As if he’d finally identified the injustice.
I nodded.
“No, Harold.”
He looked at me.
“They don’t.”
Then I continued.
“Because fatherhood isn’t customer service.”
His eyes dropped.
“You don’t get applause for taking your own children to school.”
Nobody spoke.
“You liked helping Adele because she made you feel important.”
Harold didn’t argue.
“And helping us felt ordinary.”
Still nothing.
I tapped my cast.
“I shouldn’t have needed to break a bone for you to notice mornings existed.”
Sasha quietly returned to her worksheet.
Nicki began counting something on her fingers.
Finally, Harold looked at me.
“What do you want me to do?”
Normally, that question would have started another list.
Breakfast.
Lunches.
Shoes.
Backpacks.
Drop-off.
Not this time.
“Tomorrow morning is yours.”
He blinked.
“What does that mean?”
“Everything.”
“Breakfast?”
“Everything.”
“Lunches?”
“Everything.”
“School bags?”
I lifted my coffee.
“You’re getting warmer.”
Sasha raised her hand.
Harold stared at her.
“What?”
“I need poster board tomorrow.”
His eyes immediately shifted toward me.
I smiled.
“Don’t look at me.”
He turned back toward Sasha.
“What kind?”
She told him.
Then something small happened.
Harold took out his phone.
He made a note.
Nobody thanked him.
The next morning, at 6:35, he appeared beside my bed.
“Where are Nicki’s sneakers?”
I opened one eye.
“Ask Nicki.”
“She says she doesn’t know.”
“Then you two have a mystery to solve.”
He disappeared.
Ten minutes later, Sasha yelled:
“Nobody woke me up!”
“You have an alarm!” Harold shouted.
From downstairs, Nicki yelled:
“We’re children!”
I pulled the blanket over my head.
There was arguing.
A dropped cereal bowl.
A frantic search for a library book.
Someone couldn’t find a hairbrush.
Somehow, they left on time.
Barely.
That evening, Harold came home carrying groceries.
“My boss said I can start fifteen minutes later while your leg heals.”
I looked up.
“You asked?”
“Today.”
“And he agreed?”
Harold nodded.
“Immediately.”
I said nothing.
He set the groceries down.
“I never asked before.”
“I know.”
He sat beside me.
“I didn’t realize how much you did.”
I shook my head.
“You didn’t need to know every single thing I did.”
He looked at me.
“You needed to notice I was doing it.”
