He made me a little misty-eyed with those words. Despite…everything, he understood me well. Even so, blame had no place in our family. Depression turned every black-and-white surface into a blurry swirl of gray, and we’d all shared William’s foggy pain for years.
That fog had finally lifted, for all of us. It was what mattered.
“Do you remember what Aurora told us about the lanes?” I tilted my head.
“Of course.” He smiled. “I think about it sometimes.”
I nodded. So did I. In her young wisdom, she’d said that Mom and Dad used to drive in the same lane, but now the road was bigger, and it had three lanes. One for Mom, one for Dad, and one in the middle where he and I, and our kids, could drive together. Where we could check in with one another. A lane that still belonged to our family—and, recently, where William and I occasionally carpooled to navigate our way through this newfound friendship.
“I like seeing you in the middle lane,” I said, phrasing myself carefully, “but stay there.” I hoped he saw the humor of it too. “There’s nothing you can do about anything that happens in my lane.”
He sighed, then chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I’ll ease up.”
Good. I knew he wanted to make sure I was all right, but sometimes I feared he did it out of guilt because he’d moved on. Something I didn’t begrudge him at all. I’d moved on too; I just hadn’t moved on with anyone, and I had no desire to. Yet. Okay, I doubted I ever would, although it would be nice one day, maybe.
William didn’t just share a lane with Kelly. They were in the same car, something I hadn’t experienced in over a decade.
Maybe one day.
“Now, get out of my house, buddy. I’m gonna get started on dinner. I assume Aurora’s turning up eventually.”
“Buddy,” he muttered to himself and headed toward the hallway. “I prefer it when you call me honey. You say it in a way that makes me feel like the clueless ex-husband that I am.”
I tinkered a laugh and followed him out. “Definitely clueless. Some things never change.”
He huffed and stepped outside. “You know, tell our daughter that she might’ve inherited that from me, then. Because this morning at the breakfast table, she gave us a harangue about male menopause. Did you know it’s a thing? Kelly and I just sat there, fucking horrified, as she went on about receding hairlines, abdominal fat, memory loss, insomnia, and…” He grimaced. “Difficulties with bladder control.”
“Oh my God,” I wheezed out in laughter. “She didn’t.”
“Oh, she did,” he told me. “I’ve never felt older physically, Lis. That could be me soon. My knees already sound like firecrackers when I get off the couch.”
I gigglesnorted. “Well, I didn’t get glasses last year because it’s cool. We’re not twenty anymore.”
“I’ll say.” He tossed and caught his car keys, taking the step off my tiny porch. “Anyway. She might be with Jess. She talked about hanging out with him earlier today.”
“Okay, thanks.” I nodded and smirked, still amused by Aurora’s rambling. She’d wanted to study medicine since she was little and researched random topics in the field for kicks.
“By the way,” William said as he opened the gate, “why didn’t you tell me my brother’s getting divorced?”
I gave him a strange look. What the hell? “Mason’s getting divorced?”
“Oh. I’m sorry, I assumed you knew. Yeah, he called me before the weekend, said he was done and moving out.”
Huh.
I didn’t know what to say. I’d seen Mason mere weeks ago. I’d been to a spa retreat in Phoenix to celebrate a promotion of sorts—and to treat myself to a getaway—and he lived there. Maybe it was why William assumed I’d know something. When we were married, it had been my job to keep track of family members, and whereas the brothers had never been particularly close, I’d maintained contact. Birthday cards and holiday greetings and such. So, we’d met up for dinner in Phoenix. He’d even flown back here with me for a quick visit; he wanted to reconnect with William.
“I had no idea,” I said, at a loss. “He made no mention of things being bad at home when I saw him.”
“Same here.” William frowned. “He seemed happy when he came up to visit.”
“Get to the bottom of things,” I encouraged. “I’m glad you two are trying to get closer, so make sure you don’t ignore this.”
He nodded and closed the gate behind himself. “I will,” he replied. “Clever as always.”
I offered a two-finger salute.
A couple hours later, I found myself on the floor in the living room, surrounded by boxes, trash bags, and beef stir-fry.
“What about this one?” I held up a Barbie doll. “You used to play with it all the time.”
“Mom.” Okay, Aurora was getting frustrated with me. “No more friggin’ toys, all right? I haven’t played with dolls in, like, five years.”
“Fine.” I sulked as I tossed it into the bag of items to donate. Then I picked up my bowl of stir-fry, shoveling a spoonful into my mouth, and forced myself to face the truth. My daughter had officially left childhood behind.
She’d even rejected the stuffed animals she used to share her bed with.
“Are you gonna mope this weekend when you ask if Brady wants to throw out his action figures?” Aurora countered.
“Probably.” I shrugged.
Despite the countless boxes of shit I’d thrown out before the move, I’d known there would be more once I got here. William and I had marveled at the forgotten items we’d had in our attic.
“I was serious about my request, though,” I said. “I want you to save five things for your future children.”
I’d already stowed away a box of baby clothes and toys I wasn’t ready to part with.
Aurora bit her lip, surveying the sea of toys between us. The floor would be empty by tomorrow, because that was when our new furniture arrived. At this point, we only had our beds, nightstands, the kitchen stools around the island, and, right behind me, the couch.
We had shelving covered, which was one of my favorite features of the house. Built-in shelves in each room. The living room had two units I’d already filled with books, pictures, and knickknacks.
Aurora picked up one of her old dolls and combed down its hair with her fingers. “Brady says he’s never having kids.”
“Well. Your brother can be full of shit sometimes.” I took a swig from my water bottle and nodded at the doll. “You should save that one. Remember what you named her?”
She grinned wryly and set it aside behind her. “Trixie. Dad hated it and asked if she was a stripper.”
I chuckled, remembering it. In William’s defense, Aurora had been eight at the time. He hadn’t thought she would know what a stripper was.
Oh, this was making me nostalgic. Every damn toy came with a memory, and it saddened me that those days were over.
I pouted to myself and picked up a slingshot that must’ve ended up in the wrong box. It used to be Brady’s.