“Sure. Don’t forget you have a soccer game today,” I reminded him.
His expression fell. “Do I have to?”
“It’s fun,” I said, not knowing why because he clearly didn’t enjoy it. But Brayden was adamant that he needed to finish the season.
“He needs to learn to finish what he starts, even things that aren’t fun,” he’d said. “He should be grateful he can play soccer.”
“It’s four-year old soccer, Brayden,” I’d argued, but to avoid a fight, I acquiesced. It was hard to argue against Noah having opportunities that Brayden hadn’t.
“Why don’t you two set the table and I’ll go get your dad up,” I said putting Noah down.
With the kids engaged in an activity I felt safe enough to leave them alone to do, I went back to our bedroom.
Brayden was out of bed, and I could hear the shower running. I opened the bathroom door to let him know the kids were eager for his clown pancakes. The glass enclosure of the shower was covered in water and steam, but I could still see him. He had one hand braced on the tiled wall and the other around his dick as he stroked it fast and hard.
I closed my eyes as hurt washed through me. He’d rather fuck his hand than me. I looked down at my faded yoga pants and a sweatshirt that I bought big enough to cover my ass. No wonder he was jerking off.
I waited until he let out a grunt as he came. He pressed both his hands on the tiles and ducked his head under the shower.
I rapped on the door to let him know I was there. “Kids want clown pancakes.”
“Be right there,” he said, with his head still under the spray. If he was embarrassed or concerned that I saw him wanking off, he didn’t show it.
Ten minutes later, he strolled into the kitchen wearing faded jeans and a long-sleeved Henley shirt. Both were as old and worn as my clothing, and yet, he looked like he stepped out of a men’s wear catalog.
“Daddy! Can you make clown pancakes?” Lanie rushed to him and he scooped her up.
“I can try.” He tickled her belly. He was absent a lot, but when he was here, he was present. At least for the kids. It was another thing I needed to be thankful for.
“How about you Noah, you want a clown pancake?” he asked, bending over to give Noah a kiss on the head.
“I don’t want to play soccer.”
Brayden glanced at me and I couldn’t decide if he was chastising me for wanting to be lenient or just wondering if I’d already talked to Noah about it. He turned his attention back to Noah.
“Season is nearly over. Who knows, maybe today you’ll make a goal.”
Noah frowned, but didn’t say anything more. I understood. Sometimes it was just easier not to fight.
Brayden made the pancakes and we all sat at the table.
“So, what did you learn this week in school?” he asked the kids as I put bacon on Noah’s plate.
“I can count to fifty, daddy,” Lanie said, beaming with pride.
“Can you really?” Brayden smiled, pride on his face as well. “Pretty soon you’ll count to a hundred, I bet.”
Lanie started counting and we all waited patiently as she worked her way through the numbers. She missed a few and did some out of order, but we all clapped when she hit fifty.
“How about you, Noah? What’s going on four-year old pre-kindergarten?” Brayden asked sipping his coffee.
Noah shrugged.
“Ah come on.”
“Noah made a lov
ely art project,” I said with a nod to the wall where I posted much of the kids’ schoolwork.