Erika
Just as Hannah and Liam are finishing up their breakfast, the back door slams shut. It’s Jason, back from his jog.
About a year ago, I purchased a scale for our master bathroom. The first time my husband stepped on it, he was horrified. “Did I really get that fat, Erika?” he asked me about twenty times over the next several days. Followed by, “How could you let me get that fat?” By the end of the week, he made a solemn oath that he was going to get back in shape. He was going to eat right and exercise and get back to the weight he was when we got married. (To be fair, he was at least ten pounds overweight when we got married.)
At the time I laughed. But then he actually did it. He jogs every morning now. He doesn’t buy giant jugs of M&Ms. He switched from regular Coca-Cola to diet. (Or Coke Zero, which he says tastes much better than diet, although I am skeptical.) I don’t know much about what the numbers should be on the scale, but it’s obvious that at age forty-five, Jason is in the best shape of his life. I never noticed that he had been getting a gut until it vanished. And recently, when we got together with some other couples, another wife made a comment about my husband being “hot.” I was oddly proud. Although it made me feel like I need to start taking kickboxing or Zumba or something to firm up some of those soft, saggy areas on my middle-aged body.
“Erika!” Jason limps over to the stove to join me, his T-shirt damp with sweat. His knee has been acting up for the last few weeks, but he’s trying to push through it. “Are you making eggs? I’m starving.”
I crack an egg into the sizzling pan. “You got it.”
He leans in to kiss me on the neck, which is nice, despite how sweaty he is. “Egg-cellent.”
Hannah groans. “Oh my God, Dad. Please.”
“What’s wrong?” Jason blinks at her. “I’m just egg-cited about your mom’s cooking.”
Liam laughs. We’re all used to Jason’s puns. The general rule is that they’re always terrible, but sometimes they’re so terrible that it’s funny.
“Please stop, Dad.” Hannah shakes her head at him. “You’re being so cringe-y right now.”
Cringe-y is the word Hannah frequently uses to describe basically everything that Jason or I do. I hate that it bothers me on some level, although Jason seems to find amusing. His reasoning is that he was never cool, so why would it bother him that his teenage daughter doesn’t think he’s cool?
“Don’t you have to get ready for school, Hannah?” Jason says. “Don’t you have an egg-xam today?”
Even I laugh this time, although it’s more because of the look on Hannah’s face.
Hannah dashes upstairs to get dressed and hopefully brush her hair so I don’t get accused of child neglect, while Liam wanders into the living room because he gets a sense of when we want privacy. I continue to stir Jason’s eggs. Low and slow.
“You know I’ve been eating your eggs for twenty years?” Jason muses as he runs a hand along the back of my neck. “Twenty years of Erika’s eggs.”
“Aren’t you sick of them?” I say it as a joke, but there’s a tiny part of me that’s serious. After all, Jason spent the last year getting in great shape. He’s gotten a lot hotter. All he needs is a shiny new car and contacts to replace his wire rimmed glasses, and he’ll be in full on middle-age crisis mode.
“Hell no.” He pulls me to him and presses his lips against mine, which totally interrupts the egg cooking process, but I don’t mind. He hasn’t shaved yet and his chin tickles mine. “I hope I get to eat your eggs for another twenty years.”
“Gag!” Hannah coming down the stairs interrupts what had been a very nice little moment between me and Jason. She’s dressed in blue jeans and an oversized T-shirt with her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She’s probably going for stylishly messy, but it’s just messy. “You two need to get a room.”
“Um, this is our house.” Jason raises his eyebrows at her. “If you want to start paying rent, then you can tell me when I’m allowed to kiss my sexy
wife.”
Hannah just rolls her eyes.
“All right, Hannah,” I say. “You’ve got to get a move on. The school bus is going to be at the corner in…” I look down at my watch. One minute ago. “Damn it.”
“Oh no. I guess you have to drive us.” “Gosh, funny how that worked out…”
Hannah hates the school bus with a passion. From the moment she wakes up every weekday, she’s plotting a way for me to drive her to school. We’ve already agreed that when Liam gets his license, he can drive the two of them to school every morning. Of course, he’ll be in college in less than two years. And the thought of Hannah being behind the wheel is nothing short of terrifying.
I finish cooking Jason’s eggs and reluctantly pile Hannah and Liam into my green Toyota 4Runner. I never thought I’d be the sort of mom who drove an SUV, especially one so freaking big. I held onto my little Honda Civic even after we had Liam. But then Jason pointed out how hard it was going to be to strap two car seats into the backseat of the Civic, and I knew it was time to upgrade. So we got the SUV. I know this sounds melodramatic, but the first time I saw it parked in my garage, I almost burst into tears. But now I’m used to it. It makes me feel safe, which is important when you’ve got your kids in the car. That’s why when Jason took Liam out for a driving lesson last week, he used the 4Runner.
Hannah has called shotgun, which is unfortunate, because it means that she’s going to be controlling the music in the car. She’s very much partial to music from young men who don’t look like they’re capable of growing facial hair yet.
“Can we please listen to something different?” Liam complains about two minutes into the drive. I have to agree. “Anything else?”
“You know,” Hannah says, “Justin Bieber is an incredibly talented singer.”
“Oh, is he?”
“Yes, he is!” She adjusts her messy ponytail. “He has a phenomenal vocal range.”
Liam smirks. “Sure. That’s what you like about him. His vocal range.”
“So I think he’s cute. So what? It’s not like you’re interested in Olivia
for her intelligence.”
Olivia? Who is Olivia? I glance in the rearview mirror just in time to see Liam’s entire face turn red. He has become incredibly skilled at masking his reactions to things, but he couldn’t hide it this time. But when I look away for a moment and check the mirror again, he’s regained his composure.
The car skids to a halt at a red light. “Who is Olivia?” I say as casually as I can manage.
Liam looks out the window. “Nobody. Just a girl.”
But thank God Hannah is in the car with us. “Just a girl?” She snorts. “Liam is totally in love with her.”
He laughs. “No, I’m not.”
“Oh my God, you so are. Don’t even deny it.” Hannah gives me a look, like I’m her new confidante. “You should see the way he looks at her. He’s totally into her.”
“Whatever.”
I glance in the rearview mirror one more time to look at my son. Liam is the most composed sixteen-year-old kid I’ve ever known. That’s why he’s so good at debate, in addition to his natural intelligence and his diligent preparation. He never loses his cool. He never lets anyone know what he’s thinking. But I’ve known him long enough that I can usually tell. Usually.
I’m really glad I’m going to this debate after school. I wanted to see Liam perform. That was the reason I told him I wanted to come. And I meant it. But now I’ve got a new, more important reason for going.
I’ve got to figure out who Olivia is.
And I’ve got to keep something terrible from happening to her
