Page 26 of Absolution

And now I never can.

Kyle is in his office with the door shut. The courts have opened up civil cases again, which means he’s working more. Stressed. Distracted. I’m trying to keep three very loud, very emotional children from screaming through his Zoom depositions. I pretend it’s homeschooling, but let’s be real, it’s survival. We’re all just trying to survive.

My mom wanted me to bring the kids over.

I didn’t.

She said I could just come for tea, even for ten minutes.

I told her no.

And now all I have left is a voicemail I can’t bring myself to listen to.

Kyle yells from his office, “Jackie!”

I don’t answer.

He tells me to leave the dishes and relax, but when I do, I wake up to a full sink, no little elves clean up after me.

He tells me not to be so rigid about Levi’s medications, not to stress over every number, every beep. But if I’m not keeping track, who will?

He says he understands. But I don’t think he does.

Not really.

Not when I feel like I’m grieving my mother alone. He has his family back. After his father recovered, they went back to talking like no time had passed. Like none of the blame, the distance, the silence, ever happened.

I’m here managing a sick child, two growing girls, a pandemic, and now this silence between us that grows louder by the day. It’s like the longer we’re trapped together, the more we bug each other.

Levi’s getting stronger. Strong enough to run, climb, jump, do the things other kids do. Which means he wants to. But he doesn’t always know his limits. And I have to be the one who knows them for him.

I watch him sometimes, chasing his sisters in the yard, cheeks flushed, breath coming quick, and I can see the edge coming before he does. That split second where joy starts to slip into danger. And I have to stop it, call him back, tell him to rest, before the damage is done.

Because if I don’t... who will?

I don’t want to resent Kyle. I really don’t.

But right now, it feels like I’m running a whole life on my own. And some days, I don’t even know who I am anymore.

I’m Jackie.

I’m a mom.

I’m a daughter.

I was a daughter.

And I’m so goddamn tired.

Kyle storms into the kitchen, footsteps loud enough to rattle the dishes in the sink. I blink, pulled out of whatever thought I’d just been drowning in. My hands are still in the soapy water, but I’ve stopped scrubbing.

“What the fuck, Jackie?” he snaps.

I finally turn to look at him. “What?”

His nostrils flare. “Iris just barged into my office and tried to put a tiara on me, in the middle of a Zoom call. With ajudge.”

I should laugh. If I had anything left in me, I might have. “So?”

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