Page 119 of Happy After All

Angel, Sofia, and Emma are passing out snacks and generally acting as if they are the tiny managers of the motel. Which I suppose is fair, since they live here. I get a small kick of secondhand joy from seeing them own their environment like this.

Being seen as being on the inside is the kind of thing that makes you feel really special when you’re a kid.

It’s been a while since I let myself really look at children. Appreciate the pureness of their joy, the small things that make them happy.

The ruckus is loud enough that I know Nathan isn’t getting any work done. So when the door to room 32 opens and he steps out, I’m not surprised.

I do, however, feel the need to apologize.

“Sorry. Probably impacting your writing time.”

“I’m not worried about it. The big project is almost done, anyway.”

My heart squeezes slightly. “True.”

There are a few players missing during this rehearsal. There are no live animals, and Santa Claus is not in attendance. Neither are Mary, Joseph, or baby Jesus.

As rehearsal gets started, Emma comes over and grabs hold of Nathan’s hand. He looks at her, then at me, surprised.

“Nathan,” she says, regarding him with sincere eyes. “You should be the donkey.”

“I should be?” he asks.

I’ve seen him be kind to the children, but I haven’t really seen him interact with them. Not like this. But Emma and Sofia are fascinated by him, and I can’t blame them. He’s tall and imposing. Fascinating. Apirate, Emma thought.

“Amelia,” Sofia says. “You can be a camel.”

“Why am I a camel?” I ask.

“Because you are,” Sofia says, as if that is the most sensible thing and my arguing with it would be foolish.

Nathan and I are both brought to an area I assume is the designated stable.

“You have to be on all fours,” Emma commands.

Nathan looks at me, and my face gets hot. “There are children present,” I say.

“I didn’t say anything,” he says.

He doesn’t deny the children’s demands, so then I feel like I can’t. Which is how we find ourselves on our hands and knees on the Astroturf.

For the entire Christmas song set.

“It’s very creative,” he whispers to me.

“I think they’re singing in five different keys.”

“You have to give them credit for flourish.”

During “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” one of the little girls climbs onto Nathan’s back, as if it’s her job to be ferried by the donkey, and as if he is, in fact, method acting as a donkey.

He smiles and complies, making big clopping sounds and movements on his hands and knees.

I break the rules and sit up, watching him as he trots the small child around. He has a crowd of children around him, shrieking in delight, and now I know he’s going to get asked for rides endlessly by the smallest children.

He would make a great father.

That thought is like a punch to the gut. I’m not supposed to hope for things like that. I’m not supposed to hope for a child andforever. I’m supposed to be at peace with where I’m at.

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