WHEN I returned home from work, I discovered moving boxes strewn around the living room. I paused as soon as I closed the door and took a long look around. Many of our household items were scattered and piled among the carnage of cardboard. It was as though everything had been unpacked hurriedly and then abandoned. The house was far too quiet for my comfort.
I moved toward the bedroom with a fair bit of caution and confusion. The door was closed, so I glanced toward Heide’s room. Her door was wide open, and I could sense her presence inside. I couldn’t see her, and I couldn’t hear her, but I knew she was there. And something felt off.
Heide’s bed had been set up, but the tent remained. She’d been having fun camping in her new room, and I hadn’t had the heart to take it down. The flaps of Heide’s tent were zipped shut, and my worry increased when I heard a distinct sniffle from inside. I set my messenger bag down on the floor and knelt at the tent’s entrance. I didn’t want to frighten her, but I couldn’t knock on the nylon material either. I took extra care in speaking with a gentle tone.
“Sweetheart?” I reached for the fastener, but hesitated. “Can I come in?”
“Okay.”
I unzipped the tent carefully, not wanting to alarm her in any way. I moved into the space and settled myself on the floor. When I did, I studied Heide. She was sitting in the back corner of her tent, holding a doll. Her intense focus was on fixing the toy’s hair. She wouldn’t look at her father and this bothered me.
“Where’s Mom?”
“In your room. She’s been in there all day.”
“Yeah?”
“She doesn’t feel good.”
“Headache?”
Heide nodded. She finally looked at me and I registered the longing on her face.
I held out my arms to my daughter. “Come here.”
Heide dropped her doll and scrambled over to my lap. She burrowed up against my chest and wrapped her arms around me.
“Are you all right?” I asked as I began to stroke her hair. There was no more important question to me than this one.
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
“For what?”
“I wanted to help Mom. I wanted to surprise her. I took everything out of the boxes but then I didn’t know what to do with the stuff and now there’s a big mess. I made things worse. I didn’t mean to make them worse.”
I squeezed her. “You know what? Moving is hard work. There’s always a big mess when you take your things from one house and put them into another. The big mess is part of the process. Please don’t worry about it.”
“I know what the things are, but I don’t know where anything goes here.”
I pulled back so Heide could see my smile. “That’s because we haven’t decided yet. Do you want to help me with it?”
Heide nodded.
“Good. First, I’m going to check on Mom. Then I’m going to change clothes and get us some dinner. After we eat, you and I will go through everything you unpacked and find a place for it. I’ll tell Mom to keep resting, and then we can surprise her when everything is put away and looking nice. How does that sound?”
“Good.”
“Mom is going to be so amazed at all the help you gave her today. I promise.”
“Okay.”
“We might have to stay up a little late tonight, but I’m ready to work on it if you are.”
“I’m ready.”
With the matter settled, I tapped Heide on the back and she pulled away from me. I made my way back out of the tent and grabbed my bag.
“Let me spend a few minutes with Mom. All right?”
Heide nodded and smiled. I was relieved to see her happy once more. If only it was that simple with Allison. Why wasn’t it?
I left Heide in her room and opened the door to my bedroom. The room was dark, the blinds were drawn shut and the lights were off. Allison was in bed, asleep. I approached her quietly. Her breathing was deep and even, and she had an eye mask over her eyes.
I glanced at Allison’s bedside table and saw the things she used when she fought a migraine—a glass of water, medicine and a discarded cold compress. She was wearing the same pajamas she’d had on during our argument that morning, but there was a bath towel lying on the floor beside the bed. The matted nature of her hair confirmed she had taken a hot shower prior to her nap.
Allison’s migraines had always been stress induced, and they’d reached epidemic levels during the past six months. I’d even taken her to the emergency room twice when her pain became too excruciating. I hated that I was a contributing factor to her suffering. Neither one of us seemed capable of fixing things. One would try while the other inevitably resisted. It had always been this way between us, but this was different.
The division between us now was as wide as it had ever been, and I was clueless how to find a way back to Allison. I suspected she didn’t want me to bridge the gap. If it was just the two of us, our relationship would have ended a long time ago, perhaps even before we married. Heide had kept us together and kept us trying to find ways to live and love one another, but I was fearful that even our devotion to our daughter’s well-being wasn’t enough. The domino effect was well underway.
Allison was sleeping, and I understood that the best prescription for her migraines was rest. So, I moved through our bedroom in silence, selecting some clothes I would be comfortable in for a long evening of housework. I stepped into the bathroom and changed. Then I left Allison to her sleep.
We would talk later, once she recovered from her migraine and was able to give me her full attention. My focus shifted back to Heide, who had returned to the living room and was busy placing the empty boxes along the wall.
“That’s a great idea,” I told her. “I’ll get started on dinner while you finish putting the boxes together. After we eat, we’ll flatten the boxes and put them in the car for the recycling center.”
“Then we’ll have more room to work,” she chirped.
“Exactly.”
I went in search for the ingredients needed for chicken stir-fry. Having taught the recipe to Allison myself, I knew it well. If Allison woke up, I would make sure to have a plate ready for her, too, although it would take a couple of days for her full appetite to return.
My mother had always been a forward-thinking woman and insisted her children learn how to cook for themselves. As a teenager, I’d been embarrassed by the amount of time I’d spent with her in the kitchen, but now I was grateful. Cooking was relaxing and a good, creative outlet for me. I’d come up with some of my best ideas while prepping a meal. Allison had taken over the duty in our marriage, and in this moment, I realized it was something I’d missed doing.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much food in the house yet, so I grabbed my phone and ordered a pizza. Allison’s headache must have thwarted her plans to go grocery shopping. Perhaps I would talk to her about splitting the meal preparations during the week. Maybe that would lower her stress levels.