The Glenanne-Westen Party of 3 had somehow made it through dinner and were now headed home. Charlie had fallen asleep in his car seat before they were out of the parking lot. Michael and Fi were silent on the drive, partly to avoid waking Charlie and partly to each take some quiet time to reflect on the enormity of their Situation. Capital S.
They reached their very, very yellow house – which was much more tolerable at night, so there was that – and got out of the car. Michael opened the trunk and started to unload. Fi was next to him in a flash. "No way. You have to take him in. I will do this."
"What's the difference?" Michael asked. "I'm already here."
"Well, I could tell you that he has a better chance of staying asleep if you hold him, because you're bigger and broader and have a longer torso and the move won't be as jarring to his body as it would if I moved him, which is true, by the way. Or I could tell you that you are his goddamn uncle and you need to start acting like it," Fiona hissed. "You barely speak to him on the way to the restaurant. You don't sit next to him at dinner. Your aloof spy thing is cute sometimes and we all get a good laugh at how stupid you can be when it comes to personal relationships, but he's two. He's two years old. You can be distant all you want with me because I can tell you how much it pisses me off and I can beat you up if I feel like it. He can't. He's Two. Years. Old. As of today he has lost every adult in his life. You are his family and you are the only man in that child's life. So grow the fuck up and hold your nephew." Fiona started jerking stuff out of the trunk and tossing it on their lawn.
Michael stood silently, a lump in his throat. His eyes were glassy with water as he looked at her for a moment. Without a word, he took a few steps, opened the passenger back seat door, and unbuckled Charlie's seat belt. Bending his upper body into the car, he put his hands under Charlie's armpits and slowly and awkwardly lifted the little boy out of his seat, out of the car, and onto his chest. A soft groan escaped from Charlie as his head fell naturally onto Michael's right shoulder. Michael cradled Charlie's bottom under his left forearm and rubbed his back with his right hand as he walked to the front door and waited for Fiona to come with the key.
Michael and Charlie stood against the living room wall as Fi brought the last of Charlie's bags in and dumped it in the middle of the room. She pushed her hair back from her sweaty face and took a couple of cleansing breaths as she took stock of the room. "Let's just leave all this 'til tomorrow," she said. "He's already dressed for bed." She walked over and gently removed Charlie's shoes and socks, letting each of them fall to the floor. "Come on."
Michael followed her into their bedroom and carefully laid Charlie in the middle of their unmade bed. "Are we supposed to change his diaper?" he asked quietly. "I don't want to wake him up."
"Well, that I can do. That's where the Irish Catholic megafamily comes in handy. I've changed probably a thousand nappies. I think your mom put a new pack in that Publix bag over there."
Michael got one and handed it to her. He stared in awe as Fi wiggled Charlie's pants off, unfastened the tapes on the diaper he was wearing, moved it aside, opened the other diaper and flattened it, gathered Charlie's ankles in her left hand and lifted his whole lower half, slid the new diaper under his bum, put his legs down, brought the bottom of the diaper up through his legs, fastened the tapes, and put his pajama pants back on. She did it fluidly, without thought. He was even more amazed that Charlie didn't wake up. Michael was confident someone pulling his pants down and lifting his legs in the air would wake him up. Since he worked in a field where sleeping too soundly can mean you sleep forever, Michael had learned early on to sleep lightly. Unfortunately it meant he hadn't slept well in 20 years, but he was still alive, so it seemed like a reasonable sacrifice.
He reached over to get the wet diaper. As he picked it up, he practically did a double take at its weight. It was like 15 times as heavy as the clean diaper. He didn't know which was more incredible – that a 30 pound person could expel that much urine in just a couple of hours or that someone had designed a contraption made of paper that could hold it. He found a plastic grocery bag to put it in, then sealed the bag tightly and dropped it in the garbage can.
Fi lifted Charlie's head gently and put a pillow under it. She found their comforter on the floor and spread it over the bed. Then she turned on the bathroom light and left the door slightly ajar, letting just enough light in the room for them to see what they were doing and for Charlie to find his way out of the room if he woke up. She walked to Michael and took his hand, leading him out of the room. He turned off the overhead light on their way out.
"You hungry?" Michael asked Fiona, walking in to the kitchen.
"Yeah, actually. There wasn't anything too exciting when I was looking before."
"Tea and toast?" he suggested.
"Works for me," she yawned.
Michael slotted four pieces of whole wheat bread into their toaster and pushed the button down. He opened the refrigerator and took out two sealed cups of yogurt. He tossed one to Fiona, then retrieved two spoons from a drawer and brought her one. Fiona ate a few bites of yogurt and then went to put the kettle on to boil.
They didn't really talk. Each just found a task that needed to be done and did it. When the toast popped, Michael piled the slices on a plate and brought it, some strawberry jam, and some peanut butter to the table, along with a couple of knives, and started spreading. Fiona heard the kettle start its shrill whistle and ran to turn it off before it woke Charlie. She poured the boiling water over tea bags in two mismatched mugs and carried them carefully to the table.
Both munched on their toast quietly. After a few moments, Michael spoke. "Fi."
"Mmmm?"
"I heard you before. I heard you. I know in my head everything you said is right. I just – I – I don't know. I'm gonna try. You have to understand I have zero knowledge of how to be a good dad. Or, dad-like, I guess. My dad made me feel either afraid or furious or desperate to leave. That's it. Fight or flight my entire life."
Fiona broke her gaze into Michael's eyes and looked down at her tea, nodding.
"I've never stayed in an important relationship. I left my family. I left Samantha. I left you. I always leave because that's what I'm supposed to do. And I can explain it and justify it and it's really true – I do have to leave for my job – but I know deep down it's what I want to do because I don't know how to stay. And I'm ashamed of that and I'm pissed off at myself that I don't know how to change it and I'm pissed off at my dad because it's because of him. I know I can't leave Charlie. But I know I'll probably have to leave him. And I know I probably will leave him because people don't change. So I don't know what – I don't know how to – how to do this. I mean, what's worse for him? Staying away now so he doesn't hurt when I leave? Or getting close and then being yet another person who leaves him? I genuinely don't know. I don't know how to do this."
A few seconds passed before Fi spoke. "I don't know either, Michael. I – I don't know."
More silence. But not awkward silence.
"I mean, I think the answer's easy: Don't leave. Just don't leave," Fi said firmly. "You don't have to. You don't need this job. You can find something else that fulfills you. I know you think you can't, but you can. But I understand right now you can't see that as a real option."
Michael stayed in his seat, staring at his hands and playing with his fingers. Eventually he looked at Fi. "Let's go to bed. I have a feeling we're gonna need the sleep to survive tomorrow."