No, not now. She sat up and checked the time on the computer screen. Shit and shit…what had she been doing? Twenty minutes before they were all supposed to be out the door, and not a single one of her kids was even out of bed. Lunches, the laundry she didn’t move from the washer to the dryer last night, homework? Had she checked homework last night?

Time hated her—and it was so clearly personal.

Eighteen minutes. An impossibility. A series of miracles would not save them this morning. Everyone would be late, again. Well, everyone except Eric, of course. Eric was already out of the house, showered, dressed, pressed, and cologned. His lunch—the only one he ever packed—would be placed calmly and professionally onto the back seat of his immaculate and always client-ready car.

This, she remembered suddenly, is what had started the fight last night.

“I’m tired. I’m tired of doing everything,” she had finally managed to say, standing at the sink and slamming a cast-iron frying pan into the stainless steel tub hard enough to dent it.

“Just tell me!” Eric said, throwing both his hands over his head. “What the hell do you want me to do?”

“Why do I have to tell you? Look around, Eric. The To Do is all around you. For fuck’s sake, pick anything! Because I can’t manage the kids, the house, the bills, the yard, the every-fucking-thing anymore. My car! My car has not had the oil changed in a year!”

“What?” Startled, he shook his head as if this was the most disturbing thing, the most pressing concern. “Eileen! A year?” His tone was accusing. “You’re lucky it’s still running. You can’t let that go like that.”

She stared at him. A swift and unexpected calm moved over her so fast it made the hair at the back of her neck stand up. She couldn’t make him understand, but she absolutely knew what the next words out of her mouth needed to be.

“Will you please take my car and get the oil changed.” It wasn’t a question. It was a concession. She was telling him what to do. Never mind it solved nothing. Never mind her only thought was the impossibility of him ever understanding. Never mind the hopeless feeling creeping up her spine, squeezing her ribs, holding her breath and her words tight in her chest.

Eric looked relieved. “Yes. Yes, tomorrow I’ll take it to my guy down by the office.” For the briefest of moments, he had looked like he might have wanted to come to her at the sink, maybe kiss her forehead. So happy we resolved all that. See, just tell me.