Carrie stood up to follow Joyce, grabbing her mug. She was about to take it into the kitchen when she stopped, facing Adam. His gaze immediately went to the empty coffee table and then back up to her face. Joyce took the mug from Carrie. “I’ll take them in,” she said, but Carrie was still looking at Adam.
“I’m sorry I left you.” He looked straight into her eyes, barely blinking. “Again.” His face showed remorse, his eyes gentle, his lips turned down slightly.
She wanted to say “It’s okay,” but she knew that really it wasn’t okay. Why was he having coffee with her? Why did he crawl into the fort after her earlier? Why was he bothering to be so chatty if he could drop it in a second when Andy called? It was messing with her mind, making her feel things for him when really she shouldn’t. She worked for him. That was all. And he was making her care about him. For what? She didn’t know what to say to him because the truth was that the more she learned about him, the more she didn’t want to stay away from him for one second, and she knew that she’d be the one getting hurt in the long run. He had his work, he had Andy, who seemed perfect for him. And he was building a business, and trying to make the best of the life he’d been left with after his family broke up. So, why was he bothering with her at all? It wasn’t fair. What could she say to him now?
“What are you thinking about?” he said, a small line forming between his eyebrows in the most adorable way. She wanted to put her hands on his face and tell him, but she’d never dare, and the fact that she even wanted to made her more aggravated.
She could feel the frustration piling up like the snow on the sidewalk outside: each moment a tiny flake, but added up it was too much to plow through, too much to go away. She’d never before felt anything like what she was feeling now. Her emotions were overwhelming her, suddenly. “If you’re sorry, then change something,” she heard herself say.
This was her boss. What was she doing? She’d never been this direct about anything other than children before. She felt as strongly about this as she did the kids. She wanted Adam to either be present when he said he would or leave her alone. A part of her wanted to close up because she’d been so forward, but there was another part of her that felt liberated, like she’d finally figured out how to live. She didn’t need books or more experiences, she just needed to feel something for someone. She was able to be strong in this part of her life even though it was completely new to her, and that made her feel happier than she’d ever felt.
Adam’s face didn’t change, but his eyes showed his surprise as he processed her direct comment. He recovered, but it took him a minute. Carrie felt the flush to her cheeks, the heaviness from guilt as she looked at his face. She didn’t want to gang up on him, but truthfully, he had to change something. He couldn’t just walk out of rooms whenever he felt like it—even if it was his own house. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. She felt so many emotions—sadness, anxiety—but what she didn’t want to admit to herself was that she was also jealous. Jealous of his work, jealous of Andy, anything that pulled him away from her.
She was also irritated because she knew, now, how the children must feel. He’d offered her attention only to wrench it away at the first opportunity. It made her feel like she wasn’t worth his time, she wasn’t as important as Andy. And maybe she wasn’t, but it didn’t stop her feelings from getting hurt. How must the children feel when their father did this to them? Her own father would have never dreamed of putting her second. All these conflicting emotions were making the splotches crawl up her neck.
Adam’s chest rose through his sweater as he took in a steadying breath. He let it out slowly. Was he thinking about what she’d said? It didn’t matter; Carrie had a sinking feeling that nothing would change. So far, he hadn’t given her any sign that he was capable of changing. Inevitably, she’d be the one playing with the kids, buying them presents—from him—and chatting in the evenings with his family. No matter what he’d dealt with, that wasn’t right.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked, his voice soft. “And be reasonable. I have to work. What do you want me to do?” he repeated.
She had a million things she wanted him to do, and they were all flying through her head at the same time. She needed to be simple with her request. Just like the children: start small and make tiny changes so as not to make it overwhelming. She needed something that wouldn’t involve the children this time, just in case he let them down. What did she want him to change? His involvement with his family was the number one concern. She scrambled for an answer and then, bang. She had one.