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Alexis
“No matter how often you call him, if he’s busy, he won’t answer,” I mutter as I jab the red button on my phone, annoyance making me slam it down on the kitchen island counter harder than I intended. Cursing quietly, a skill you learn very quickly if you have a child, I pick it up, inspecting it for any cracks. Why the hell do they make these things so breakable these days?
“Mommy, hurry up.” Lizzy’s impatient voice calls out from behind me.
“I’ll be right there, angel. Have you…” I swing around only to see her already in her butterfly swimsuit, clutching the bottle of sunblock. “Of course you have,” I mutter again. “Just give me a minute to put on my suit. What are you going to do while you wait?”
Her shoulders heave with the weight of her sigh, and I bite back a smile. Every time she wants to swim, we have some variation of this conversation, and she’s obviously over it.
“I’m going to wait right here till you get back,” she says, reluctantly pointing to the floor.
“That’s right. And why are you going to wait right here?”
“Because five-year-olds are not allowed to be in the pool by themselves.” The eye roll that accompanies that statement makes my eyebrows rise.
“Are you sassing me right now?”
“Uhhh, no?”
“Are you sure because you don’t sound too sure?”
“Mom, I’m five,” she holds out her hand, fingers straight, and I struggle to keep a straight face at the sight of four, not five fingers. “I’m not a baby anymore, and I can swim. I even got a certificate to show.”
She was so damn proud when she graduated from swim school we had to frame it and hang it on her wall.
“I know you can swim, Lizzy, but if an accident happens and you’re by yourself, it will be really bad. Now,” I say, raising my voice slightly when her mouth opens. “Do you want to talk, or do you want to swim?” Her mouth snaps shut, and I ruffle her hair before making my way up the stairs.
After a dip, I’m nice and cool, lazing in one of our inflatable pool chairs while Lizzy’s happily splashing around in the shallow end. As usual, she’s pretending to be a mermaid, but to be honest, the sounds she’s making are more seal-like than what I imagine a mermaid would sound like. Not that I’d ever tell her. Tilting my head back, I close my eyes and enjoy the gentle rocking of the float.
I don’t know why I’m so annoyed. I know Lucas is most probably in an important meeting, but lately, I’ve been on edge. There used to be a time when a call from me would make him answer immediately, or, if he really couldn’t answer, there would be a text asking if it was important. It always made me feel special, as if I was his priority. Granted, things changed over the years, and life happened. We both got busier with our careers, we had Lizzy, and one would expect that after being together for thirteen years, nine of those being married, things would calm down. It wasn’t the calmness that bothered me; there was a certain security in that. A security that came from knowing that you’ve found your person, that you’ve faced obstacles that life’s thrown you together and depended on each other to overcome it.
“Mommy, when’s Daddy coming home?”
“Oh, shi… shoot,” Lizzy’s question startles me from my thoughts, reminding me I need to make a call. “He’s coming back tomorrow.”
“Will he come watch the butterflies with us?” Once a month, we catch the trolley and go to the Botanic Garden to visit the exotic butterfly exhibit. To ask if Lizzy liked butterflies would be like asking if the Pope was Catholic. She was obsessed with them hence the butterfly costume, her butterfly-themed room, her butterfly backpack—the list was endless. Afterward, we would have a late lunch at the café and catch the trolley back.
“I’m sure if he’s early enough, he will,” I soothe, but it seems that I don’t need to. She shrugs, taking it in her stride and goes back to doing mermaid things. That bothers me. It doesn’t sit right with me that she’s so used to her dad not being there and missing out on family time. Paddling my chair to the edge, I heave myself out and grab my phone off the porch table. Once again, the call to Lucas goes straight to voicemail, so with a sigh, I call Claire. Claire has been working for Lucas for almost six years now, and we jokingly refer to her as his work wife. She runs his day like a conductor directs an orchestra, and he would be completely lost without her. The phone rings once before she picks up.
“Anderson & Young, Mr. Young’s office. How may I help you?”
“Hi Claire, it’s Alexis. How are you?”
“Mrs. Young, so lovely to hear from you. I’m fantastic. How are you?” I cringe a bit at the use of my surname, but I don’t correct her. Claire is in her mid-forties, and it feels wrong, but I think by year three, it was when I gave up trying to coax her to use my first name.
“I’m good, thanks. I’m so sorry to bug you, but I can’t get a hold of Lucas, and I can’t remember what time his flight lands.” It was more like he rather abruptly ended our call before he told me, but I don’t want to admit that.
“Oh, it’s no worry at all. His phone is most probably on airplane mode for the flight. He's due to arrive at Miami International Airport at seven.”
“Wait, he’s coming back today?”
“Yes. His last meeting finished at one.”
That can’t be right. I clearly remember him telling me he was landing early Saturday morning because he had a meeting late afternoon, followed by a dinner with a potential client who had a satellite office in Miami.
“Mrs. Young?” Claire’s voice comes through the phone, and I realize I must have zoned out.
