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“And what is that?” The thing with Palmer is that she doesn’t back down. Now that I started this conversation, she’s going to see it all the way through even if I say I didn’t mean it.
“I just mean that you guys are very different.” I turn away from her because, in truth, she’s kind of scary when she’s like this.
“I’m aware, but do you think I would talk badly about her in front of Adley? Give me a little credit.”
I prop myself up on the counter, taking a pull from my beer. “I didn’t mean intentionally. I meant that maybe you said something to your mom or Harper, and she overheard you. I get it, Theresa can be a little?—”
She signs a million miles a minute, which happens a lot when she’s mad. I’m not even going there. She’s fine. You like her. I’ve dealt with her for the past few months. If you want her to be a part of your life, then I would only encourage Adley to like her, too.
“Okay…I’m sorry.”
You should be. I can’t believe you think I would do that. She points at the picture. I have no idea where this is coming from, but did you try asking her?
“No.”
Why not?
Because I was afraid of what Adley would say. If she doesn’t like Theresa, it’s going to blow up. We’re going to have problems to deal with, and I hate dealing with problems and other people’s emotions.
Before I can even respond, she’s signing again. You’re scared because if she says she doesn’t like her, then you have to examine how strongly you feel about Theresa and whether she’s worth fighting for.
Damn Palmer, I hate it when she’s right, and she always fucking is. The woman has been able to read me like a book since the day we met. Her smug smile says she knows it too.
Listen, Hudson, I get you never thought you’d settle down with someone, but you seem to like her. You’ve kept her around longer than anyone else.
Except for you, I think, but that’s different. We share a daughter.
“We’re just dating,” I fire back.
It’s been a long night, and I’m going home and getting some sleep. I suggest tomorrow morning you have a conversation with your daughter about that. She points at the fridge. Night, night.
She grabs her stuff and walks out the back door. I could follow her, continue this conversation, ask her about Theresa and tell her my worries. But what if it comes out about how I don’t like seeing her and Matt together and then things get weird between us? I don’t even understand it myself. We should both just get some sleep and figure out these problems tomorrow.
Morning comes too fast, and when I finally get Adley ready and at the table, all I can do is stare at the drawing. Palmer is so much better at this than me. This is her realm as a parent, not mine. But I need to man up and ask my three-year-old. Damn, I’m pathetic.
“Hey, Ad?” I ask, pouring a coffee with my back to her.
“Yeah,” she says, and I hear her spoon some cereal from her bowl.
“You know this drawing you did yesterday at school?” I turn and face her, leaning back against the counter.
“Yeah.” Her attention is only on her cereal, scooping out the marshmallows.
“You know you have to eat the entire bowl, not just the marshmallows.”
She doesn’t answer me, continuing to move her spoon around the bowl, scooping up the floating marshmallows.
I sit at the table with her, and my eye catches on the drawing again. “Adley?”
“Uh-huh,” she says with a full mouth.
“The drawing yesterday.”
She glances up and looks back down. “Uh-huh.”
Just bite the bullet, Hudson. You’re the dad here, the authority. Stop thinking about your own hang-ups.
“Is that Theresa with the blonde hair?” I ask.
