Chapter 3 - Reality Hits
By 11:00 AM, Derek was at his absolute breaking point.
He had missed his morning preparation for the corporate golf event. His boss, Greg, had called him twice. The first time, Derek had tried to sound professional while holding a crying Owen against his shoulder:
"Hey, Greg! Yes, I’m... I’m just reviewing the client files..."
WAAAAAAAH! WAAAAAAAH!
"Derek? What is that noise?" Greg asked sharply over the line. "Are you at home?"
"Uh, yes, Greg. My wife... she had an emergency. I’m handling the twins for an hour—"
"An hour? Derek, the regional vice president is flying in for this lunch. You’re supposed to present the quarterly acquisition pitch at 12:30. Is your wife coming back or not?"
Derek wiped a streak of sweat from his forehead. "She’ll... she’ll be back shortly. I’ll make it."
He hung up and called me six times in a row. When I didn't answer, he called his mother, Sandra.
"Mom!" Derek yelled into the receiver the moment she picked up. "You need to come over right now! Rachel has completely lost her mind! She abandoned me with the boys!"
Sandra, coughing softly on the other end of the line, spoke with a raspy but firm voice. "Derek? What are you talking about? Rachel didn't abandon anyone. Her arm is broken in a heavy cast!"
"She left the house, Mom! She took a bag and left! I have a golf meeting with clients in an hour and I can't even get out of my sweatpants! Eli pooped everywhere and Owen won't stop crying!"
There was a long silence on the line. Then Sandra let out a bitter laugh.
"Derek... did you really tell her that 'moms don't get sick days' when she asked you for help with a fractured radius?"
Derek stiffened. "I... I was stressed! I work sixty hours a week to support this house!"
"She fell down a flight of stairs carrying your son, Derek!" Sandra’s tone turned icy. "She twisted her body to take the impact so Eli wouldn't suffer a brain injury! And when she begged you to help her for six weeks, you brushed her off like a maid asking for a raise!"
"Mom, I am sick!" Sandra continued fiercely. "I have a fever of 102. I cannot bring virus germs into a house with five-month-old infants. You are their father. Figure it out."
Click.
Derek stared at his phone in disbelief. His own mother had hung up on him.
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He looked around the living room. It looked like a bomb had gone off. Burp cloths were scattered across the rug. Used wipes filled the trash can to overflowing. Unwashed bottles sat in the sink. Eli was crying because he was overdue for his 9:30 AM nap and was hyper-overtired. Owen was crying because Eli was crying.
Derek sat down on the hardwood floor, buried his face in his hands, and began to sweat profusely. For the first time in five months, the illusion had been shattered. Staying home wasn't a relaxing retreat. It was an relentless, high-stakes marathon with no breaks, no lunch hours, and no quiet office desk.
