Page 109 of The Fix-Up

But he stayed far away from me.

Maybe it was better this way. Getting closer would only make these jumbled-up feelings inside me grow. I kept reminding myself we had different goals. Opposing goals. One of us would win and one of us would lose. We only had a little over nine weeks left of our six months. After that, who knew what would happen. A wave of anxiety tore through me, and I pushed it down.

My arm started to get sore after finishing the second wall, so I climbed down and took a break, sitting on the closed toilet and texting my mother. My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten lunch yet. In the kitchen, I got out the ingredients for a turkey and cheese sandwich.

“Mommy,” Oliver called from somewhere in the house.

“What?” I yelled.

“I need you.”

“Coming.” With one last look of longing at my half-made sandwich, I went to search for him. He was in his bedroom, which resembled a disaster zone.

“I’m trying to build a fort,” he said. “I need help.”

I huffed. “I need this room clean.”

“Now?”

“How about get your dirty clothes together so I can wash them. Then I’ll help you.” After we got the dirty clothes settled, I spent the next twenty minutes rigging up a fort with every bed sheet we owned.

“This is awesome,” Oliver said, diving under the sheet canopy. “Thanks, Mom.”

With his dirty clothes basket in hand, I headed to the laundry room, briefly deterred by a kitten—we were calling them Salt and Pepper for now—who felt personally offended by my shoelaces. After getting the washer going, I discovered the towels I’d washed the day before in the dryer and carried the pile of them into the living room where I started to fold them.

I’d gotten through half of them when I saw the mailman pull into the driveway. I grabbed the birthday card I’d meant to mail to a cousin and ran out to meet him. We chatted for a bit about the weather—all Texans, I’ve learned, complained about the weather—and he mentioned something about the grass looking a bit thirsty.

After he left, I got the hose out and gave the yard a good soak. I needed to add GET A SPRINKLER to my notes. By the time I was through, I was sticky with sweat and dying for ice water.

Also, I was kind of hungry.

In the kitchen, I found a turkey sandwich, made just the way I liked it, with mayo on both sides, cheese and tomato, on a plate on the counter. Huh. Had I made this? I did remember starting to make it, at least.

In the living room, all the towels were folded and neatly stacked.

In the laundry room, Oliver’s clothes had been moved to the dryer.

In the bathroom, I found Gil balanced on the ladder doing all the tedious work I’d said I would do.

“I’m sorry.” I hovered in the doorway. “I don’t know what happened.”

“I know what happened,” he said. “You got distracted.”

I winced, shame bubbling up. Sunny would be disappointed that was my first reaction. “I’m sorry. Some days, I can’t seem to focus on one thing no matter how hard I try.”

Up on the ladder, he’d put down the paintbrush and hopped down. A smudge of the off-white paint was on his cheekbone. My fingers itched to wipe it off. “It’s fine.”

I pointed at the wall. “I really am sorry for not being done yet.”

“I give up,” he muttered as he wrapped a hand around my arm. “Your brain has been built to see the world differently. It’s not your fault. It wasn’t your fault as a kid. It’s not your fault now.”

“Even if it isn’t my fault, it usually leads to other people cleaning up my mess. Look at what happened just now. You made the sandwich. You folded the towels. You’re finishing the painting when I said I would do it. I meant to do it. I’ll still do it.” I pulled my arm from his hand and stared at the wall over his shoulder. My eyes stung and that only frustrated me more. “It creates a whole lot of extra work for everyone else.”

“Do you think I’m annoyed at you?” he asked.

“Yes!” I shouted. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

“I’ll tell you why.” He took a step toward me, and I shuffled back. “My brain likes the way your brain thinks.”

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