I Would, Wouldn't You?

Chapter One

Day One

Henry

The children hunkered over the table in the dining room. Elbows to the wood, cellphones in hands. The tap of fingers against keypads and the whoosh and whistle of apps lifted into the air and cut through the murmur of the kitchen television; its hum like the rise and fall of a lullaby in the background.

Henry squeezed into the gap between Alison and Stevie, and placed the pasta bake down in the middle of the table. The girls leant to either side, making space for him, but their gazes clung to their phones. On the opposite side of the table, Jason glanced up at the pyrex dish for half a second. Then—chime. And once more, he smirked down at the screen.

Henry slung the oven gloves over the back of his chair, the one nearest the kitchen. He sat down and looked to each of his children in turn. Nothing. "Okay, I know it's not exactly fine dining, but a little bit of appreciation would be nice."

"Sorry," Alison said. She offered him a small smile as she placed her phone down next to her glass of water. Stevie and Jason muttered what might have been apologies too, but they had yet to look up from their screens.

Henry took the serving spoon and helped himself to a scoop before he passed it on to Alison. Steam rolled off the penne pasta and molten cheese, and the aroma of sweet garlic melded with the richness of tomatoes spiralled up into the air.

Alison nudged Stevie. Stevie pocketed her phone and then took the serving spoon. She looked to Henry. "Is this vegetarian cheese?"

"No," Henry said, and he paused, fork halfway to his mouth, "but the meat isn't exactly vegetarian either."

Stevie shook her head to herself and gave a terse sigh.

"I didn't know you were back to being vegetarian," Henry said. How was he meant to keep up? It was easier to track terrorist cells than to follow the various dietary requirements of his eldest daughter.

"Nevermind." Stevie filled her plate and then left the spoon in the dish for Jason.

Jason snatched it up, dumped a scoopful on his plate and then paused. Spoon poised over the dish, he looked to Henry. "Is Mom coming back?"

"Eventually," Henry said. And he chased a piece of penne around the plate.

Jason rolled his eyes. "I meant, is she coming back for dinner?"

"Not tonight."

Jason scraped out the rest of the pasta bake. When Henry shot him a look, he gave a sharp shrug. "What? I'm hungry."

Henry shook his head to himself. Never underestimate the appetite of a teenage boy.

He took a swig of red wine; the bitterness of tannin cut through the sweetness of the tomato sauce on his tongue. The glass clinked as he set it back down on the table, and Alison's gaze darted to her phone. Henry paused. Eyes wide, he stared at his daughter. Okay, social media might be an obsession, but at what point did it get Pavlovian?

"So," he said, "seeing as Mom's not here, it gives us a chance to talk about her birthday—"

Stevie's eyes lit up, a kind of mischievous glint. "The big 5-0." And she made a gesture like a shooting star exploding in front of her.

Henry swallowed. "I wouldn't remind her of that if you want to reach the big 2-4." He mimicked her action. Then he set his fork down against the edge of his plate and folded his hands beneath his chin. "She's given me very specific instructions. No balloons, no streamers, no silly string, no mention of the numbers 'five' or 'zero', no surprises of any kind, no—"