Page 23 of Dream with Me

The first text thread is the one between me and my dad.

Me: Did you come and fix my grout today?

Dad: Nope, it wasn’t me. Maybe one of your brothers?

I had sent the same message to the group text with my siblings. I open that chat.

Me: Okay, which one of you protective big brothers fixed my grout? Oh, and who has been taking my trash to the curb most weeks? My vote is Jack (no offense, Ben).

I haven’t thought to ask about the trash until now, and I’m a bit embarrassed by that.Self-centered much?

Almost every week, I get up extra early on garbage day because I know I have to get the rubbish out at the end of the driveway. Believe me, four kids can make a load of trash, so it can be a few trips. But almost every week, the trash is already moved from the side of the garage to the pick-up spot.

I’ve tried watching to catch which one of my brothers or my dad is doing it, but I haven’t caught any of them.

When I read the text chain, I see several responses from my brothers and sisters. I’m confused. They’re all denying having anything to do with it.

I bite my lower lip. Then, when comprehension washes over me, I look up from my phone and find Troy in the doorway of the kitchen, clearly preparing to head out. His brow furrows.

“Everything okay?”

I stare at him. Would he do this?

“Did you fix my grout?” I blurt out. It almost sounds accusatory, and I feel bad since that’s not my intent.

Troy’s eyes widen as he rubs the knuckles of his hands back and forth against each other. He doesn’t answer immediately.

“Um. Yeah, I hope that’s okay. I didn’t want you to get hurt. After that near fall you had your first day...Plus, I realized it was something I meant to do for a while. I just hadn’t gotten to it. I had the time today, so I grabbed the stuff out of the basement and fixed it. I didn’t mean to cross a line. I hope you’re not mad.” He’s nervous and rambling.

I shake my head repeatedly. “No, I’m not mad. It’s...um, thank you, but you don’t have to do that.”

He nods his head once and puts his hands in his pockets again. His gaze fixes on the floor.

“Can I ask you something else, and have you answer me honestly?” He lifts his eyes to meet mine.

“Sure.” The hesitancy in his voice is amusing, like he doesn’t know what’s coming next and worries it might be ominous.

“Have you been taking out my garbage?”

Troy’s cheeks redden. Something I rarely see happen after eighteen years together.

“If I have been, is that a problem?”

“It’s not a problem, but it’s not something you have to do, Troy.”

“It’s my responsibility.” His words are firm now, his eyes piercing mine. I take a few slow breaths before I’m ready to answer.

“I can’t always rely on you to do things like that. Plus, you don’t live”—I close my eyes and count to three, then open them and look at him again—"You’re not staying here. It’s not your responsibility now.”

“I want to take care of things. You’re my family.” His voice is rough and low.

“Thekidsare your family. I’m n-not anymore. You don’t have to… youcan’ttry to take care of me.”I hate how the words feel coming out of my mouth. Troy’s face tightens for a split second, then he neutralizes it, and his expression flattens. He pulls his hands from his pockets and takes a step toward me. He stops himself and spreads one of his large palms over each side of the doorway as if he needs it to hold him in place. His body leans slightly forward, almost like it’s reaching for me. His eyes pierce me with their intensity.

“Shannon, it doesn’t matter what any piece of paper says or how much time passes after all this is done. Yes, the kids are absolutely my family, but you’re also my family. Whether we’re married or not married,you’re my family.You don’t have to feel the same, but you’ll always be that to me.” His voice is rough but firm.

My mouth opens, but I can’t formulate a response.

Troy turns and leaves without another word. About a minute later, I hear the familiar click of the front door as it closes, and I know he’s gone.

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