Chapter 17
He laughed.
“Remember this?”
I did.
Emma had painted DAD on it in kindergarten.
Most of the paint had chipped away.
“Yes.”
He put it in his box.
When everything was packed, he carried the first box to his car.
Then the second.
On his final trip through the kitchen, he stopped.
Emma had gone upstairs to take a call.
Two clean plates were drying near the sink.
Two coffee mugs.
Mine and hers.
Daniel looked at the table.
For years, Sunday breakfast had contained a place for him even when he did not show up.
A plate kept warm.
Coffee waiting.
A wife listening for the garage door.
Now the table was smaller without anyone having removed a chair.
Daniel touched the back of the chair where he used to sit.
“You don’t make extra anymore.”
It wasn’t really about French toast.
“No.”
He looked toward the coffee maker.
“Do you ever…”
He stopped.
“Do I ever what?”
“Think I might show up?”
I considered lying.
“No.”
He nodded.
The answer landed harder than I intended.
“I deserved that.”
“It wasn’t meant to hurt you.”
“I know.”
He sat down.
I remained standing.
After a moment he said, “Rachel and I aren’t together.”
I did not react.
He gave a small laugh.
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“That look.”
“What look?”
“Like I’m telling you the weather.”
I leaned against the counter.
“What would you like me to say?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked tired.
“Anything.”
This sounded familiar.
Months earlier, he had asked for the same thing.
Anything.
Any proof he could still provoke emotion.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” I said.
Daniel winced.
“That’s worse.”
“I’m not trying to make it worse.”
“I know.”
He looked at me carefully.
“Do you want to know why?”
“No.”
There it was.
The same answer.
The answer that had frightened him the first Sunday.
Only now he understood it.
Daniel stared at his hands.
“She wanted a real relationship once I moved out.”
I said nothing.
“And I guess I realized…”
He stopped.
“Realized what?”
“That what I had with her only worked when it wasn’t my whole life.”
I looked toward the stairs, hoping Emma would stay upstairs a little longer.
Daniel continued.
“I thought I wanted freedom.”
His voice was quiet.
“But once I had an apartment and nobody cared when I came home, it didn’t feel like freedom.”