staying in a chair in front of the garage, I watch Amelie learn how to double Dutch jump rope. I remember girls doing that when I was in elementary school, and I guess I always thought it was something every girl learned. Amelie tries, fails, and gets frustrated. There isn’t anything I can do to help her, and I don’t know if Aubrey knows how to do it.
She comes toward me, pouting.
“It’s not easy,” I tell her. “We can watch a video on it later if you want.”
“Can you do it?”
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “But by watching those girls, I can tell you it’s all about coordination. Your eyes have to watch the hands of the person you’re facing while your feet do the jumping.”
“I can’t do it.” She crosses her arms over her chest and lets out a huff. “It’s not fair.”
“You have to practice, Amelie. Not everything’s going to be easy in life.”
Amelie sags against me. I pull her onto my lap instead of going inside. “Where’s Mommy?”
“At work.” She knows this.
