Here I Am by Jonathan Safran Foer(39)

He checked his mailbox every day. Benjy was the only one who ever wrote: “World peace”; “Snow day”; “Bigger TV.”

So much about parenting alone was difficult: the logistics of getting three kids ready for school with only two hands, the Heathrow controltower volume of transportation to coordinate, having to multitask the multitasking. But most challenging was finding time to talk intimately with the kids. They were always together, there was always commotion, something always needed to get done, and there was no one with whom to share the load. So when one-on-one situations arose, he felt both a need to make use of them (however unnatural it might be at the time) and a concentrated dose of the old fear of saying too much or too little.

One night a few weeks after the creation of the postal system, Sam was reading to Benjy before bed, and Max and Jacob found themselves peeing into the same toilet.

“Don’t cross the streams, Ray.”

“Huh?”

“From Ghostbusters.”

“I know that’s a movie, but I’ve never seen it.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“But I remember watching with—”

“I haven’t seen it.”

“OK. Well, there’s a great scene in which they fire their proton-whatevers for the first time, and Egon says, ‘Don’t cross the streams, Ray,’ because it would result in some sort of apocalyptic moment, and ever since, I’ve always thought about it when peeing in the same toilet with someone. But we both seem to be finished, so now it really makes no sense.”

“Whatever.”

“I noticed you haven’t put anything in my mailbox.”

“Yeah. I will.”

“It’s not an assignment. I just thought it might be a helpful way to get some things off your chest.”

“OK.”

“Everyone holds things in. Your brothers do. I do. Mom does. But it can make life really difficult.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I meant for you. I’ve spent my life making huge efforts to protect myself from the things I most fear, and in the end it wouldn’t be right to say that there was nothing to fear, but maybe the realization of my worst fears wouldn’t have been so bad. Maybe all of my efforts were worse. I remember the night I left for the airport. I kissed you guys like it was any other trip, and said something like ‘See you in a week or two.’ As I was getting ready to go, Mom asked me what I was waiting for. She said it was a big deal so I must be feeling big things, and you guys must be, too.”

“But you didn’t come back and say anything else.”

“I was too afraid.”

“What were you afraid of?”

“There was nothing to be afraid of. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“I know there was nothing actually to be afraid of. But what were you afraid of?”

“Making it real?”

“Going?”

“No. What we had. What we have.”

Julia tucked her toothbrush deep in her cheek and brought her palms to the sink. Jacob spit, and said, “I’m failing my family just like my father failed us.”

“You’re not,” she said. “But it’s not enough to avoid his mistakes.”

“What?”

She removed the brush and said, “You’re not. But it’s not enough to avoid his mistakes.”

“You’re a great mom.”

“What made you say that?”

“I was thinking about how my mom was a great mom.”

She closed the vanity, paused, as if considering whether to speak, then spoke: “You aren’t happy.”

“What made you say that?”

“It’s the truth. You seem happy. Maybe you even think you’re happy. But you aren’t.”

“You think I’m depressed?”

“No. I think you put enormous emphasis on happiness—your own and others’—and find unhappiness so threatening that you would rather go down with the ship than acknowledge a leak.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“And yes, I think you’re depressed.”

“It’s probably just mono.”

“You’re tired of writing a TV show that isn’t yours, and that everyone loves but you.”

“Not everyone loves it.”

“Well, you definitely don’t.”

“I like it.”

“And you hate only liking what you do.”

“I don’t know.”

“But you do know,” she said. “You know there’s something inside of you—a book, or show, or movie, whatever—and if it could only be released, all of the sacrifices you feel you’ve made wouldn’t feel like sacrifices anymore.”

“I don’t feel that I’ve had to make—”

“See how you changed the grammar? I said, the sacrifices you feel you’ve made. You said, had to make. See the difference?”

“Jesus, you should really get some accreditation and a couch.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“I know.”

“And you’re tired of pretending to be happily married—”