“Hurry up,” I urged. “You need to finish your broccoli so that we can play a game with Tony.”
Bug’s eyes grew wide and he gobbled up the last piece of broccoli on his plate. Little green leaves dangled out of the side of his mouth and a smear of ranch dressing kissed his bottom lip. “Done!” he mumbled with his mouth full.
“Clear your plates so we can set up the game,” I instructed. Bean and Bug took their plates into the kitchen. I heard their forks scraping and then the clang clang of plastic dishes dropping into the deep-set sink. They skated back to me, sliding their socks along the smooth tile, and clambered into their chairs.
I had my laptop set up on the opposite side of the table, and the game board set in front of me. I started to shuffle the cards while Bean put the player pieces into the little plastic stands. Bean and Bug started to argue over who would go first. And then Bean went quiet.
“Tony should go first because he misses being home,” she said in her small voice. “Is that a good idea, Mama?”
I smiled at her. “That’s a very good idea.”
And so it was settled. Bean and Bug anxiously watched the Skype account, waiting for Tony’s profile to change from “offline” to “online.” Finally, I sent a text message: “We’re ready, where are you?”
The computer started to ring, and I clicked on the “answer” button. “It’s Tony! It’s Tony!” Bug chanted, bouncing up and down.
As we played the game, Bug noticed Tony eating. ”What are you eating?” he asked. When Tony told him that he was eating a hamburger because he had rushed home from work to be able to play with us, Bug gave me a sideways glance, pursed his lips together and said, “We had chicken and broccoli.”
We played a few more rounds of the game; I caught Tony’s eye when Bean and Bug were busy counting game pieces. He smiled; the first genuine smile for more than a week. It has been nearly two weeks since Tony has been home. We’re in the countdown now; in two days, he’ll finally be home again, but we only have him for two days. It has been a lonely, difficult adjustment. At each interval, the schedule worsens. “Better?” I asked. “Much better,” he responded.
We weren’t ready to hang up after the game, so I set the computer on the table, where Tony could watch the goings on in the living room. Bean entertained him while I wrestled Bug into the shower, and vice versa. At story time, I carried the laptop into Bug’s room, so Tony could sit with us while I read Bug’s stories. I carried the laptop to Bean’s room so that Bean could read to Tony.
And then the evening routine was done. I carried the computer into the kitchen so Tony could keep me company while I cleaned up; into the bathroom, so Tony could keep me company while I brushed my teeth, and then, finally, I set my computer on Tony’s side of the bed, got out my book, and we read together in bed.
Occasionally, we would stop reading and turn to look at each other, through the computer. After a while, I could feel my eyelids getting heavy. I set down my book and just watched him reading next to me, where he belongs. I got up, turned off the bedroom light, slipped back into bed, and tried to keep my eyes open as long as I could.
Eventually, I heard him whisper, “Good night, baby.” I heard the disconnect noise “bong” and closed the lid to my computer. Alone once more.
