The Babysitter

Moscow Mule

Rebecca

It's 5 am when my alarm buzzes. The house is asleep beside Ben, our Westie, who I let out before I start the coffee and unload the dishwasher. I change over the laundry then throw on some joggers, a hoody and my air zooms. I meet Ben outside and put a leash on him. He smiles at me the way happy dogs do and I scratch behind his ear.  I open Sprinty, my running app, and we follow our route. TOTAL: 218 runs. 545 miles. 91 hours.

"You see that buddy?' I say and Ben looks up to me as we jog. "We've run 545 miles together."  Ben playfully hops as if to tell me he understands.  We circle the block, then take the bike path through the Wright Park and follow the road through old-town to the waterfront. We stop at the ocean for a minute as I catch my breath. Ben sits at my feet with his tongue out.

There is a boat in the harbor and the wind gently drags at the sail. I imagine the weather-scarred captain a man of few words. He sits, drinking black coffee and reading and between passages reflects on the sea monsters he's slain in his own life. But he's not a waler anymore, and decades of hunting left him ill to the feeling land and the only cure for his ailment is the emptiness of the sea. 

Ben tugs the leash my hand and we set off on our route home.

I walk through the back door a little winded and a little sweaty but I feel good. Andrew passes me, barely addressing my existence.

"Morning," I say trying to be as upbeat as possible.

"Hey," he says and the lifeless word falls to the floor as he pours himself a cup of coffee then sits in the living room to read news on his ipad. 

"Can I make you some eggs?" I say. But he doesn't respond. I walk around the sofa and stand in front of him.

"Are you hungry?" I say and again, he ignores me. I hate psychological games and I hate playing them. He's making a point to passive-aggressively inform me that he doesn't answer to me. It's a dominant power play personality thing. He does it because he knows it hurts me. I hate it. I turn and head to the stairs.

"Oh," he says, "hun, could you make me some eggs?" He smiles at me.

Later, I stand in the shower when something breaks and I can't stop it. I am consumed with the rawness of it and I cry and the pain is everywhere, in everything I see and touch, and I realize I'm in an empty house filled with things to distract me from it all.

I hear Lucy call me and I'm relieved for maternal instinct is the unconscious override. I'm on my feet and out of the bathroom in seconds. I wrap the towel around myself as I make it to the kid's room. Lucy sits in bed, her hands raise to me.

"Uppy, Uppy," she says. I pick her up and she wraps her legs and arms around me. I kiss her on the head and for at least that moment all the pain and sorrow disappear and love fills the void. I gave her life and now she returns it back to me.

"It's okay," I say, "I'm here. Mommy is here. I'm not going anywhere."

I make Lucy and Bobby pancakes with peanut butter. After breakfast we play in the den for a while, then I dress them and take them to daycare. The hardest part of my day is saying goodbye and watching the wrinkles form on their little faces as I leave.

I drive to Tukwila to meet with Tom and go over the Johnson account.

"Here are some sketches I threw together," I say, "They're pretty rough."

"These are great," Tom says. "What do you think about substituting galvanized for stainless?"

"I thought about that. It's uncoated," I say.

"Exactly," Tom says. "Uncoated is a lot easier to clean."

We talk about materials, substitutes and finalize an itemized shopping list. Then we discuss timelines and deliverables and project completion dates. I kick off my Louboutins and walk around in my stalkings.

Later, we sit on the floor going eating Chinese takeout going over the redesigned sketches we've put together. It's a larger deck than normal, with 35+ slides. Tom sits beside me and we pass the slides back and forth.