The Hole in the Middle by Kate Hilton

associated with the institution: fidelity, for most, but also a whole host of more mundane acts that fall into the category of making an effort, like contributing to the family income, and treating each other with respect, and being nice to your husband’s loathsome business partner. But all of your essential insecurities and desires eventually surface over time, like landmines in the desert.
    I believe in marriage. I believe that two good people can be happy together for a lifetime. It’s the only thing even close to a religion that I have, and I cling to it with almost messianic zeal. But it is a belief system that makes unreasonable demands on its adherents, all of us sacrificing to the bone for a reward that may or may not come at the end ofour days, and all of us steadfastly refusing to see the mounting evidence that long-term happy marriages, if they exist at all, are pretty hard to come by. We all want to think that miracles are possible. Otherwise, marriage is just a lot of hard work.
    The front door opens and snaps me out of my reverie. It’s Jamie, home from school with the thirteen-year-old neighbor who picks him up from aftercare every day. I pay her extra to give him a snack and stay with him until I get home. By now she’s probably saved enough to pay for her college tuition.
    â€œMommy!” Jamie lights up to find me here, races over, and throws himself into my arms with a force that nearly bowls me over.
    â€œHi, sweetie,” I say, and I kiss his curly head and know that this is the best moment I’ve had all day.
    â€œI have a letter for you, Mommy,” he says, opening his backpack and presenting me with an envelope. I open it, and find a stern missive from Kelly Robinson, the Parent Council chair, advising me in bold type that I’m shirking my duty to provide the recommended number of volunteer hours at the school. Watkins Elementary is a
community school
, where
parent engagement
is a
critical resource
to provide children with the
strongest possible education in the early years
, Kelly writes, and according to her records, I haven’t volunteered for
a single event all year
. Ignoring her request to contact her
at my earliest convenience
, I crumple the note and throw it in the garbage.
    â€œWhat do you want for dinner, baby?” I ask.
    He thinks for a bit. “Can we order pizza?” he asks.
    I can see that he doesn’t really think I’ll say yes, but I want him to believe in miracles for a little longer, so I say, “Sure.”
    â€œAwesome!” He punches his fist in the air, an expression of wonderment on his face.
    â€œWhere did you learn that?” I ask, miming his fist pump.
    â€œDad does it when we watch the hockey game,” he says, and I remind myself that Jesse is a great father while I pick up the phone and call for dinner.
    â€œHow was school today?” I ask.
    â€œOK,” he says. “We did science. Oscar had a time-out.”
    â€œHow come?”
    â€œMrs. Carron told him to take turns with Lily and he said no.”
    It strikes me, not for the first time, how few of the qualities that we consider necessary for survival—sharing, putting the interests of others ahead of your own, controlling your emotions—are innate. Our parents try, our teachers try, and we, as adults, try to reinforce these learned behaviors in ourselves, but fundamentally, we would rather throw our crayons on the floor than share them. No wonder marriage is so hard.
    Jamie and I hang out at the breakfast bar, waiting for our pizza. He has some juice and I have some wine (because it’s been a long day, and it’s true that wine has a lot of calories, but you really have to do the analysis of whether it’s more important to be skinny or to be sane, and anyway, it’s sensible to hold something in reserve for your New Year’s resolution), and he draws me a picture of Anakin Skywalker battling an army of