Free A Necessary End by Holly Brown Page A

excited,” I say. It feels like Adrienne should be part of this conversation.
    The woman stands up and smiles at Leah, clearly assuming her to be my wife. I would think she’d have some reaction to our age difference, perhaps disapproval, but she’s apparently too focused on the fantasy. Two loving parents and a baby on the way. “You’re beautiful,” she tells Leah. “You glow.”
    â€œMy husband says the same thing.”
    What the hell? It’s one thing to indulge the woman’s fantasy, another to— There’s no way I can tell Adrienne about this.
    â€œCongratulations,” the woman says, moving away, but reluctantly, like she wants to bathe in our light awhile longer. In Leah’s glow.
    I stalk out of the store.
    â€œWhat?” Leah says defensively, once we’re both out on the sidewalk. People stream by, mildly interested in our sideshow. What do they take us for? Father and daughter? Husband and wife? Man and mistress?
    â€œYou lied, that’s what.” I probably shouldn’t be calling her out. I promised Adrienne I’d be on my best behavior.
    Another text. Christ. Adrienne and her impeccable timing.
    â€œShort leash, huh?” Leah ribs me. I guess she’s thinking it’s a way to lighten the mood, but I glower at her. I’m being too real with her. I’m showing her who I actually am.
    But I’ve got this feeling she likes that. She likes me more than she likes Adrienne, and we all know it, including Adrienne. That’s why all the texts.
    â€œWhy did you do that?” I ask. “In the store.” Maybe I can get Leah to be real, too.
    â€œDon’t you ever like to pretend?” She shrugs. “It’s not like it hurt anybody.”
    â€œBut . . .” Why pretend that ? Why my wife?
    â€œWe’re friends, right?” she says.
    I nod.
    â€œSo you need to know something about me. Sometimes I do things and I don’t know why. And I’m okay with that.”
    â€œIt’s called being nineteen.”
    I can tell she doesn’t like that answer. I can hardly blame her. No one likes being reduced to their age. I know I don’t like when people think the things I do are middle-aged clichés. Like when they assume I’m a married guy sleeping with a young girl. I’ve gotten a few of those looks today, too.
    â€œFriends,” I say. “That’s a good idea.”
    â€œDidn’t you say you were going to take me to Lands End?” She tosses her hair back and smiles. “I love that name.”

CHAPTER 9
    Adrienne
    T he kids have spring fever. By this time in the year, they’ve got the routines down; they know how to work in small groups. But today, they keep chattering loudly, squawking and squabbling. I’m presiding over a barnyard.
    I flick the light switch. “Lights off, head down. I’m in no mood for this.” I believe in transparency with the kids. They need to know I’m a person, too.
    I hear some of the bossier kids repeating after me: “Mrs. T’s in no mood.”
    â€œI’m not in the mood to be repeated either. I can speak for myself.”
    In the darkness, I glance over at my desk, where my cell phone lies silent and luminescent, my most recent texts unanswered. Where is he? What’s he doing?
    The kids simmer down. I stew.
    Normally, I’m crazy about my kids. All of them, even the little freaks and terrors and attention whores. I love their rampant humanity, how it can be so concentrated and so exterior. Their whole lives are one big game of show-and-tell. They’re still mostly naïveand deeply inquisitive. At the beginning of the year, they need constant direction, and redirection. By April, they’re at their best: more mature and independent and opinionated. They broadcast their emotions shamelessly.
    Each year presents its own challenges in terms of how to merge all the different learning styles and