He went back to bed. He slept. Saturday morning came at 6:47 in the form of Lily Parker throwing herself onto his bed with the full body commitment of a child who has never once in her life considered that other people might want to ease gradually into consciousness. Dad, Dad, Dad, I'm awake, he said, which was not entirely true. It's Saturday.
It is t-ball is next Saturday. I know, but today is Saturday. He opened one eye. Lily was sitting cross-legged on the foot of his bed in her pajamas. the ones with the cartoon sloths on them that she'd picked out herself and that Mrs. Delgato said made her look like a very enthusiastic scientist.
Her hair was everywhere. She was looking at him with the focused intensity of someone who has an agenda. What do you want to do today? He asked. She thought about this with great seriousness.
I want pancakes and then I want to go to the park and then I want to call grandma. And then she paused. Is Clare coming today? He was quiet for exactly 1 second. Nobody.
Not today. Oh, she processed this. Is she coming next Saturday? For T-ball, another 1 second pause. She might be.
Lily's face did something complicated. The specific expression of a child who has more thoughts about a situation than she's currently choosing to reveal. Then she nodded once like she'd filed the information and said, "Okay, pancakes first. Pancakes first." He agreed.
He made the pancakes. She helped by pouring in the mix and stirring too aggressively and getting flour on the front of his shirt and he let her because it was Saturday and there was no reason not to. They ate at the kitchen table. She talked about her friend Maya's new dog and a book she was reading about space and a boy in her class named Cooper who had apparently done something deeply offensive at recess. She sto and with great feeling.
Ethan listened to all of it. He always listened to all of it. But underneath his listening, something was different this morning. Something was quieter than usual in the part of him that was always calculating. What does she need?
What am I missing? What comes next? Not absent, just softer, like a radio turned down to a volume where you could still hear the music, but also hear the room. He noticed eating pancakes with his daughter on a Saturday morning that he was okay. Not fine.
Fine was the word he used when he was managing. Okay was different. Okay was real. He was okay. That afternoon he texted Clare.