Just Another Missing Person

by Gillian McAllister

But, the thing is, she wouldn’t love anything else. Not like she loves this. And nobody can have a balanced relationship with something they love.

And nothing tops Genevieve. That is what motherhood is.

She can hear the sea beyond the windows. The tide’s out. It ruffles like a taffeta dress. In and out, in and out, a ballroom dancer of an ocean.

Nobody takes risks with things that are too precious to them.

But, nevertheless, we found, in that old-fashioned lift with its accordion doors, that we had that rarest of things: chemistry. I don’t mean flirtation—don’t panic—I just mean that spiced banter that propels a marriage forward, that makes you laugh in the middle of arguments, that makes you tolerate long hours and sleepless nights and snoring, and, too, the things you thought would never happen.

Parenthood is beautiful, but hard, too. It’s tough to exist in the world when there is someone going about their business who you would die for.