***
It was a dilemma. I hated the idea ofputting work before spending time with my kids. But God, we needed that money,and when I thought of it that way, working suddenly seemed like Iwasputting them first.
Not wanting to ask Tessto work on a holiday, I called my mother on the way home, hoping she’d be ableto take the kids.
“Jonathan!” sheexclaimed into the phone. “How are you?!” My mother always tended to yell whentalking on the phone. I think somewhere in her mind, she thought that shoutinghelped maintain a good frequency or something.
“Hey Mom,” I sighed,gripping the steering wheel. “I’m okay. How’s Dad?”
“He’s great, honey!Just watching TV, you know your father!”
“Mom, please,” Igroaned, rolling my eyes toward the busy highway. “Stop yelling at me.”
“What, Jonathan? Ican’t hear you.”
I sighed, pressing theback of my head into the seat. “Isaid,stop yelling!”
“Christ, Jonathan;there’s no need to yell,” my father grumbled.
Apparently, I was onspeakerphone.
“Sorry,” I muttered,biting back a chuckle.
“How are thosegrandbabies of mine?” Dad asked. “When are you bringing them around to seetheir Pop-pop? Do they miss me?”
A shred of guilt wormedits way into my heart, and it ached. Before Beth’s passing, we had made sure tovisit my parents once a week, sometimes twice. But ever since I found myselfalone, my focus hadn’t exactly been on maintaining my relationship with myfamily, let alone the girls’ relationship with them. Apart from having my mombabysit until recently, I seldom saw my parents, and I knew I only saw Jeffbecause I worked at his club.
Andhow is that going to change once you find another job?
God,I really am a selfish man.
“Ofcoursethey miss you, Dad,” I muttered, dusting a hand over my hair.
“How are things with thenew babysitter going, honey?!” Mom shouted, and I winced at the abrupt sound.“She’s been with you for a couple weeks now, right?!”
“Yeah. Things aregood,” I admitted, still having a difficult time believing it myself. “Reallygood, actually. She’s great. The girls love her.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Itis.”
The drive home wasquick, and as I pulled into the apartment’s parkinglot,I hastened the conversation. “I do actually have a favor to ask, though.”
“Oh, of course, honey!What’s up?”
“Jeff is throwing aparty at the club for the Fourth—”
“He mentioned that!Isn’t it wonderful?!”
“Yeah, it’s awesome,” Inodded, hoping my hearing would still be intact by the end of the call. “Heasked me to work that night, but I need someone to watch the kids. I don’t wantto ask Tess to work on her day off, so could—”
Mom squealed joyfully.“Jonathan, you don’t even have to ask! Of course, we’d love to watch thegirls!”
“I just don’t want toimpose.” I hated how apologetic I sounded. Why was it so difficult for me toask for help? It was difficult enough to accept when it was handed to me, butasking? That was another hit to mypride, and it was torture.
Dad scoffed noisily.“Jonathan, it’s never an imposition to spend time with our grandchildren,orourownkids, if you wanted to come by earlier in the day. You know that.”
I pulled in a sigh of relief.“Okay. Thank you.”
