Page 45 of Middle of the Night

“Like kids your own age?” I say.

“Yes,” Henry concedes. “I should have been more forthcoming.”

Hearing someone so small use such a big word—correctly, even—makes me smile. Sometimes weird isn’t so bad.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” I say as I cross the room and sit on the edge of his bed. “Something most people don’t realize until they’re older. But everyone is a little weird. Some people hide it more than others, but it’s true. Everyone is weird.”

“Including you?”

“Including me,” I say, trying not to give too much thought to how true of a statement it really is.

“So I shouldn’t care that I’m a little weird?”

“All you should care about is being yourself,” I say. “No matter who that person is. Some people might not like you for who you are, but a whole bunch will. I promise.”

I pat his leg beneath the covers and take my leave. Again, Henry stops me at the doorway, this time to say “Good night, Mr. Marsh” with a formality that makes me feel compelled to play along.

“Good night, Mr. Wallace.”

Henry nods, pleased, and I leave the room. In the hallway, I find Ashley leaning against the wall right outside Henry’s door, where she no doubt heard every word.

“You’re good with kids,” she says.

“Am I? I’ve never thought so.”

“You’re a pro. It’s shocking you don’t have one of your own.”

I follow her downstairs to the kitchen, where she opens a cupboard and pulls out two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. The tilt of her head is a question.Should we?My answer is yes, especially if we’re going to continue talking about children.

I take a seat as Ashley moves about the kitchen, placing the bottle and glasses on the table before pulling some limes from the fridge. With her back toward me as she slices them, she says, “Did you and your wife want kids?”

“She did,” I say. “I didn’t.”

“I can see that.”

Claudia couldn’t. Not that I was, to borrow from Henry’s vocabulary, forthcoming with the reason I didn’t want kids. When we argued about it, which was often toward the end, I refused to tell her. It was only during our final argument that I revealed all.

“Tell me why you don’t want to have a child,” she said.

“There’s no specific reason.”

“There has to be, Ethan.”

“Lots of couples choose not to have kids, for a whole slew of reasons.”

“Is it me?” Claudia said, her voice wounded.

“Of course not. I think you’d be an amazing mother.”

I tried to pull her into a hug, but she slipped out of it and stalked to the other side of our bedroom. “Then why? You know I want a baby. You just said I’d be an amazing mom. I think you’d be an amazing dad. We have good jobs. We’re financially secure. There’s absolutely no reason why we shouldn’t at least try except for something you’re not telling me.”

“I just don’t want to be a father,” I said. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

“Honestly? No.”

“Well, it should be. But I guess in this situation, my feelings don’t matter.”

It was a shitty thing to say. I realize that now and probably did then, but the heat of the moment had made me angry. With Claudia, yes, but mostly with myself for refusing to be honest with her, even though it made her more upset with each passing minute.

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