Living together alone.

It's 11pm, the two smaller ones are in bed. Not asleep. the two bigger ones are in their bedrooms, on their respective computers. Alone. It's lonely for both of us I guess, though I know that he enjoys the solitude more than I do. We've got the skill of living together and yet not being in each others lives down to an art.

I knock on his door, wait for an answer. He replies and I open the door just enough to let my voice, but not my person, through. The kids want to say goodnight, I tell him. OK he says, and gets up. He passes me in the hall but their is no exchange, no eye contact, no acknowledgement. We are just two people in the hall, saying good night to the two kids who make our connection permanent. When he says goodnight, he is happy, smiling and warm. The kids laugh and giggle and hug him. I look on awkwardly remembering when the hugs were for me. Women have such long memories. I can't help it. The memories are like physical stamps on my being. When he stands up again, he goes quiet, almost like he's shutting down. Again no eye contact. No goodnight. I almost call him back, wanting to say that tomorrow he can have the car, but I stop myself. If he wants it, he's going to have to work for it. He can talk to me, if he wants it. Otherwise, I'll take it and assume that he's got his day sorted, but really knowing that he hasn't.

I snap out of my thoughts and put him aside. I focus on the kids. It's always about the kids for me, absolutely always. I do my own goodnight routine and switch off the lights, check the aircon settings. 20 degrees C, swing on, fan on full. It's stay that way til midnight when I will check again, set the timer to 4 hours, turn the ceiling fan on and the aircon fan down low. By the time I get out of their room and into the loungeroom, all is silent and I could swear it's just me and the kids. That's how it is most nights.

Just me and the kids.