At dinner that night Drew explained that there would be a sum of money from the hospital. Accidental death, is what they called it. No one wanted a lawsuit, Drew told me—which I’m sure wasn’t true. I’m sure there were lawyers living in the walls who pined with their pants down for any lawsuit, anywhere, ever. How much money would it take, the hospital apparently asked Drew. How much do you have, he answered. They named a number and he named a number, and those two numbers entered the sunless, dank bodies of a team of lawyers. Out came the shiny, fresh-smelling settlement, more than enough to keep the two young boys in bright new helmets long into their dotage. Mouth guards, helmets, visors, Doritos, and game consoles: a full, rich, satisfying life on this planet.
This was good, right? I asked. Of course it was no consolation whatsoever, and how could it be, but maybe having less financial pressure around the raising of the boys would help him somewhat, or help ensure a good life for the boys?
Drew shook his head. There was no financial pressure to begin with, he said. They were fine. The money didn’t really mean anything. But it was connected to an idea he had. A kind of plan. And it involved me. He looked at me pretty carefully. It was something he wanted to run by me.
Drew would turn these funds over to me. Along with the two boys. That’s what he wanted to talk about. There would be plenty of money to take care of them, to pay for clothing, food, and school. He didn’t know what to do with them, what to say to them. He couldn’t stand the thought of letting them go, and he couldn’t stand the thought of keeping them. He put his head in his hands and I felt that it would not be a good idea to touch him right now.
There was no use pretending I hadn’t seen this coming. He was such a hulking, sad figure. He thought his life would be easier without those two weird sweethearts running around bopping each other over the head.
“Just for a little while,” he said.
When I called my husband, he met the request with silence. It was one of the ways he responded to things. A long, thoughtful silence. Sometimes he’d leave the room. Days could go by. The conversation wasn’t over, you knew. It had just been suspended, time had stopped, and when he spoke again the world would start back up and life would continue. I admired this thoughtfulness, except when it reared up in situations that did not warrant long, pensive silences, like at restaurants when he was asked what he would like to order. Or now.
“Both children, both boys?” he asked, finally.
“Both of them.”
“For how long?”
“It wasn’t discussed.”
“Which means forever.”
“I don’t think so.”
“But you didn’t ask.”
“You’re not here. You don’t understand.”
“I could say the exact same thing about you.”
“Okay, no one is anywhere. No one understands. No one, no one, no one. Is your answer no?” I asked him.
“Why would you say that? That’s not even remotely fair.”
“Oh I guess it just reflects the joy and openness and enthusiasm you’re showing about the idea.”
I Skyped with the girls. They’d colored their hair. They were so lovely, so grown-up, so gone from me in every way. I told them what was going on, the idea that had come up. The boys might come back with me, live with us for a while. Go to school. Be their little brothers.
“Bring them here, bring them here!” they shrieked. “We will, like, totally put their diapers on!”
“They don’t wear diapers anymore. They are pretty grown-up for their age.”
They wanted this, they wanted this, they were sure that it would be fantastic. I couldn’t help thinking that they thought they’d be getting a couple of pets. For a little while, maybe, or for certain hours of the day, that might almost be true. To a small degree. It was just those other hours, when the pet was a person, and the person needed things, and the person wanted things, and the person couldn’t sleep, or the person was sad no matter what, just sad as a long-term unfixable way to be. That was what concerned me. The larger side effects of adding a human being to a situation. Any human being, of any age, blood relative or not.
“Talk to your father,” I told them. “If this is something you want, and if you understand what this really means, really, without assuming that this will all be fun, and knowing that I am going to need a lot of help from both of you. Talk to your father.”
“Dad?” They laughed. “Dad has never said no to us ever once in all of our lives. Has he?” They looked at each other in genuine puzzlement. Soon they were blowing kisses and begging to talk to the boys, or to just see them. But the boys, I said, were busy. They couldn’t come to the phone right now. Maybe next time.
I started to show up in Drew’s room before I went to bed. He’d pretend to be asleep, but he’d make the assignment easy for me, sometimes releasing himself from his underwear. Usually he was, if not hard, swollen enough for me to begin. It was like I was just taking over a craft project he’d already started. I sat at the edge of the bed and it never took very long. He wilted fast in my hand afterward. I wiped my hand on the sheet. Then I left. Cleanup wasn’t part of the deal. That was his problem. He could pay his own sister for that, or some street whore, for all I cared.
In the morning there’d be money, and I’d tuck it into my bag. Soon my flight had been paid for and the missed days of work felt less impactful. I was getting into zero-sum territory, financially, and I had much more free time.
At the bus stop one morning, I mentioned to the boys that their dad would be bringing home their favorite pizza for dinner. The deep-dish kind, and, who knows, maybe there would be a surprise for dessert. This I didn’t know, but I’d be going shopping, so I could take care of it.
“Our dad doesn’t want us,” said the big one.
“Oh that’s not true.”
“It’s okay. He told us that.” They both nodded up at me, as if they’d discussed this together and decided that it was fine.
“No, he did not. You are a big fibber.” I smacked him lightly on his helmet.
“I know. But someone at school said that to us when we said we were leaving.”
“Your dad loves you. My gosh. Are you kidding me?”
“We know.”
The boys were holding hands.
“He really loves you,” I went on. “And right now your dad and I think it might be better for you to come live with me, and your uncle and your cousins.”
“Will our mom be there?” asked the little one.
“No, honey, she won’t.”
“Someone at the funeral tried to tell me where she is, but it was hard to picture.”
“I know. I can’t picture it either.”
“Does it have a name?”
“It might. Should we make up a name for it?”
He made a face. “I don’t like to make up things. I’m not a baby.”
“Okay.”
“I want to know the real name.”
I found myself telling them that I would try to find out. I would look into it. I promised that I would do my best but that it might be very difficult.
“There is no real name,” the big one told the little one. “She’s gone forever.” And the little one whispered that he knew that, he wasn’t stupid.
I kissed them both and they ran off to the bus, and when they got on, they rushed to the back and pressed their faces against the glass, waving at me.
When I thought about how I was spending my time, I realized that I was masturbating two people. Myself and Drew. For the sheer sake of efficiency, just following the logic, I could reduce this workload by 100 percent, saving time and effort, without forfeiting our mutual outcomes, simply by having intercourse with Drew. Suddenly I wouldn’t have to masturbate anybody. I’d go from masturbating two separate people to masturbating nobody. A drastic reduction. But, in theory anyway, the amount of rendered orgasms would be the same, one for each of us, one per day. I was proud of this revelation but the shame was that I had no one to share it with. For some reason I thought of Sarah. This would have been something I could have shared with her. She of all people would have appreciated how efficient I was being. I would no longer have to masturbate her husband. I would no longer have to masturbate myself. It seemed like a clear win.