The years have twisted our lives and our hearts more closely together. Urgent declarations of love have been replaced by a cup of coffee on my side table and a twenty minute sleep in, which are no less cherished. You are an amazing father, the best. But sometimes, I miss you.
This is why.
We always met at the train station, me leaving behind a long day of trying to balance the needs of big companies. A day based on calming fears and ticking boxes. My heels clicked up the steps to find you juggling on the concourse. Earphones in and bag slung around your chest. The straps had broken so you’d fixed them with a tie, the only one you owned. ‘Does it match my converse?’ you’d asked. I throw my arms around your neck and you stoop to spin me around. You smell like sunshine and salt and the one moisturiser you’ll buy – a giant tub for $3. I relax.
*
I watch the clock, counting the minutes until I know you’ve finished work. Watching them tick until I think you’ve packed your things away, adding the extra time it takes for last minute meetings and traffic. I try to have the kitchen clean, dinner in the oven and the clothes put away; but it rarely goes well and the failure sits heavy on my shoulders. The toys littering the house are ignored, they’re always there anyway. The time ticks away the minutes as well as my patience. You walk in, late, to the adoration of children and chagrin of your wife. You look exhausted, dark circles under your eyes. But they light up as our daughter throws her arms around your neck and you stoop to spin her around. I’ve already walked away. I can’t relax.
*
We’re holding hands and tripping through the city. It’s bustling with people just starting their night out. I have my hand over my belly, our son nestled inside, kicking. He’s always kicking. ‘Maybe he’s dancing?’ you say, executing a not-too-shabby moonwalk. ‘I need dumplings’ I say decisively; this is not negotiable, so we make our way to the dumpling house. You walk next to the road and hold my hand tighter when the crowds surge. You’re already a daddy. I feel my heart and my life becoming our heart, and our life.
*
‘We need water bottles!’ I scream from the car. You awkwardly turn around in the doorway, keys in your mouth and arms loaded with bags. Neither of us have had coffee. This was meant to be a spur of the moment trip and we’re realising, again, that spontaneity is out of our grasp. We get drive-thru coffee on the way to the beach. Upon taking a sip, you see my expression and hold out your hand, filled with packets of sugar. You still look after me. I watch you play with our children, roaring like a dinosaur as you chase them. They can hardly run for giggling. You collapse next to me and I stroke your face. Soon your prey demands your presence, loudly. I only do it softly. So you go.
*
We’re hiding in our room, housemates asleep or away. There are fairy lights everywhere, wrapped around curtain rails and glowing softly through fabric you’ve nailed to the ceiling. You love those tiny pinpricks of light. I lie in your arms and we talk about ‘one day’ – what we’ll do, where we’ll go. The future is shining like the lights. You watch my face as I talk and I feel the intensity of your attention. I feel beautiful. We can’t stop talking.
*
The children are asleep and we’re hiding in our room, the television offering the only light. The appointment for our son has weakened us, experts whittling his personality and fire down to a list of deficits. Your face darkens at a message of sorrow from a friend, ‘it’s not like he’s dead!’ and you cry. We don’t feel disappointment, rather exhaustion. We haven’t lost our boy, just gained a diagnosis. I don’t know what the future holds, but I’m scared to examine it closely.
*
We’re walking through gardens, sunlight and roses in the air. Your ridiculous tie bag holds smuggled wine and cheese. An afternoon feast. Your eyes find mine and crinkle as you smile. You reach for me and I believe that anything is possible. ‘I love you’ says your mouth, your eyes and your heart. I believe you.
*
We’re walking through the park, shrieks and laughter of children all around us. Ours have already disappeared, exploring somewhere amongst giant plastic tubes and bright steel ladders. I’m scanning for them, just wanting to see them. Your hand finds mine. ‘I love you’ says your mouth and your heart. Your eyes are looking for our children too, and I still believe you.
***
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