Page 26 of Buttons

I hear her voice, muffled as she lifts the receiver away from her mouth. “Dad wants to say hello.”

“Dad?” Leo’s voice comes immediately after.

“Hey, buddy.” My tone softens. “How’s my A-student today?”

“School was good. Mrs. Peterson said my math test was the best in class.” I can hear the pride in his voice, the desperate hope for my approval. I’ve trained him well.

“That’s my boy. What about your science project? Any ideas yet?”

“I was thinking maybe a self-sustaining house?”

I stop in front of the bay window, staring out at a manicured lawn I suddenly couldn’t care less about.

“Good. Ambitious. We can do that.” I’m actually working on investing in energy-efficient and self-sustaining housing. He must have overheard my discussions. “Remember, it needs to be impressive. Keep that straight-A average going.”

“I will, Dad, but when are we going home?”

I take a slow breath, bracing myself. “Mom and I need a little space right now, buddy. But we both love you more than anything, and we’ll figure things out. I’ll call every night, okay? Maybe we can video chat.”

“Okay.” His voice is small. “I gotta go. We’re making dinner.”

“I love you, Leo.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

The line goes quiet for a second as the phone is passed, and the sudden absence of his voice leaves me feeling hollow. I find myself pivoting back toward the hallway, desperately wishing I was tracking muddy footprints instead of pacing

The phone is passed again. “Daddy! I love you ten thousand million infinity!” Meredith shouts.

“I love you, too, Mi-Mi.”

“I drew a picture of a cat! It has purple fur and three eyes, and it’s eating a rainbow!”

Uh, that doesn’t sound realistic. I’m about to give her pointers on how many eyes cats actually have and what they actually eat when I remember the concept of artistic license. “A real modern-day Warhol.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“He’s a famous artist.” I make a mental note to send her pictures of his most famous work.

“Oh. Did he like purple, too? Don’t tell Mommy, but I used all the purple paint.”

I can picture her, curly hair falling in her face as she leans into the phone, one foot kicked back behind her, bursting with the need to tell me everything at once.

“Did you remember to floss this morning?” I ask, falling back on habit.

There’s a guilty pause. “I forgot. But I brushed super hard!”

“Flossing is important for your grown-up teeth, Meredith. We’ve talked about this.”

“I know.” Her voice deflates.

I close my eyes, hating myself. Why can’t I just let it go for one day? Why am I micromanaging a child’s dental hygiene from thirty miles away when our family is falling apart?

“It’s okay,” I say, softening. “Just remember tomorrow.”

“Okay.” The cheer returns to her voice instantly. “Guess what we are having for dinner? Guess!”

“What is it?”