“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to lie in bed for a while, because I want to relax. You’re welcome to join me, but if you’d rather start arguing again, then please don’t bother.”
Then she was gone. I turned off the television, sitting in silence for the next hour, trying to figure out what had happened to my wife and me.
Or, more specifically, how I could make things better between us.
I woke up late on Sunday to an empty bed.
I tossed on a pair of jeans before trying to tame the oddly shaped waves of hair that greeted me in the mirror every morning. It was a disappointing predicament, made worse by the fact that Vivian usually woke looking already groomed.
Since Vivian had been asleep by the time I crawled into bed, I wasn’t sure what to expect but as I approached the kitchen, I could hear my wife and daughter laughing.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Daddy!” London called out.
Vivian turned and winked, smiling at me as though the night before had never happened at all. “Perfect timing,” she offered. “I just finished making breakfast.”
“It smells fantastic.”
“Come here, handsome,” she said.
I approached, assuming she was trying to gauge my mood, and when I was close, she kissed me. “I’m sorry about last night. You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. And I’m sorry, too.”
“How about I make you a plate of food? I made the bacon extra crispy for you.”
“That would be great.”
“Coffee’s ready, too. The creamer should be right there.”
“Thanks,” I said. I poured a cup and brought it to the dining room table, taking a seat next to London. I kissed the top of her head as she reached for her milk.
“How’re you doing, sweetie? Did you have any good dreams?”
“I can’t remember,” she said. She took a gulp of milk, which left the trace of a milk mustache.
Vivian brought two plates to the table, with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, placing them in front of us. “Do you want some juice? There’s some fresh-squeezed orange juice.”
“Sounds great. Thanks.”
Vivian brought those over as well, along with her own plate. Unlike ours, her plate had a small portion of scrambled egg whites and fruit.
I took a bite of bacon. “What time did you get up?”
“An hour ago, maybe? You must have been exhausted. I don’t think you even heard me get out of bed.”
“I guess I must have been,” I said.
“I will say that if you hadn’t gotten up, I was about to send London back there to jump on you.”
I turned toward London, my mouth agape. “You wouldn’t have done that, would you? If I was still sleeping?”
“Of course I would have,” London said, giggling. “Guess what? Mommy is taking me to the mall to pick up her clothes, and then we’re going to the pet store.”
“What’s at the pet store?”
“Mommy said I could get a hamster. I’m going to name her Mrs. Sprinkles.”
“I didn’t know you wanted a hamster.”
“I’ve wanted a hamster for a long time, Daddy.”
“How come you never told me, sweetie?”
“Because mom said you wouldn’t want one.”
“Well, I don’t know,” I said. “It’s a lot of work taking care of hamsters.”
“I know,” she said. “But they’re so cute.”
“They are cute,” I admitted, and for the remainder of breakfast, I listened while London tried to convince me she was old enough to take care of a hamster.
I was sipping my second cup of coffee in the kitchen while Vivian began loading the dishwasher; in the living room, London was playing with her Barbies.
“She’s old enough to have a hamster, you know,” Vivian commented. “Even if you’ll have to clean the cage.”
“Me?”
“Of course,” she said. “You’re the dad.”
“And in your mind, helping my daughter clean a hamster cage is part of the job description, right?”
“Think of it as a good way to bond with her.”
“Cleaning hamster poop?”
“Oh, hush,” she said, nudging me. “It’ll be good for her. She’ll learn responsibility. And besides, it’s a lot easier than getting her a puppy. She’s also in love with the neighbor’s Yorkie, you know, so consider yourself lucky. Did you see the newsletter from the country club?”
“Can’t say that I did.”
“They’ve got some good programs for kids, including tennis. It’s three days a week at nine in the morning for four weeks, so it wouldn’t interfere with any of her other activities. Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday.”
From where I was standing, I could see my daughter and noted again how much she resembled her mother. “I don’t know if she’d like it,” I answered. “And about London. I’ve been meaning to ask – what are you thinking when it comes to her?”
“What do you mean?”
“Day care,” I said. “You’re starting work tomorrow. Who’s going to watch her?”
“I know, I know.” A tinge of stress colored her response as she rinsed and loaded another plate into the dishwasher. “I meant to research some day cares last week, but I just didn’t have the time. It’s been all I can do to keep my head above water and I still feel like I’m not prepared for tomorrow. The last thing I want is for Walter to think I’m an idiot while we’re at lunch.”