“How soon until my sisters get here, Mommy?” Asks the kid.
Holy shit. Twelve days. I can’t help but feel a surge of joy (and a drop of panic) at this news. I can’t wait. It has been one year and six months since I have seen them last. And in twelve days, they will be here. Here. For three whole weeks! This is the longest stretch I have had them since the divorce.
And every time I see them, it is wonderful, absolutely, but also the most emotionally explosive thing I have ever had to deal with. Every time they come back to me, we have to relearn each other, for we have again become relative strangers while we passed the years apart.And we do, but it takes time, and its tenuous. And then I have to leave them all over again. Every time. Without a promise of when we will meet again. Sometimes I wonder if it does more damage than good. My heart is harder, but they, they are young and fragile. And the voice inside my head constantly plagues me with doubts and worries. You know the one. It never, ever shuts up.
But what if he doesn’t send them? It asks.
Shut up little voice. I say. He already told them they were coming. Even he is not that cruel.
“…” Says the little voice.
Shut up, little voice. I repeat. Like a mantra.
What if they hate me this time? What if they hate The Kid?
They won’t. I say, trying to sound sure. Also: Shut up.
…Hey! What if he doesn’t pick them up? The voice ponders.
Has anyone out there invented a time accelerator yet?