The Helpers refilled everyone’s glasses.
Star toasted to us.
We all clapped, drank, and class was dismissed.
What a crazy week.
The Helpers moved around the class, collecting empty flutes.
In the front, Star gathered her props.
We stayed back while most of the room filtered out in small knots of perfume and blow job commentary.
Someone came over to talk to Ro about a class refund from last month that she hadn’t received yet.
I took that moment to check my phone.
Scott had grabbed the kids today and taken them to McDonald’s for dinner. It was his half-assed attempt at showing how great of a father he was and how much we supposedly needed him.
Cheap fries and a Happy Meal toy weren’t fatherhood, they were a photo op. He posted to all of his social media as soon as he got there with the kids.
The caption:
“Being a lawyer and father can be hard, but somehow I figure it out.”
That man wouldn’t lift a finger to help with homework, wouldn’t sit through a school play without checking his phone to see if some bitch contacted him, but suddenly he wanted applause for buying nuggets and apple slices?
The whole thing made my skin crawl.
He thought parenting was brandishing a receipt and a plastic bag, like the kids couldn’t tell the difference between being loved and being pacified with salt and sugar.
I knew that he would look smug when I arrived home tonight. He would expect me to be impressed. Like I could forget the years of him disappearing when bills piled up, or how quick he’d turn his temper on me the second I asked forrealhelp with J and Oliver.
If Scott really wanted to prove something, he could show up at parent-teacher conferences, or stay awake when J was sick at three in the morning.
But Scott didn’t want the real weight of fatherhood. He wanted the easy photo version. And he wanted me to swallow the performance like it was enough.
Not happening.
I went to my message app and saw that there was one new text from Dominic.
I tensed and got excited all at once.
Fuck. What did he say?
My thumb hesitated and then tapped on the screen.
Dominic:Don’t let that bullshit paper make you forget about what we have. When you get home, come downstairs.
I stared at it until the words throbbed. My chest did a small, traitorous flutter. Then I typed a reply. My hands were steady and treacherous at once.
Me:But. . .Scott’s home. I can’t just yet. We will have to wait a few days.
The typing dots appeared immediately, telling me that Dominic had been waiting for my response and was ready to reply.
Oh shit. What is he going to say?
The dots paused, then returned, then disappeared, then came back.
