by Grea Warner
“Oh, Ryan, I was just excited. I should be allowed to be excited. I wasn’t thinking about what taking the show would entail. But it certainly wasn’t because I don’t think of you or those two little ones, who I adore. You are always in my core.” And that core ached so hard at the moment. “I guess because I’ve been taught to always look for the good. And things have, in general, worked out. So, I think they always can.”
“They don’t.” Was that the bitterness of a divorcee who said those words or someone who had been in the entertainment industry for a while?
“Ry ...” I soothed verbally. And then I had to. I had to say it. I didn’t want to regret not saying it, and we were at least in a semi-reasonable talking mode. “I know there is a lot to consider, but I have to tell you, I think I want to do it ... at least be considered or hear more. And, no,” I continued, touching upon the other thing that had seemed to set him off, “not because I want the spotlight. Not at all. I want it because I want to write and inspire and be inspired. I thought you understood that. Ryan?” I said his name when he momentarily closed his eyes. And then I gave my concluding statement. “I need you to see if there is a way for this to work ... at least try.”
His eyes opened and he shook his head ever so slightly. “I don’t know how it can. There’s commitments.” He let go of a significant breath of air. “But for right now ... we’re too ... it’s too ... Can we put this whole thing on pause for tonight, please?”
The staring game resumed for a moment or two. And I lost ... at least with our eye-lock. I couldn’t handle looking into his sad or disappointed or worried eyes. I knew I was the source for their appearance and that gave me regret. But he had said that was what was good about us—talking, getting things out. I had to trust that we both said what we had needed to and to, indeed, let it sit for the night. It was going to be a give-as-good-as-I-got-but-not-leave argument.
I did step away, though ... to the walk-in closet. I discarded the slacks and red top I had been wearing all day and, in their place, put on my white spaghetti-strap tank and light blue pajama bottoms—very unsexy. At least he knew, as if there was any doubt, what I was thinking.
“You’re going to sleep?” he asked, nonetheless.
“I don’t know. I guess.”
It was early. But what else was there? He wanted to nix the topic at hand, and talking about anything else seemed so fake. How was your day, honey? Well, we already knew the answer to that. Or, the weather? Seems like more record highs in the ten-day forecast. Uh ... no.
After a cautious look at me, he offered up a medium ground by glancing at the television. “Why don’t we watch the next episode? We haven’t been able to see—”
“Uh ...” I hesitated.
“Bethany, we need a breather. I don’t want to go from arguing with you to going to sleep. I wouldn’t be able to first of all, and—”
“My ‘uh’ was because I didn’t want to make you any angrier.”
“What? Why?”
“I may or may not have already watched the next episode.” I exaggerated grinding and showing my teeth.
“You wha ...? You watched it without me?" He wasn’t really mad—certainly not in comparison to the other trials and tribulations of the day—but it was something we did together.
“I’ll watch it again, though,” I offered, thinking that was what a compromise was. “I want to see if there were any hidden Easter eggs I missed.”
He grabbed the remote and placed it in my hand. I noticed how he touched me softly as he did so and gave me those same wistful eyes from before. And then as he changed into similar sleeping attire—a light blue T-shirt and baggy black sweats—I found the episode.
Although we were in bed together, we didn’t touch and certainly didn’t snuggle up against each other as we naturally always did. My eyes were on the screen, but my thoughts were elsewhere. Besides the car ride to get the kids—which quite honestly was a blur of pure fury—I hadn’t really had much time to myself to think, replay, and consider all that had happened. I needed that. And Ryan was right, watching a TV show—especially one I had already seen—was a good solution. We both needed to quit reacting at the spur-of-the-moment and let it sit.
I started a mental timeline by backtracking to the moment I got his call and then moving forward. On certain recollection points, I actually looked over at him. He’d look back but not say a word. It was probably wise. Some of the day and his earlier words made more sense since we were silent and reflective. Other parts, though, were still a puzzle with missing or broken pieces.
Thinking so long and hard, on top of the emotional energy spent that afternoon and evening, must have put me to sleep because I was suddenly forced awake by, “What? Wait! What?” On Ryan’s words, my body popped up from its sleep state to see him staring at the television screen.
“What?”
“Sorry.” He placed his hand on mine with a side glance. “I wasn’t expecting that ending.”
“Oh.” I felt the heat and tension that had instantly arisen in my fear start to settle. “Mmmm-hmmm.” The show had stunned me, too, with its episode end.
“How are they going to wrap it up now?” He clicked off the television.
“Doesn’t look good.” I gave my pessimistic review. “And there’s only two episodes left.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Unfortunately, the sleep I had discovered rather quickly did not last me through the night. I woke up very early—even for my daily early-shift work—and laid in bed for a while. Ryan was asleep, but I knew he hadn’t fared much better than I had. His constant middle-of-the-night shifting and throat-clearing instead of calming whistle breath had told me that. Gosh, I loved him and knew, no matter what, that eclipsed everything. But why couldn’t we have it all? Didn’t we deserve to have happiness?
Giving in to what would be my day, I tiptoed out of the room and down to the kitchen. Coffee was a definite must. I filled the pot with water as I did every morning and started with the scoops, adding a little extra. Even without the early wake and the emotional night before, the new day was going to warrant the power of a strong blend.
I was doing some Yoga poses while listening to the machine’s spurts and gurgles when Lyric shuffled his way into the kitchen, pawing my bare feet and shins. “Hey, are you as messed up as the rest of us?” I bent down and rubbed the top of the dog’s head. “Or are you just really a bloodhound and not goldendoodle? You searched out that coffee awfully fast.” When Lyric licked my face and started whining, I stupidly tried to rationalize with him. “I know you think since I’m up it’s time for you to go out. Look, cutie-patootie, it’s way too early.”
But the whining continued and I gave in, letting the dog out to the backyard. I figured if I was already up and making the coffee, I may as well let the dog out and continue my morning routine. I could go back up, get dressed, and go to work. I opened the coffee shop, anyway. Why not get there early and enjoy some extra time in the quiet solitude of the store? Maybe being away could help clarify things for me, or I could at least write some lyrics.
It didn’t take me long to get ready. So not to disturb Ryan, I decided to skip the shower and take mine after work and before the talent show. My work attire never demanded anything formal. Casual and comfy were definitely more of the trend ... and one which Willow frowned upon. I was also a minimalist when it came to makeup—just lipstick and mascara. Although, I would add complementary brown eyeshadows and a blush or bronzer if I was going out in the evening. Looking in the mirror that morning, though, I decided to apply a little foundation. The shadows under my sleep-deprived eyes seemed to already be forming. It made me, once again, think about how different Kari and I were. I knew she had changed a lot from the time she and Ryan first started dating. Her rapid rise to international singing fame had done that. And I couldn’t help but wonder if she had once been a minimalist girl, too.
I wanted to kiss Ryan good-bye because it seemed right ... no matter what issues we were
sorting through. But I also didn’t want to wake him. Goodness knows, he needed rest for whatever the day was going to unfold for him. So, I decided to make my way back down the stairs and leave a note near the coffee pot. He would be used to the coffee being ready, just not to me being gone.
I got detoured on my way, though. I passed Sallie’s room—door shut the way she liked it—and then Joel’s room—door ajar. Again, siblings who couldn’t be more different. I had taken a couple of steps down the stairs when I heard his voice.
“Bethany?”
When I turned to look, Joel was standing at the edge of his bedroom. “Hey, what’s up?” I whispered to the little boy. “It’s still so early. Really early. Your daddy isn’t even up yet.”
“Oh.” He rubbed at his eyes. “I can’t sleep. Can I come down with you?”
“Yeah?”
I don’t know why I said it as a question. Of course if he wanted or needed to, he was welcomed. Heck, I could use a little friendly companionship, too.
“Come on.” I reached out my hand and waited for him to take the couple of steps to meet me. After we jointly walked down the staircase, I made a suggestion. “Come get the coffee with me. None for you, though.” I poked his little belly, and he did a sleepy giggle.
“I don’t like coffee.”
“You don’t need coffee.” As he sat at the table, I poured myself a hearty mug. “Can’t sleep, huh?” Blowing on the beverage to cool it, I sat down immediately next to the sweet, little boy.
“I’m trying.” He was near tears. “But I can’t sometimes.”
The poor kid. I could hear the sincerity in his words. He had done much better since making his bargain with his father. His sticker reward chart was filling. Motivation to be with Ryan was strong. I understood that myself. But seeing Joel’s current distress made me wonder if it was making things better or worse. Was he behaving but actually getting even less sleep? Did he hold his fear in most nights and stop himself from calling out just to win the prize? On top of being a good kid, Joel was also competitive like his dad. He wanted to win ... no matter what. Was he still afraid of going to sleep? Or, would he simply be that kid and adult who didn’t require as much sleep as the rest of us average bears?
“I know you’re trying, Joel.” I rubbed my hand on top of his, and he looked up at me with what appeared to be grateful eyes. “We’re proud of you. And you know what? I couldn’t sleep either. That’s why I’m up.”
“The sheep thing doesn’t work,” he proclaimed, surely hoping he had a teammate on his side.
I couldn’t help but smile at the straight way he approached life and hoped that character trait never changed as he grew older. “No, I never thought baa, baa, blah, blah worked, either. My mind just goes back to whatever I was originally thinking about.” I took a sip of the java and then used my quiet, soothing, practically middle-of-the-night voice. “Is there anything you want to talk about? Anything you’re thinking about?”
He looked at me for a second, and I wondered if he would say anything. But then his bottom lip extruded over his top one and he shook his head no. Was he being brave like the superheroes he admired, or did he truly not know what he was thinking about and keeping him awake?
In case it was bravado, I tried a different approach. “Can I tell you why I couldn’t sleep ... what I was thinking about?”
“What?” His voice rose on the single word, as if he were surprised I had sleep thoughts, too.
And because not only was I raised to always tell the truth, but because, like I told Ryan, I thought it was sometimes good for the kids to see us hurt and scared, I admitted to Joel what was bothering me. “I was thinking ... sometimes no matter how much you love something, it hurts you. I was thinking ... sometimes you really want something to be different or for something to happen that just can’t, and it’s really hard to accept. I was thinking ... if I can’t count sheep ...” I paused for a quick smile at the very attentive little boy. “I can think of things that make me happy.”
“Like hugs?” he asked.
His suggestion was perfect. It was true. Hugs really were something that made me happy.
“Yes. Hugs help a lot. And you, sir, give some of the best.” I pressed my finger to his nose. “Your hugs make me happy and help me.” I fondly recalled his overture in the kitchen on the Fourth of July.
He reached over and wrapped his arms around my torso the best he could. “Your hugs help me, too.” The sweet honesty was such a treasure to my battered heart.
“I’m glad,” I replied and then tilted my head at his. “That wasn’t a yawn, was it?” When he scrunched his lips together as if to hide it, I ran my hand over the top of his head. “What do you think? Wanna try going back to bed? I’m gonna go into work, but your daddy will be up pretty soon and—"
“You’re going to work already?” Ryan entered and stood across the table from us.
“Yeah.” Dang, even with drama between us, seeing his sleepy-eyed self made my heart pitter-patter.
“It’s only—" He looked at the kitchen clock as if he needed a witness.
“I know. Sorry if we woke you,” I offered.
“I heard the dog, and then when I didn’t see this one”—he nodded toward Joel—“in his room ...”
“Oh. Oh. Sorry.” I shot up from my chair. Eeech! “We were chatting, and I forgot Lyric is still outside.” I imagined the dog out in the dark, probably wondering if he had been abandoned—just another member of the Thompson abode confused and sad. “I’ll go right now and let him in on my way out. Coffee is done,” I said as I went to pass by Ryan.
“Bethany, why—” He touched my elbow as I stopped his question.
“I need a little time to myself before the store opens and the rest ... the rest of the day happens.”
Silence filled the few inches of space separating our bodies. I had wanted to kiss him good-bye when he was asleep. But now that he wasn’t, I didn’t know ... mostly because I wasn’t sure if it was what he wanted.
When I took another step away, he placed his hand on mine, squeezed, and kissed me quickly on my cheek. “See you for dinner.”
***
The phone rang at exactly the wrong moment. The beeping refrigerator was warning that it had been left open too long and the timer on the oven was sending out its signal, too. I had to get the homemade tortilla chips out at precisely the right moment or they would burn. I finally had that mastered to the perfect culinary science. So, knowing it was Ryan’s ringtone, I asked Sallie to answer my phone.
“Hi, Daddy,” the seven-year-old spoke into the phone as I, having secured the oven mitts in place, opened the appliance. “Yep.” She listened to the other line and on my nod, closed the door to the refrigerator. “She says she’s knee-deep in guacamole. But I think she’s only fingers-deep.” I chuckled at her recounting the words I had used to have her answer the phone. “Yeah, I know. We learned that in school.” The A-plus student seemed to beam with pride. “Yep.” She was right, though—I had finished mashing the avocados and would need to soon add the other vegetables and spices to make the homemade guac. “We’re having cheeseburgers and chips and guacamole.”
“And ice cream!” Joel, who was at the table, belted out his favorite item, while playing on his tablet.
“Joel, you are supposed to be setting the table,” I reminded him of one of his chores.
“You’re not?” At first, I thought Sallie was speaking to her brother, but then I realized it was to Ryan. “You’re coming to the talent show though, right?” Those words made me halt all action, look at Sallie, and pay stricter attention. “Daddy, I want you to come to the show. I need you to.” She whined, and the wave of nerves she had been riding up and down since I picked her up at camp seemed to hit a dangerous crest.
“Sallie, press the button so we can all hear.” I had just put the patties in the skillet and needed to be cautious with flipping them. “You know how to do that, right?”
I was about to do it mysel
f when Ryan’s voice soared through the kitchen via the speaker. “Sallie, are you still there?”
“She put it on speaker,” I called out. “What’s going on? You’re coming to the show, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he reassured right away, and I let out a breath of relief. “But I can’t make dinner.”
What? Really? Did he think he was going to avoid me two nights in a row? Talk about not acting like an adult.
Conscientious of Sallie and Joel’s attentive ears, what I said instead was, “What? You said you were.”
“Daddy, you’re gonna miss rock and rolly guacamole!”
I would have laughed at the nickname Joel and Ryan called one of their favorite food items I made. But I was too upset. I wanted him to come home. I wanted to talk, especially after having some time apart and not corresponding all day. I was ready. But, obviously, he was not.
“Yeah. I know,” Ryan answered his son. “I’m really sorry to miss rock and rolly.”
“Why? Why can’t you—” I started to question again.
“A last-minute meeting ... can’t be helped.” There was a slight pause, as if he could actually see my rolling eyes or transcribe my doubting brain. “It’s important. I promise. And I promise I’ll be at the show. I’ll just have to meet you there.”
“You’re not even coming home first?” Missing dinner was bad enough, but we weren’t even going to have a second alone or as a family unit until after the show?
“There’s no way. It’s across town and—” My scoff must have been more audible than I thought because he suddenly changed what he was saying. “Are you all right with that?”
Noticing Sallie’s expectant and worried look, I agreed. “Yeah. It’s fine.”
Fine but far from perfect. In fact, it was not even in the same universe as perfect. Or ideal. Heck, it barely cleared fine.