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He rubbed his forehead.
“I’m exhausted, Hope. Moms don’t get sick days.”
I looked down at my cast.
“I’m injured.”
“That’s not my problem.”
I stared at him.
“I’m asking you to help me for a few weeks.”
“You take care of the babies. That’s your job.”
Then he walked out.
Miles kept crying.
Luke reached up and grabbed the edge of my cast with both tiny hands.
I gently pulled myself free and whispered, “Okay. I’ve got you.”
I had been saying things like that for too long.
I’ve got it.
I’m fine.
Even when neither was true.
My mother, Noelle, came over the next afternoon.
She found me wiping spilled formula from the kitchen counter with my good hand while Luke kicked happily in his seat.
“Hope.”
“I’m almost finished.”
She took the cloth away from me.
“Sit.”
“Mom, the counter is sticky.”
“It’ll still be sticky five minutes from now.”
So I sat.
She opened the microwave and found my abandoned cup of tea.
“You reheated this already?”
“Twice.”
Mom knew me well enough to know I cleaned whenever I felt overwhelmed.
She threw the old tea away and made me a fresh cup.
“Where’s Derek?”
“Work.”
“And when he gets home?”
I forced a small smile.
“He’ll be tired, obviously.”
Mom gave me a look.
I took a sip.
“I’m fine.”
“There’s that voice you use when you’re lying to me.”
I looked away.
Mom didn’t lecture me.
Instead, she helped with the twins, washed bottles, cooked dinner, and stayed until after we ate.
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