Page 42 of Lost in Love

Rolling his eyes, he throws himself dramatically onto a rock, staring off at the ocean. “I said I was sorry.”

I sit down next to him, my voice calm. “I know you did, but you have to be careful with her. She’s a lot younger than you.” I’m careful what I say here because if anyone is sensitive about this, it’s Oliver. He still holds a lot of repressed anger and sadness for what happened to Mara. “Tell you what, bud. I won’t ground you this time if you promise you’ll be more careful with her. No hitting your sisters.” I smile and bump our shoulders together. “Or the puppy.”

“Why are siblings so embarrassing? Yesterday Sevi tried to pee on Conner’s leg.”

I snort. “I don’t know. Try being his parent.” We both laugh lightly, but then I look over at him, his dark eyes focused on the sand and rocks. “He’s just confused. I think we all are when life changes, huh?”

He tries to fight it off, but his tears surface again. “I miss her.”

I wrap my arm around his shoulders. “We all do, buddy.”

You really don’t know how a child’s death is going to impact your family until it happens, and suddenly you have to find ways to deal with it. I think it really hits home with me when Oliver asks, “Are you and Mom getting a divorce?”

I’m shocked he even knows the word divorce, but then again, I guess it’s thrown around so easily now as a way out that everyone knows what it means. “Why would you ask that?”

He shrugs and picks up another rock. “You fight a lot.”

I think about what he says because like it or not, the kids hear and see parts of our marriage we’d rather they didn’t. We try to keep the kids out of our problems, or not let them see it, but unfortunately, they do. They were there when Kelly couldn’t get out of bed and my mom took care of a newborn Fin. They were there when I got so drunk the night of Mara’s funeral, I blacked out and woke up with a cow licking my face in the field behind our house. Oliver’s seen us at our worst, and unfortunately, he knows where this is heading if we don’t fix it. Even Sevi, at three, I think on some level, either emotional or cognitive, he knows something’s missing in our lives and the strain it’s put on everyone. He acts like a goddamn dog, for fuck’s sake.

What I don’t want to see happen is for any of our kids to feel like they’re responsible for this or for them to feel like we’re not there for them. Look at Oliver when I forgot him the other day. If you want to know what depression looks like on a child, look at them when a parent doesn’t show up like they said they would.

“I’m doing everything I can to keep that from happening,” I assure him, not knowing if it’s a lie. Am I doing everything I can?

Oliver draws in a deep breath, his shoulders sinking. “Okay.”

Fifteen

Troubled Walls

(We shouldn’t be allowed in public.)

After the basketball game,Noah takes Oliver out for a couple of hours for lunch, and then we head to the twins’ party at Kate’s house. I love that he took him out alone. Before Mara, Oliver and Noah spent a lot of time together fishing and just being boys. And then, Mara passed away and their tradition of fishing on Sunday morning continued for a while, but it was never the same. I think Oliver sensed his dad’s anger and in turn, it’s rubbed off on him.

Amongst getting Fin and Sevi down for naps, Hazel and I make treats for Jagger and August’s party tonight. If you’ve ever baked with a child, it’s a disaster. I spend more time cleaning up her mess than I do trying to show her how to crush Oreos without making it seem like a bomb went off in the kitchen.

When I’m finished, me and our brood of kids, with Noah grumbling behind us, head up the street to the Ford residence. I’m not sure what happened with him and Oliver, but Noah seems extra cranky the moment I tell him it’s time to leave.

“Can you just act like it’s not the worst thing in the world?” I turn back to look over my shoulder at Noah, who doesn’t even reply to my statement. He’s holding Hazel on his shoulders and completely ignoring me.

Awesome.

I don’t like taking the kids to birthday parties for the simple fact that I enjoy my children—for the most part. I just don’t enjoy others. I know, so awful of me. Just because I hate having, and attending, birthday parties doesn’t mean I don’t like children in general. I just don’t like it when you get twenty of them together and give them sugar.

Who would? It’s insane. I don’t know about you, but my kids turn into monsters when you fill them with sugar. And another thing while I’m on my rant about a kid’s birthday party… why spend so much money on the actual party for them? What kid honestly remembers those birthday parties when they’re older? I sure as shit didn’t. Oh, that’s right. That’s because I never had birthday parties. My mom’s idea of a birthday was McDonald’s Play Land for five minutes and my dad, he had no clue how to parent my sister and I, let alone throw a party. But I bet Oliver doesn’t remember when we went all-out on his first birthday party and had pony rides and that ridiculously expensive cowboy cake Noah’s mom made. My discontent for parties might also have something to do with a little seven-year-old’s birthday party that never happened.

As you can see, children’s birthday parties aren’t exactly the highlight of my day, but when it’s a Ford family party, it’s entertaining as hell. If you think Kate is entertaining, you’ve seen nothing yet.

Kate and her ex-husband still live together. They’ve been divorced a year—for what reason I haven’t discovered yet—but they made the decision to co-parent the kids in the same house. I think it’s great for them and says a lot about them as parents.

Kate and Jason’s house, it’s simple. Neither one of them have the taste for anything overly luxurious, but it’s homey and comfortable to be there. Like a modern farmhouse look and all things shiplap and country mixed in. It’s nothing like Charlee’s house where you are afraid to touch anything in fear you’ll leave a fingerprint, or worse, crumbs.

You’re probably wondering about Noah since he had been so excited to come here, huh?

Well, he’s here. And since Oliver’s game, we’ve said very little to one another. We went from a good night, awkward, but good, to now, and we’re barely talking. I don’t know where the change occurred and if it was something I did or not. I’m at the point where I don’t even want to ask what his problem is today, because what if he says his problem is me? Am I ready to deal with that, too?

He’s testy, seems annoyed, and doesn’t exactly start conversations with me. But should I start one, conversation flows lightly, but it isn’t like I initiate it either.

I’m curious as to how the birthday party is going to go, but, knowing Noah, he will pretend nothing is wrong for the sake of not having to explain to anyone. In public, we are fine. At home, that’s another story.

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