Valerie explains to me that they’re drawing the mural about dinosaurs and flowers. Valerie and I are in charge of the ‘herbob-dinos’ because they are nice, she tells me.

“That’s the name she uses for the herbivores, which are nice and cuter,” Claire says.

I don’t want to brag, but I know my dinosaurs pretty well. But when I try to draw a triceratops, Valerie tells me I don’t know what I’m doing. Then, she makes Claire show me a picture of what they look like so I can make them right.

“I’m drawing cartoons?” I try not to complain.

“This is a mural for children, not for the National Geographic magazine.”

Instead of trying to impress Lucas with my hardcore abilities to draw real looking dinosaurs, I draw the cutest dinos I can create for Valerie and surprisingly; she adores them.

A couple of hours later, Lucas says, “I’m hungry.”

“Daddy cooks us dinner,” Valerie says, giving me her best, ‘I dare you to say no’ glare.

I smile and imagine how a little version of Claire would be. She’ll be sassier and spunkier than Ms. Valerie. She’d have me wrapped around her little finger, and we could spend hours drawing her favorite animals.

What if we have a boy first?

He’d adore his mama. And suddenly I’m back in a place where I pretend I have this perfect relationship with Claire.

The one I describe to my family, where we talk every night before she falls asleep, and she calls me in the morning just as she’s about to go to work to wake me up. I visit her every other weekend. When actually, I just drive to the mountains—to a cabin I bought—where depending on the season, either I fish or ski.

It’s not that I’m a pathetic man trying to live some stupid fantasy. It’s more like I try to keep my mother away from setting me up with a bunch of women who aren’t Claire.

See? It’s the eternal state of denial. The only way to fix it is by making it real. If only…

“Let’s see what is in the fridge,” I suggest.

“You can go,” Claire says. “We can order something.”

I check her refrigerator, which is almost empty, then go to my house pick some pasta, ingredients to make marinara sauce, and ground meat.

“Why are you back?” Claire asks when she opens the door.

“Your fridge is empty,” I complain and show her the grocery bag I’m carrying.

“Reusable bags,” she says. “I’m surprised.”