Two by Two

CHAPTER 5: Changes

When London was four, a small bicycle with training wheels appeared under the Christmas tree. I’d been adamant about getting her a bicycle; some of my favorite childhood memories were of pedaling hard on my Schwinn, chasing my freedom on humid summer days. Granted, most of those memories occurred between the ages of eight and thirteen, but my thinking as the holidays approached was that London would learn to ride for a year or two before the training wheels finally came off, and in a few years, she would ride as well as I had.

Vivian, however, wasn’t thrilled with the idea. Though she’d owned a bicycle, she didn’t have the same joyful associations that I did. I remembered asking her if she’d bought the bicycle in the weeks leading up to Christmas and each time she put me off, telling me that she hadn’t had time. In the end, I’d dragged her to the store and bought it myself, spending hours assembling it like one of Santa’s elves after Vivian had gone to bed.

I couldn’t wait for London to give it a try, and as soon as she spotted it under the tree, she ran over and I helped her climb on. As I began to push her through the living room Vivian intervened, suggesting that we open some of her other gifts. As always, my first thought was that she received too many things: clothes and toys, finger-painting kits, a mannequin (to dress up), and a beaded jewelry-making kit. Then there were countless Barbie-related items; it took me an hour to dispose of the wrapping paper and ribbons strewn throughout the room. Vivian, meanwhile, spent that time with London and her toys and clothes, and it wasn’t until almost noon that I was finally able to get London outside.

Vivian had followed us, but it struck me that she seemed to view it more as a duty than a new and exciting adventure for London. She stood on the front steps with her arms crossed while I helped London onto the seat. Watching her breaths come out in little puffs, I walked hunched over beside her, holding the handlebars. I encouraged London to pedal as we rolled up and down the street, and after fifteen minutes, she told me she was done. Her cheeks were pink and I assured her she’d done a great job. I’m not sure why, but I assumed that we’d ride two or three more times before the day was done.

Instead, she spent the rest of Christmas Day playing with her Barbies or trying on her clothes while Vivian beamed; later, she finger painted and assembled a pair of beaded bracelets. I wasn’t dissuaded, however; I had the week off, and I made it a point to bring her out to ride at least once a day. Over the next few days, as she grew more coordinated and less wobbly, I would release the handlebars for periods of increasing duration. London giggled when I pretended she was going so fast that I couldn’t keep up. We stayed out longer each time, and when she finally announced that she was finished, I would hold her hand as we walked toward the front door. She would jabber on excitedly to Vivian, and I was certain that London had caught the same bicycle-riding bug that I had and would insist on riding every day while I was at work.

But that didn’t happen. Instead, when I came home from work-by then it would be dark and London would often be in her pajamas-and asked London if she rode, she always said that she hadn’t. Each time, Vivian had a reason for not bringing her out-it was raining, or they had errands to run, or London might be getting a cold, or even that London didn’t want to. Still, after work when I’d park in the garage, I’d see the little bicycle that made my daughter laugh, collecting dust in the corner. And every single time, I felt a faint ache in my heart. I must not know my daughter as well as I thought I did, or perhaps London and I simply liked different things. And though I’m not proud to admit it, I sometimes found myself wondering whether Vivian didn’t want London to ride her bike simply because it was something I wanted London to do.

In retrospect, I think I believed that quitting my job would be the most significant event of 2015 for my wife and me. I ended up being wrong, of course; striking out on my own was simply the first domino in a long line of dominoes that would begin to topple, with even larger dominoes to come later.

The following week was domino number two.

Because Vivian wanted to prep for her interviews on Monday, I came home from the office at noon. I cleaned the house and did the laundry while trying to keep London entertained, which wasn’t as easy as it sounded. On Tuesday afternoon, while Vivian interviewed, I brought London to a late lunch at Chuck E. Cheese, a place Vivian would never set foot in. After eating, she played some of the games in the arcade, hoping to win enough tickets to trade them for a pink teddy bear. We didn’t come close, and by my calculations, I could have simply purchased three of them for what I’d spent in game tokens.

On Wednesday, I opted for our usual Saturday morning routine of breakfast and the park, but it was impossible for me to ignore my growing anxiety concerning work. I kept imagining that potential clients were trying to reach me, or worse, standing outside an office that was obviously closed, but whenever I called the receptionist, I was informed there were no messages.

With my initial list of potential clients amounting to nothing, I started cold-calling businesses. Starting Wednesday afternoon and all day Thursday, I made more than a couple of hundred calls. I consistently heard the words not interested, but kept at it and eventually managed to line up five meetings the following week. The businesses weren’t the kind of clients that the Peters Group normally targeted-a family-owned restaurant, a sandwich shop, two chiropractors, and a day spa-and the fees would likely be low, but it was better than nothing.

At home, Vivian said little about her various interviews. She didn’t want to jinx them, she explained, but she seemed confident, and when I told her about my meetings the following week, her mind was clearly elsewhere. Looking back, I should have taken it as a sign.

On Friday morning, I’d just walked in the kitchen when I heard Vivian’s cell phone begin to ring. London was already at the table, eating a bowl of cereal. Vivian checked the incoming number and wandered to the back patio before answering. Thinking it was her mother-her mother was the only person I knew who would call that early-I poured myself a cup of coffee.

“Hi, sweetie,” I said to London.

“Hi, Daddy. Is zero a number?”

“Yes,” I answered. “Why?”

“Well, you know I’m five, right? And before that, I was four?”

“Yes.”

“What was I before I was one?”

“Before you were one, we would talk about your age in months. Like, you’re three months old, or six months old. And before you were a month old, your age was measured in weeks. Or even days.”

“And then I was zero right?”

“I guess you were. Why all the questions?”

“Because I’ll be six in October. But really, I’ll be seven.”

“You’ll be six, honey.”

She held up her hands and began counting, holding up a finger or thumb with every number she pronounced. “Zero. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.”

By then, she was holding up five fingers on one hand and two on the other. Seven in total.

“That’s not how it works,” I said.

“But you said I was zero, and that zero was a number. There’s seven numbers. That means, I’ll be seven, not six.”

It was too much to process before I’d finished my first cup of coffee. “When did you think of this?”

Instead of answering, she shrugged and I thought again how much she resembled her mother. At that moment, Vivian stepped back into the kitchen, her face slightly flushed.

“You okay?” I asked.

At first, I wasn’t sure she’d heard me. “Yeah,” she finally offered. “I’m fine.”

“Everything okay with your mom?”

“I guess so. I haven’t talked to her in about a week. Why would you ask about Mom?”

“Wasn’t that who you were talking to?”

“No,” she said.

“Who was on the phone?” I finally asked.

“Rachel Johnson.”

“Who?”

“She’s one of the vice presidents at Spannerman. I interviewed with her on Wednesday.”

She added nothing else. I waited. Still nothing.

“And she was calling because?” I persisted.

“They’re offering me the job,” she said. “They want me to start Monday. Orientation.”

I wasn’t sure whether congratulations were in order, but I said it anyway and even in that moment, I still had no inkling whatsoever that my entire world was about to be turned upside down.

Work that day didn’t feel…normal, and that was saying something, since nothing about work had seemed normal since I’d gone out on my own. I began to put together PowerPoint presentations for the meetings I’d scheduled. They would offer a general overview of various ad campaigns I’d worked on, discussed the dollar value of advertising for the client’s specific business, and preview the kind of work I could do for them. If the potential clients showed interest, I’d follow that up with a more specific proposal at a second meeting.

Even though I made significant headway, my thoughts would occasionally wander back to what I learned that morning.

My wife would be going to work on Monday, for Spannerman.

Good God.

Spannerman.

Still, it was date night and I was looking forward to spending the evening with Vivian. When I walked in the door, however, I felt as though I’d stepped into the wrong house. The living room, dining room, and kitchen were a mess, and London was parked in front of the television, something I’d never seen at that time of night. Vivian was nowhere to be seen, nor did she answer when I called for her. I walked from one room to the next, finally locating her in the den. She was seated in front of the computer researching all things Spannerman, and for the first time in our married life, she seemed almost frazzled. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and her hair looked as though she’d been twisting strands of it for most of the day. Beside her was a thick binder-she had printed and highlighted a thick sheaf of pages-and when she turned toward me, I could see that romance was not only off the table, but hadn’t even crossed her mind all day.

I hid my disappointment and after some small talk, I suggested we order Chinese food. We ate as a family, but Vivian remained distracted, and as soon as she finished eating, she went back to the den. While she clicked and printed, I cleaned the house and helped London get ready for bed. I filled the bathtub-London had reached the age where she could wash herself-brushed her hair and lay beside her in bed reading an assortment of books. In another first, Vivian simply kissed our daughter goodnight without reading a story, and when I found her back in the den, she told me that she still had another few hours to go. I watched television for a while and went to bed alone; when I woke the following morning, I found myself staring at Vivian and wondering how late she’d finally turned in.

She was back to her normal self soon after waking, but then again, it was Saturday morning. She was out the door right on schedule for her Me Time, and for the fifth time in seven days, I found myself playing Mr. Mom, if only part-time. On her way out the door, Vivian asked if I could take care of London for the day; she told me that she hadn’t quite finished the research from the night before and also had some things she needed to grab for work.

“No problem,” I said, and as a result, London and I found ourselves back at my parents’ place. Marge and Liz had gone to Asheville for the weekend, so London had my mom all to herself most of the day. Nonetheless, my mom found time to sidle up to me and mentioned that since I’d failed in my task of getting my dad to the doctor, Marge would be bringing him on Monday.

“It’s good to know that one of our kids really cares about their father,” my mom remarked.

Thanks, Mom.

My father, as usual, was in the garage. When I walked in, he poked his head around the hood of the car.

“You’re here,” he said to me.

“I thought I’d swing by with London.”

“No Vivian again?”

“She has some things to do for work. She got a job and starts on Monday.”

“Oh,” he said.

“That’s it?”

He took a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his hands. “It’s probably a good thing,” he finally said. “Someone in your family should be earning some money.”

Thanks, Dad.

After visiting with him for a bit-and with London happily baking with Nana-I sat on the couch in the living room, absently watching golf. I’m not a golfer and I don’t generally watch golf, but I found myself staring at logos on golf bags and shirts while trying to calculate how much money had gone to the advertising agencies who’d come up with that idea.

The whole thing depressed me.

Meanwhile, I texted Vivian twice and left a voicemail without getting a response; the house phone also went unanswered. Figuring she was out and about, I stopped at the grocery store on the way back from my parents’, something fairly rare for me. I usually only went to the store when we were out of something or when I was in the mood for something specific for dinner; I was the kind of shopper who used a handheld basket as opposed to a cart, like I was in a race to see how fast I could get out of there. For London, I grabbed a box of macaroni and cheese, slices of turkey breast and pears, which was only somewhat healthy, but also happened to be her favorite. For Vivian and me, I selected a New York strip and sashimi-grade tuna fillet that I could put on the grill, along with the makings for a salad, corn on the cob, and a bottle of Chardonnay.

While I hoped to make up for our lost date night, I also simply wanted to spend time with Vivian. I wanted to listen to her and hold her and discuss our future. I knew there were going to be changes in our lives, even challenges, and I wanted to promise that we’d get through them together as a couple. If Vivian felt more fulfilled and accomplished at work, she just might bring that better mood home with her; if we shared parenting more equally, we might begin to see each other in ways more conducive to a closer relationship. In the evenings, we’d visit about our days, revel in our successes and support each other in our struggles, and the extra money would make things easier as well. In other words, things would only get better for Vivian and me, and tonight was the first step in the process.

Why, then, did I feel so unsettled?

Maybe it was because Vivian never called or texted me back, nor was she home when London and I returned.

What had been odd gradually grew concerning, but I didn’t text or call, because I knew that I wouldn’t be able to hide my annoyance, which would no doubt put an end to the evening before it started. Instead, I marinated the steak and placed it in the fridge before starting to dice the cucumbers and tomatoes for the salad. London, meanwhile, pulled the husks from the corncobs. Thrilled to help make dinner for Date Night, she diligently picked away at the silken threads then would hold the corn up for me to examine before setting it aside and starting on the next. I prepared the macaroni and cheese, peeled and sliced a pear, added turkey to her plate and sat with London while she ate. With still no word from Vivian, I put on a movie for London and sat with her until I finally heard the SUV pull into the drive.

London was already out the front door as soon as my wife stepped out of the SUV and I watched Vivian scoop her up and give her a kiss. She kissed me as well and asked if I could bring the bags inside. Figuring it was groceries, I opened the back hatch after Vivian and London had vanished inside and saw a mountain of bags from Neiman Marcus and half a dozen shoe boxes with Italian names.

No wonder she hadn’t called or answered. Vivian had been busy.

Like the week before, it took multiple trips to unload all the items she’d purchased and by the time I finished, Vivian was sitting beside London on the couch, London leaning into her.

Vivian smiled at me before mouthing that she wanted a few more minutes with London. I nodded, reminding myself again not to show the slightest hint of irritation. In the kitchen, I poured two glasses of wine and brought one of them to Vivian before returning to the back porch where I fired up the grill. Knowing it would take a few minutes to heat up, I went back inside and sipped at the wine while taking stock of the dining room table where I’d heaped her things. In time, Vivian kissed London on her head then slid away. She beckoned me to meet her near the goodies. She leaned in for a quick kiss as I approached.

“London said she had a fun day with you.”

“I’m glad,” I said. “I’m guessing you had a pretty full day, too.”

“I did. After I finished with my research, I raced from one store to the next. By the end, all I really wanted to do was come home and relax.”

“Are you hungry? I picked you up some fresh tuna and I’ve already got the grill going.”

“Really? Tonight?”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve already eaten.” Vivian must have seen my expression and her tone acquired an edge of defensiveness. “I didn’t know you were planning to make dinner tonight. All I knew was that I hadn’t eaten breakfast or lunch, and I was so hungry that my hands began to shake. I ended up stopping at a café on the way out of the mall. You should have let me know and I would have just grabbed a snack.”

“I called and texted, but you never responded.”

“My phone was in my purse and I didn’t hear it. I didn’t see your texts or that you’d called until I was almost home.”

“You could have called me.”

“I just told you that I was rushing around all day.”

“To the point you couldn’t even check your phone?”

“Don’t make it sound like I was trying to ruin your night on purpose,” she said with a sigh. “You can still grill the steak. I’m sure London is hungry.”

“She already ate,” I said, thinking that what I really wanted was for my wife to have missed talking to me as much as I’d missed talking to her.

“Oh,” she said. “Do you want to see what I bought?”

“Yeah, okay,” I said.

“Would you mind getting me another half a glass of wine first? I want to organize my things before I show you.”

I nodded, wandering back to the kitchen in a daze, still trying to sort through what had just happened. She had to assume we’d have dinner, so why had she stopped to eat? And why hadn’t she checked her phone? How was it that my wife could feel no need to check in on her family? I refilled her glass, returning to the dining room wanting to ask more questions, but by then, Vivian had various outfits either spread on the table or draped over the back of the chairs.

“Thanks, hon,” she said, reaching for the glass. She kissed me again and set her glass aside without taking a sip. “I bought a navy blue suit, too. It’s gorgeous, but it was a little big in the hips, so I’m having it altered,” she began, then proceeded to present one outfit after another. As she did, I caught sight of one of the receipts from the bags and felt my heart skip a beat. The total, on that one receipt, was more than half the mortgage.

“Are you okay?” she asked when she was finished. “You seem like you’re upset.”

“I’m just wondering why you didn’t call me.”

“I already told you. I was busy.”

“I know, but…”

“But what?” she asked, her eyes flashing. “It’s not like you called and texted every minute when you were at work either.”

“You were shopping.”

“For work,” she said, the anger in her voice now plain. “Do you think I wanted to stay up half the night and then race around all afternoon? But you didn’t give me much of a choice, did you? I have to work because you quit your job. And don’t pretend I didn’t see you inspecting those receipts, so before you get on that high horse again, maybe you should remind yourself that your little adventure has cost a lot more than I spent today, so maybe you should look in the mirror.”

“Vivian…”

“You need to stop acting like I’m the bad guy. You’re not exactly perfect.”

“I never said I was.”

“Then stop finding fault with everything I do.”

“I’m not…”

By then, however, she’d already left the dining room.

For the next half hour, we avoided each other. Or rather, she avoided me. She’d always been better at it than I was. I know because I kept peeking at her, hoping to detect a thaw in her mood, and found myself wondering why we couldn’t seem to discuss anything that bothered me without it turning into an argument.

I grilled the tuna and the steak, hoping she’d at least taste the food, and set the table on the back porch. After bringing the food over, I called for Vivian, only to see her emerge with London in tow.

I put small portions on both their plates and though both Vivian and London took a few bites, my wife’s silent treatment continued. If there was one positive from the meal, it was that London didn’t seem to notice, since she and her mom chatted as though I wasn’t there at all.

By the time we finished dinner, I was as annoyed with Vivian as she was with me. I went to the den and fired up my computer, thinking I’d continue working on my presentations, but it turned out to be a pointless exercise, since I continued to replay all that had happened.

I couldn’t escape a gnawing sense of failure. Somehow, I’d blown it again, even though I wasn’t sure exactly what it was I’d done so wrong. By then, Vivian had already begun the process of getting London ready for bed and I heard her as she descended the steps.

“She’s ready for a story,” she said. “Not a long one, though. She’s already yawning.”

“All right,” I said, and in her expression, I thought I saw the same kind of remorse that I was feeling about the evening. “Hey,” I said, reaching for her hand. “I’m sorry about the way tonight turned out.”

She shrugged. “It’s been a stressful week for both of us.”

I read to London and kissed her goodnight; when I found Vivian in the family room, she was already in her pajamas, a magazine open in her lap, and the television turned to some reality show.

“Hey,” she said, as soon as I sat beside her, seemingly more interested in the magazine than me. “I had to change out of my clothes into something comfy. I’m wiped out. I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to last before turning in.”

I understood what she hadn’t specifically verbalized: The idea that the two of us might make love later was out of the question.

“I’m tired, too.”

“I can’t believe she’ll be starting school next month. It doesn’t seem possible.”

“I still don’t know why they start so early,” I said, picking up the thread of the conversation. “Didn’t we always start school after Labor Day when we were in school? I mean, why August twenty-fifth?”

“I have no idea. Something about the mandatory number of school days, I think.”

I reached for the remote control. “Would you mind if I found something else to watch?”

Her eyes suddenly flashed toward the TV. “I was watching that. I just wanted something brainless to help me unwind.”

I put the remote control down. For a while, neither of us said anything. Finally: “What do you want to do tomorrow?”

“I’m not sure yet. I know I have to pick up the suit that’s getting tailored, but that’s about it. Why? What are you thinking?”

“Whatever you’d like to do. You’ve been so busy this week, we haven’t been able to spend much time together.”

“I know. It’s been absolutely crazy.”

Though I might have been imagining it, she didn’t sound as bothered by the recent schedule as I was. “And about dinner tonight…”

She shook her head. “Let’s not talk about it, Russ. I just want to relax.”

“I was trying to tell you that I was getting concerned when I didn’t hear from you…”

She lowered the magazine.

“Really?”

“What?”

“You want to do this right now? I told you that I’m tired. I told you I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Why are you getting upset again?”

“Because I know what you’re trying to do.”

“What am I trying to do?”

“You’re trying to get me to apologize, but I didn’t do anything wrong. Do you want me to say that I’m sorry for getting a good job? Or to apologize for trying to dress like a professional? Or for getting a bite to eat because I was shaking? Did you ever stop to think that maybe you should apologize for trying to pick a fight in the first place?”

“I wasn’t trying to pick a fight.”

“That’s exactly what you were trying to do,” she said, staring at me like I was crazy. “You got upset as soon I told you that I’d already eaten, and you wanted to make sure I knew it. So I tried to be sweet. I invited you to the dining room to show you what I got. I kissed you. And right after that, you started in on me, just like you always do.”

I knew there was some truth in what she said. “Okay, you’re right,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’ll admit that I was disappointed that you’d eaten before you got home-”

“Ya think?” she said, cutting me off. “And that’s the thing with you. Believe it or not, you’re not the only one with feelings around here. Did you ever stop to think about the pressure I’ve been under lately? So what do you do? Make things hard as soon as I walk in the door and even now, you can’t let it go.” She stood from the couch and kept talking as she started to leave the room. “I just wanted to watch my show and read my magazine and sit with you without fighting. That’s it. Was that too much to ask?”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to lie in bed for a while, because I want to relax. You’re welcome to join me, but if you’d rather start arguing again, then please don’t bother.”

Then she was gone. I turned off the television, sitting in silence for the next hour, trying to figure out what had happened to my wife and me.

Or, more specifically, how I could make things better between us.

I woke up late on Sunday to an empty bed.

I tossed on a pair of jeans before trying to tame the oddly shaped waves of hair that greeted me in the mirror every morning. It was a disappointing predicament, made worse by the fact that Vivian usually woke looking already groomed.

Since Vivian had been asleep by the time I crawled into bed, I wasn’t sure what to expect but as I approached the kitchen, I could hear my wife and daughter laughing.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Daddy!” London called out.

Vivian turned and winked, smiling at me as though the night before had never happened at all. “Perfect timing,” she offered. “I just finished making breakfast.”

“It smells fantastic.”

“Come here, handsome,” she said.

I approached, assuming she was trying to gauge my mood, and when I was close, she kissed me. “I’m sorry about last night. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. And I’m sorry, too.”

“How about I make you a plate of food? I made the bacon extra crispy for you.”

“That would be great.”

“Coffee’s ready, too. The creamer should be right there.”

“Thanks,” I said. I poured a cup and brought it to the dining room table, taking a seat next to London. I kissed the top of her head as she reached for her milk.

“How’re you doing, sweetie? Did you have any good dreams?”

“I can’t remember,” she said. She took a gulp of milk, which left the trace of a milk mustache.

Vivian brought two plates to the table, with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, placing them in front of us. “Do you want some juice? There’s some fresh-squeezed orange juice.”

“Sounds great. Thanks.”

Vivian brought those over as well, along with her own plate. Unlike ours, her plate had a small portion of scrambled egg whites and fruit.

I took a bite of bacon. “What time did you get up?”

“An hour ago, maybe? You must have been exhausted. I don’t think you even heard me get out of bed.”

“I guess I must have been,” I said.

“I will say that if you hadn’t gotten up, I was about to send London back there to jump on you.”

I turned toward London, my mouth agape. “You wouldn’t have done that, would you? If I was still sleeping?”

“Of course I would have,” London said, giggling. “Guess what? Mommy is taking me to the mall to pick up her clothes, and then we’re going to the pet store.”

“What’s at the pet store?”

“Mommy said I could get a hamster. I’m going to name her Mrs. Sprinkles.”

“I didn’t know you wanted a hamster.”

“I’ve wanted a hamster for a long time, Daddy.”

“How come you never told me, sweetie?”

“Because mom said you wouldn’t want one.”

“Well, I don’t know,” I said. “It’s a lot of work taking care of hamsters.”

“I know,” she said. “But they’re so cute.”

“They are cute,” I admitted, and for the remainder of breakfast, I listened while London tried to convince me she was old enough to take care of a hamster.

I was sipping my second cup of coffee in the kitchen while Vivian began loading the dishwasher; in the living room, London was playing with her Barbies.

“She’s old enough to have a hamster, you know,” Vivian commented. “Even if you’ll have to clean the cage.”

“Me?”

“Of course,” she said. “You’re the dad.”

“And in your mind, helping my daughter clean a hamster cage is part of the job description, right?”

“Think of it as a good way to bond with her.”

“Cleaning hamster poop?”

“Oh, hush,” she said, nudging me. “It’ll be good for her. She’ll learn responsibility. And besides, it’s a lot easier than getting her a puppy. She’s also in love with the neighbor’s Yorkie, you know, so consider yourself lucky. Did you see the newsletter from the country club?”

“Can’t say that I did.”

“They’ve got some good programs for kids, including tennis. It’s three days a week at nine in the morning for four weeks, so it wouldn’t interfere with any of her other activities. Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday.”

From where I was standing, I could see my daughter and noted again how much she resembled her mother. “I don’t know if she’d like it,” I answered. “And about London. I’ve been meaning to ask-what are you thinking when it comes to her?”

“What do you mean?”

“Day care,” I said. “You’re starting work tomorrow. Who’s going to watch her?”

“I know, I know.” A tinge of stress colored her response as she rinsed and loaded another plate into the dishwasher. “I meant to research some day cares last week, but I just didn’t have the time. It’s been all I can do to keep my head above water and I still feel like I’m not prepared for tomorrow. The last thing I want is for Walter to think I’m an idiot while we’re at lunch.”

“Lunch with Walter?”

“My new boss? Walter Spannerman?”

“I know who he is. I just didn’t know you’d be having lunch with him tomorrow.”

“I didn’t either until this morning. I woke up to an email with my orientation schedule. They have me on the run all day tomorrow-human resources, the legal department, lunch, meetings with various vice presidents. I have to be there at seven thirty in the morning.”

“Early,” I said. I waited, wondering if she’d return to the subject of who would be watching London. She rinsed some utensils and loaded them in the dishwasher, remaining quiet. I cleared my throat. “And you said you haven’t been able to find a day care center for London?”

“Not yet. I called some friends and they said the day cares they use are good, but I still want to see for myself, you know? Do a walk-through, meet the staff, discuss the kinds of programs they can offer. I want to make sure it’s the right place for her.”

“If you have the names, I can call and make an appointment for us.”

“Well, that’s the thing. I have no idea what kind of hours to expect this week.”

“I’m sure I’d be able to set up an evening appointment.”

“It’s probably better if I do it, don’t you think? I’d hate to have to cancel.”

“So… what’s the plan for tomorrow then? For London?”

“I wouldn’t be comfortable with just dropping her off in some strange place. Would you? I want what’s best for her.”

“I’m sure that if you pick one of the places that your friends use, she’d be fine.”

“She’s already nervous enough about me going back to work and she was pretty upset this morning. That’s why we had a family breakfast, and I suggested getting a hamster. I don’t want her to feel like we’re abandoning her this week.”

“What exactly are you saying?”

Vivian closed the dishwasher door. “I was hoping that you would watch her this week. That way, London will have time to adjust.”

“I can’t. I have client meetings every day this week.”

“I know I’m asking a lot and I hate to do this to you. But I don’t know what else to do. I was thinking that you could either bring her to your office or maybe even work from home. When you have your meetings, you can drop her at your mom’s. It would only be a week or two.”

A week? Or two?

The words continued to reverberate in my mind, even as I answered. “I don’t know. I’d have to call my mom and ask if she’s okay with that.”

“Would you? I’m already nervous enough about my new job, and I don’t want to have to worry about London, too. Like I told you, she was really upset this morning.”

I scrutinized London; she hadn’t seemed upset at breakfast, and didn’t appear upset now, but then Vivian knew her better than I did. “Yeah, okay. I’ll call her.”

Vivian smiled before moving close and slipping her arms around my neck.

“Trying to surprise me with dinner last night was very sweet. And I was thinking that I might just be in the mood for a glass of wine after London goes to bed.” She kissed my neck, her breath hot on my skin. “Do you think you might be up for something like that?”

Despite myself, I suddenly wondered whether the entire morning-her appearance, her cheerful mood, breakfast-had simply been part of a plan to get what she wanted, but when she kissed my neck a second time, I forgave her.

Vivian and London were out until midafternoon. While they were gone, I finished the presentation for the chiropractor, the first of the meetings. In the meantime, I’d also tidied up the house and then called my mom. I told her about my client meetings the following week, and asked her if I could drop London off on Monday.

“Of course you can,” she said.

I was hanging up the phone just as Vivian and London pulled in the drive, and I could hear London calling for me even before I made it out the door.

“Daddy, Daddy! Come here, quick!”

I trotted down the steps, watching as she held up a small clear plastic cage. From a distance, my first thought was that I was seeing double because there appeared to be two hamsters, one black and white, and the second, brown. London was grinning from ear to ear as I approached.

“I got two of them, Daddy! Mrs. Sprinkles and Mr. Sprinkles.”

“Two?

“She couldn’t pick,” Vivian said, “so I figured, why not? We had to get the cage anyway.”

“And I got to hold Mr. Sprinkles the whole way home!” London added.

“You did, huh?”

“He’s so sweet. He just sat there in my hands the whole time. I’m going to go hold Mrs. Sprinkles next.”

“That’s great,” I said. “I like their cage.”

“Oh, this is just their carrying cage. Their real cage is in the back. Mommy said you can help me put it together. It’s huge!”

“She did, huh?” I said, and I was struck with visions of past Christmas Eves, when I’d spent hours assembling various… things-painter’s desk, Barbie’s Dreamhouse, the bicycle. Suffice it to say, I found it much more difficult than my father probably would have. Vivian must have known exactly what I was thinking because I felt her slip her arm around me.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It won’t be that hard. And I’ll be your cheerleader.”

Later that night, after we’d made love, I was lying on my side, tracing the small of Vivian’s back with my finger. Her eyes were closed, her body relaxed, beautiful.

“You still haven’t told me much about what your job actually entails.”

“There’s not much to tell. It’s the same kind of work that I used to do.” She sounded sleepy, the words coming out almost in a mumble.

“Do you know how much you might be traveling?”

“Not yet,” she answered. “I guess I’ll find out.”

“That might get tricky with London.”

“London will be okay. You’ll be here.”

For whatever reason, I’d expected her to say more: how much she’d miss London, or that she was hoping to find a way to travel less. Instead, she drew long steady breaths.

“Do you know your salary yet?”

“Why?”

“I’m trying to figure out our budget.”

“No,” she said. “I don’t know yet.”

“How can you not know?”

“There’s the base salary, bonuses, and different kinds of incentives. Profit sharing. I sort of tuned out when they started to explain it to me.”

“Do you even have a ballpark estimate?”

She flopped a hand onto my arm. “Do we really have to do this now? You know I hate talking about money.”

“No, of course not.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Thanks for watching London this week.”

Or two weeks, I immediately thought, but I kept the words to myself. “You’re welcome.”

I couldn’t fall asleep, and after staring at the ceiling for an hour, I slipped from the bed and padded toward the kitchen. I poured a small glass of milk and finished it in a single swallow, thinking that since I was up, I might as well check in on London. I entered her room and could hear the hamster wheel squeaking and whirring, a hamster party in the middle of the night.

Thankfully, London seemed not to notice. She was sound asleep, her breaths deep and steady. I kissed her on the cheek before pulling up the covers. She shifted slightly and as I stared down at her, I felt a tug at my heart, a mixture of pride and love and concern and fear, a mixture that mystified me in its intensity.

Afterward, I sat outside on the porch. The night was warm and the sound of chirping crickets filled the air; I vaguely remembered something from my childhood when my dad had told me that the frequency of chirps roughly correlated with the temperature, and I wondered whether it was true, or just something that fathers say to their sons on late summer evenings.

Pondering that question seemed to free other thoughts, and I suddenly understood why sleep seemed so elusive.

It had to do with Vivian and the fact that she hadn’t told me her salary. I didn’t believe her when she said she’d tuned out when it was being explained to her, and that bothered me as well.

In all the years we’d been married, I’d always shared with Vivian exactly what I’d earned. To me, sharing such information was a prerequisite of marriage; the last thing any couple should harbor was financial secrecy. Secrecy could be corrosive, and ultimately stemmed from a desire to control. Or maybe, I was being too hard on her. Maybe it was simply she hadn’t wanted to hurt my feelings because she’d be earning an income while my own business was floundering.

I couldn’t figure it out. Meanwhile, I’d been handed the responsibility for our daughter, and all at once, the real reason for my insomnia seemed all too obvious.

Our roles in the marriage had suddenly been reversed.