When the Quiet Hits

Sofie waves from the backseat of her mother’s car as they reverse out of my driveway. She’s smiling this silly exaggerated smile as she waves. I know what she’s doing. She’s trying to get me to make a funny face. This is her way of making sure I’m okay. Because if I’m okay, she’s okay.

But I can’t.

My chest tightens. Best I can do is press my lips into what I hope signals reassurance, but probably comes across more wistful.

Greyson’s looking out the passenger window and I wonder if he’s avoiding eye contact on purpose. I can’t blame him if he is. I crane my neck to see if he’ll see me and wave. He doesn’t. Man, can this kid brood. He gets that from me.

It’s been a year since these weekly comings and goings and it still hits me pretty hard. My eyes start to sting before they even clear the driveway. I turn back to the house before anyone can see the moisture collecting in my eyes.

But I don’t want to go back in there.

I look back to see them making a left turn at the stop sign, and they’re gone. I readjust the welcome mat before walking back inside. The quiet hits me like a tsunami.

Lola’s sprawled out on the living room rug. She doesn’t lift her giant head but her eyes find me as I walk in. They say, You good? Her tail thumps against the floor once, twice.

I walk down the hallway to make sure the kids’ bedroom doors are closed. They’re not. Sofie left her twinkle lights on. I turn them off and take a water glass she left on her nightstand. It smells like vanilla in there.

Greyson’s room smells like a combination of soccer cleats and dog. Winston sleeps in my son’s bed when he stays with me. I’d asked him to make his bed before he left and I can’t tell if it slipped his mind or if this is what he thinks a made bed looks like. I re-make his bed and pick up a protein bar wrapper off his dresser.

After throwing out the wrapper and putting Sofie’s glass in the dishwasher, I just stand there in the kitchen like my brain is buffering. The neighbor’s dog barks. A clock ticks. The silence is deafening.

I’ve got to get out of here.

I don’t know where I’m going when I drive out of my neighborhood, but I end up at Tap and Bottle. The bartender knows me there. He tells me about this new IPA they just got in and asks me if I want to try a taste. I tell him I trust his judgment and order a pint.

The two women next to me are in deep conversation. They’re having these pre-mixed cocktails T&B has on tap. I offer a polite nod and turn to the golf tournament on the TV. I don’t watch golf but that’s what’s on. The bartender asks me what I think of the beer.

“I like it,” I say.

He asks me if my book is out yet and I tell him pretty soon.

“Are you a writer?” one of the women asks me. They’re both looking at me now.

“A bad one,” I say, and that gets a laugh. We chat for a while about books and then one of them asks where she can find me, presumably to buy my book when it comes out. She doesn’t have Substack so I give her my Instagram and then they leave.

The bartender tells me I need to work on my game. I tell him to fuck off. He laughs and asks if I want another pint. I do.

Later, when I get back home, the house is as quiet as ever. I feed the dogs and let them out. I open the fridge but nothing looks appetizing. Plus, the kids cleaned me out.

I put on a Tom Waits record, Live from Austin, recorded in 1978. I sit on the couch and open my Dominoes app. Do I want the garlic bites? They’re only $2.99.

I get a text—it’s Sofie.

I think I left my charger at your house, lol

A smile breaks on my face. I walk down the hall to her bedroom. Yep, it’s right there on her nightstand.

I text back: I’ll bring it right over.

Ellipses appear on the bottom left of my screen, then disappear.

Then, ❤️.