Chapter 32
CHAPTER 32: THE LUXURY OF BOREDOM
There was a Saturday in late July where nothing was planned.
No therapy. No soccer practice. No errands.
In the past, idle time was a breeding ground for anxiety. Empty time meant time for Diane to invent a crisis, or for Michael to pace the floors, irritable and looking for a flaw to fix.
At 1:00 p.m., the house was entirely silent.
Emma was lying on the sofa, a book resting open on her chest. She was fast asleep.
Michael was sitting on the floor in the sunroom, leaning back against the wall, throwing a tennis ball up in the air and catching it. Barnaby watched the ball with lazy interest, too hot to chase it.
Oliver was sprawled out on his stomach on the cool hardwood floor, coloring an elaborate, messy picture of a spaceship.
The clock ticked. The air conditioner hummed.
Michael caught the tennis ball. He looked at his sleeping wife. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, peaceful rhythm. The lines of tension that used to bracket her mouth were completely gone.
He looked at his son, kicking his feet lazily in the air as he switched from a blue crayon to a red one.
Michael closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.
He finally understood the greatest privilege in the world.
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It wasn't a bank account. It wasn't a corner office.
It was the luxury of absolute, unapologetic boredom in a house where everyone felt entirely safe.
