I worked double shifts at the hardware store. Then, the triple changes when one of the children needed braces, a science fairboard or new sneakers because the old ones suddenly don’t fit into anyone.
There were science fairs and fevers I sat down for. Broken hearts, I didn’t know how to fix, so I just made grilled cheese and let them cry on the couch.
Three separate phases, when all three of them hated me at the same time. June, at 13, knocking on doors. Claire, 15, refused to look at me for a month. And Ava, 17, told me she didn’t understand anything.
I didn’t. But I stayed.
I missed things too.
- A cousin’s wedding in Denver because Claire had the flu.
- A fishing holiday that I promised myself for 10 years.
- The opportunity to have one family own.
- And Diana, the woman I love.
Diana was patient for a long time. More time than it should have been.
I missed things too.
“I’m not asking you to choose,” he said one night at the front door. “I’m asking if there’s room.”
“There isn’t,” I said. “He’s not the guy you deserve.”
She nodded as if she already knew. He left a sweater. I never gave it back.
I kept the triplets, not because they asked me to, but because someone had to.
“I’m asking if there’s room.”
***
Daniel appeared as the weather does.
A birthday card once, with no return address.
A Christmas card with a stamp from somewhere that had never been.
When the girls were 12 years old, he called.
“I want to reconnect, Noah. I’ve been thinking.”
“Thinking about what, exactly?”
“On them and being a father.”
I held the phone so hard that my hand squeezed.
When the girls were 12 years old, he called.
“You want to be a father, get on a plane. You don’t think about it on my phone bill.”
My brother didn’t get on a plane. He never did.
