Chapter 2 - The Thing He Didn't Say
"They're letting me come," Nate said too quickly. "It's a planning group, not a birthday party."
Josie accepted the answer in the manner of children who can tell an adult wants to stop talking. She took a cracker and retreated to the living room.
Leah came home after seven with rolled drawings under one arm and a bag of grocery-store rotisserie chicken in the other. Her architectural firm had a hospital renovation due to go to bid, and she had spent the last three weeks speaking in sentences that began, "If the inspector signs off."
"You ate?" she asked.
"Josie did. I waited."
"You didn't have to."
"I know."
They ate standing at the counter while Josie worked on a cardboard model of the solar system. Saturn kept falling off its toothpick.
Leah read the parent-chat message and sighed. "Meredith again."
"It's not just her. They all think I'm somebody's useless husband."
"They don't know you."
"They know I'm there every day. Apparently that makes me suspicious."
Leah scraped chicken onto his plate. "Please don't let a parking-lot conversation turn into a weeklong campaign."
"I'm not campaigning. I offered to help."
"Okay."
The word sounded like a closed door.
Nate had left his job eighteen months earlier, after years of late calls and missed evenings. They'd made spreadsheets. They'd argued about the mortgage. Leah had asked him three different times whether he could live with being the one who stayed home. He'd told her yes each time.
Sometimes he even believed it.
"Josie asked if nobody wanted me," he said.
Leah set her fork down. "Oh, Nate."
"Don't do that voice."
"What voice?"
"Like there's something to fix."
"There's a seven-year-old with a question. You could tell her the truth."
"I did."
"Did you? Or did you tell her the version where nobody can be disappointed?"
He hated that she knew him well enough to ask.
At bedtime Josie chose a picture book about a father and daughter building a boat. Halfway through, she interrupted.
"Can I put you on my family-work poster? Ms. Bell said our family does different jobs."
"Of course."
"What do I write under you?"
He opened his mouth. He wanted a neat job title, something that fit inside a rectangle and could withstand a roomful of parents.
"Write whatever you think," he said.
She reached for a pencil. "What if people laugh?"
He said they wouldn't, though he had no way to know.
The next morning, Nate sent Meredith a polite private message asking how to volunteer. At 10:14 she replied: We have the leadership positions covered. Coffee setup is available if you'd like something simple.
He typed three answers, deleted all of them, and finally wrote: I'll be there.
May you like
Then he noticed that reading night started at six, and Josie was scheduled to read her poem during its opening program.
