Charlie

They say if a married couple makes it eight years, their chances of staying together increases dramatically. It's the so-called Seven Year Itch that does a lot of them in.

Nowhere does it say that marriage gets easier after that point, but that's definitely what my brain heard. Nearly twelve years in and I'm still waiting for any part of it to be easy. Then again, I'm no stranger to waiting.

My phone chirps on the table beside me, and my heart races in response. I try to convince myself I'm not disappointed—not really—when I see it's just a message from Elle. I consider leaving it unread and sparing myself the forced human interaction. But it's Elle, and she doesn't deserve that just because I'm in a pissy mood, so I click it open anyway.

Soooo . . . how did the romantic dinner go?

I glance across the table at the now-cold plate of food sitting across from me as I take a long sip of wine and formulate an answer. Like so many things about my relationship lately, it could've gone better.

Great. Oscar gives it a 10/10. He might even sleep with me later. We'll see how the night goes.

As if my thoughts alone are enough to summon him, the Golden Retriever appears and places his head on my knee, begging for pets. I scratch behind his ear absentmindedly. As far as dinner dates go, I could do worse. At least he's cute.

I'm pulled out of my thoughts by another chirp and the dull vrrrrr of my phone vibrating against the table.

Nick didn't show, then?

No. But it's not like we had a date, I type out, before thinking better of it and deleting it. It had sort of been a date, hadn't it? For me, at least. But maybe Nick hadn't felt the same. We definitely hadn't called it a date.

I chew the inside of my cheek as I decide how to answer. I'm saved from responding when my phone chirps again.

You don't think he's cheating . . . do you?

Well, that question is a lot easier. My thumbs fly across the letters.

What? No! Of course not. This is Nick we're talking about.

I scoff aloud, shaking my head. At my feet, Oscar whines in response. Most likely because I dared to stop petting him.

"I don't think that, Ozzy," I reiterate as I rub his side with my toes. "I know Nick wouldn't do that."

What I don't say is that there are plenty of other ways for a relationship to go south other than cheating. If there are a million ways to fall in love, there must also be a million ways to fall out of love. Not that I think that's what's happening with Nick and I. Things have just been . . . different. Romance was easier when we were kids. Not that I'd ever want to go back to being a teenager, but there were certain things I missed, all the same.

I'm sure it's fine. He probably just got busy and forgot to text. I hit Send before I can second-guess myself. Just in case, I switch to Messenger and check for any new messages, even though I know none will be there. I'm not disappointed in that regard.

When my phone chirps again, I switch back to Elle's messages and do my best to put Nick out of my mind.

Well, at least one of us won't be sleeping alone.

Tao still abroad at that screening?

Yup. God, I don't know how he puts up with me being gone like I am.

Because he loves you. I smile as I send the message, knowing I have the same conversation with Tao every time Elle's work inevitably drags her away from home. Maybe distance does make the heart grow fonder.

"Maybe I should take a holiday," I whisper to my quiet house. As I look around, though, I know it's just a pipe dream. Who would take care of Alfred and Noah if I went away? I could bring them with me, of course, but then that's not really much of a holiday, now is it? It's just parenting in a fancy, new locale. By myself, at that.

Three dots appear, then disappear. A minute later, my phone chirps.

You know that Nick loves you too, right?

Yeah, I know. And I do. When I was sixteen, that felt sufficient, like love could do all the heavy lifting in life. Now, in our early thirties, I wonder if love really is enough. Before Elle can answer, I shoot her another message, I should be getting to bed. Early day tomorrow.

Okay. We still on for our movie night on Friday?

Yeah, of course.

See you Friday, then.

I click my phone off and set it on the table with a long exhale, turning my attention to the full plate in front of me. I'm not even remotely hungry—not with the way nerves are roiling in my stomach—but I force down a few bites of potato anyway. Satisfied that I've eaten something at least, I down the rest of my wine, consolidate the plates, dump what's left in Oscar's bowl, and clean up the dishes.

In the doorway to the kitchen, I glance over the scene once more to make sure no evidence is left of my ill-planned dinner schemes. I check my phone one last time, simply out of habit, hoping a message will magically appear, even though I know better.

"Come on, Oscar," I call with a sigh. "It's time for bed."

The Golden Retriever is on my heels almost before I finish the sentence, and I can't help but smirk as I scratch his head. It's good to know that at least some things never change.

. . . oOo . . .

I didn't notice Nick coming home last night, but he's undeniably there when I wake the next morning. His presence emanates throughout the entire house, along with the strong aroma of coffee. I stumble my way down the stairs, wiping sleep from my eyes as I go.

When I enter the kitchen, Nick is there leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone. He's barely slept, if the bags under his eyes are any indication. The sight of him in a dress shirt and tie still makes my heart skip a beat, even after all these years.

"Ungh. What time is it?"

"Six o'clock." Nick's tone is far too chipper for the reality of what he's saying.

"Whyyyy?"

He turns his back to me as he grabs a mug from the cabinet. "Because someone thought it'd be a good idea to have kids." Nick turns back around and shoves the mug into my hands as he slips his phone into his pocket. "You look like you could use this."

"My hero," I mutter around the lip of the mug before taking a long sip of coffee. Sweet, just the way I like it. I let it linger on my tongue for a few seconds before swallowing, letting it warm me on the way down.

"So," I say, only to trail off immediately. I don't actually have any idea how to bring up last night, or if I should say anything at all.

"So?' Nick raises his eyebrows in amusement as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"What happened . . . last night?"

"Oh. That." Nick's face falls as he turns back to the counter, going through the familiar motions of making his morning tea. "Just got caught up with my caseload, that's all. I didn't mean to worry you."

"I wasn't worried." I answer way too quickly, and the lie sounds hollow even to my ears. "I mean . . . Oscar and I missed you at dinner."

At the sound of his name, Oscar comes bounding into the kitchen, tail wagging.

"Did you miss me, boy?" Nick coos at the dog as he bends over to pet him, touching their foreheads together. It always warms my heart seeing them. Nick took Nellie's loss hard. I mean, we all did, but especially Nick. While Oscar is our dog, a part of me knows that he will always be primarily Nick's dog first and foremost.

Nick glances up at me and his joviality falls away. He's suddenly serious again, still rubbing Oscar's back. "Look, I know I should've messaged. I got caught up and lost track of time, and when I next looked at my phone, I figured you were already in bed. Didn't think there was any sense in waking you up at that point."

I nod, taking a long sip of coffee so I don't have to say anything. Mostly because I'm not sure what to say. Nick's reasoning makes perfect sense, and I know I should forgive him. I do forgive him, since he hasn't done anything wrong. Not really. Still, this isn't the first time lately he hasn't shown up when he was meant to, and a small voice inside me says it won't be the last.

"You don't think it was a mistake, do you? Taking the position at Truham?"

Nick laughs as he stands and grabs his cup of tea from the counter. "God, no. It's the break we've been waiting for, remember? Truham is a good school. Working there will make a great career. Just . . . no one said it would be easy, right?"

"Yeah." I take another long gulp of coffee before reluctantly setting it on the table. I regret it immediately, but there's no helping it. The kids won't get themselves ready. We've tried; it was an utter disaster. "You're on Alfie duty today, by the way."

Nick glances up, furrowing his brows in alarm. "What? Why?"

"Because, in case you've forgotten, I was on Alfie duty the past three days while you were settling in. It's your turn."

Nick groans, but follows me back into the hall anyway and trails me up the stairs towards the boys' rooms.

"Please tell me you at least know where his trainers are to get me started?" There's a whine in Nick's voice that feels like old times, and it makes my heart ache.

"Somewhere in his room, I would imagine. Certainly not by the door, where I told him to leave them last night."

I can't even remember how long it's been since we were able to banter like this. Weeks, I think? The pace is familiar, if not slightly forced. There's an apology lingering in the spaces between words, like Nick is trying to make up for last night. Even though he shouldn't have to. Even though I didn't ask him to.

Nick stops outside Alfie's room with his hand on the knob and takes a deep breath. "Wish me luck," he says as he slowly lets the air out of his lungs, prolonging the inevitable.

"You'll be fine," I reassure him. I can't resist adding in, "probably," just before he disappears through the doorway, earning me an eye roll.

The room next door is quiet as I let myself in, drinking in the neatness of it. Where Alfie is a whirlwind—loud, chaotic, and slightly destructive, whether he means to be or not—Noah is more like an ocean: calm and centered, regardless of what's happening on the surface. We adopted him when he was three, convinced that we weren't ready to handle a baby but still wanting to take the next step in life. We weren't wrong, though I'm not convinced we were any more ready by the time Alfie came along two years later, straight from the hospital at four days old.

"C'mon. Time to get up." I shake Noah gently, until he finally concedes and sits up in bed.

"Eggs for breakfast?" he asks groggily, one eye open and the other still closed.

"Sure, if that's what you want."

"Mmm," he grunts.

He's so like me that sometimes it terrifies me, stealing my breath away. I don't want my experiences to become his experiences, but I'm also aware that I'm powerless to stop it. All I can do is hope I give him the right tools so he'll be ready for whatever life throws his way.

"Dad?" Noah asks, reluctantly peeling open his other eye.

"Yeah?"

"You're staring. It's weird."

I laugh and ruffle his hair as I stand up. "All right, I'm going to make us some food."

As I pass through the hall, I can hear the chaos erupting from Alfie's room alongside a flurry of activity.

"Okay, but where did you put them last night?" Nick's voice is clipped, doing his best to hide his frustration.

"Right. Here." Alfie matches him tone for tone. The pair are obviously made for each other.

"Clearly not, because they're not there now, and they didn't just get up and walk away while you were asleep."

"Maybe they did!"

I dart down the stairs before I have the misfortune of being recruited into helping and set about making breakfast. There's something almost meditative about this part of the morning routine. Well, when I'm not chasing after Alfie, anyway.

We somehow make it through breakfast without any major incidents. I manage to pack myself a lunch and double-check that the other three have lunch money tucked away while Nick wrangles the boys into their coats. They're out the door in a flash, calling their farewells over their shoulders. I try not to take offense at their lack of proper goodbyes. I suppose that's what it means to have well-adjusted children.

"See you tonight?" I ask as Nick pauses at the threshold, with the door half open.

"Yeah. Of course." The way he says it is halting, like he doesn't quite believe it himself. There's no time to second-guess his delivery as he kisses me on the cheek and steps outside, closing the door behind him.

I let out a long exhale and shift my thoughts to the day ahead. We'll be starting a new project at work, which is something to look forward to. Code, at the very least, makes sense, even when nothing else does.