I got my free weekend. The one I was waiting for, with nothing to do but sit on the patio and watch the kids ride trikes and throw balls.
The only problem is, Ed and Myles are missing. They’re at scout camp for the weekend. The three of us that are left are having a pretty good time — we made a kick-ass pasta sauce tonight out of cherry tomatoes and fresh mozzarella, and they ate it right up. (Family dinners are going to be a very good thing.)
But today when I got out of the shower and slipped on my wedding ring, I felt the cool metal against my finger and realized something. I’m never happier than when we’re all together. Which is only on weekends. Which means I’m feeling like someone cut off that finger.
But it also makes me realize that I’m lucky as hell. It’s been nine years and counting, and the person I most want to be with at the end of the day, at the beginning of the weekend, is still Ed. And after all this time, after all this stress, if that’s still true, then there’s nothing that will ever change it.