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younger, it wasn’t this bad. This city used to be pretty cool, and I have a lot of good memories from this place. But drugs have taken over because the economy in the Midwest has fallen and there aren’t good jobs to soften the blow.
I shake my head even though she’s not looking at me. “I’m not lying. I have no reason to lie to you.”
Dakota’s body moves so quickly that her cotton-candy-pink T-shirt is a blur in the dark. The small television is playing old episodes of Maury. Well, I hope this is an old episode and people don’t actually watch this show anymore. My mom always used to watch it; while I was doing my homework, I heard “You are not the father!” too many times to count.
“Yeah? You sure about that, Landon? Because it seems to me that you’ve been lying to me for quite some time now. And now, here we are, back in Saginaw to watch my dad die, and you won’t even talk to me.”
Our room is silent as a woman is jumping up and down pointing in her ex’s face, yelling something that appears far too gleeful for such a tragic moment between them.
“Did you have sex with her?” Dakota asks, and before I answer, she adds, “I need to know if you had sex with her.”
Are we really here? Should I agree with whatever she says and admit to every accusation she throws my way? Or should I take the harder road, the more complicated one, and tell her how childish this whole thing is? We’ve been through too much, especially her, to be acting like this.
I tighten my armor and step into the battlefield.
She’s standing in the gap between our beds, only a few feet away from me.
“Is this where we are?” I move to the edge of the bed and sit with my back as straight as can be. If she moves closer to me, she’ll be touching my knees. “Are we these people”—I correct myself—“these strangers, who fight over jealousy and pettiness? Or are we two people who’ve been through half of their lives together and want to stay civil?”
She regards me. “Just answer the question.”
“Yes. I have.” I tell the truth because I don’t have it in me to lie.
Dakota sits down on the bed a foot away from me and drops her face into her hands.
I don’t know what to say to her—or even if saying anything to her will do any good. I can’t apologize, because I’m not sorry. I can’t tell her that it didn’t mean anything, because it did.
I let her cry as I stare at the TV. Now there’s a new woman onstage; her face is stoic as a man jumps in circles around her. He’s so happy not to be the father of her baby—it’s a sad, scary world out there.
The only way I’m keeping track of the time is from the TV, and the commercial break just ended, so some time must have passed by the point Dakota asks, “If we would have stayed here, do you think we would still be together?”
I nod. “Yeah. I think we would.”
Dakota’s hands are trembling in her lap, and she doesn’t lift her sad eyes to mine. “You’re being so quiet. You didn’t even try to explain yourself.” Her voice is defeated, and her shoulders are slumped. She looks like a doll sitting here, her face as still as stone.
“I don’t have anything to explain. We haven’t been together for six months, Dakota.” I remain as calm as can be. If I let her see the stabbing needles multiplying inside my chest, I’m done for. If we fight—if I raise my voice and actually fight with her—that would mean we’d be crossing the line back into relationship territory.
“When did it start?” she asks.
I glance over at Dakota, and she’s looking at me now. Her eyes are already swelling up from her tears, and I force my hand to stay down, gripping the edge of the mattress with both hands. I look away from her face.
“A little while back.”
“Before we . . . tried to that one day?” Her eyes dart around the room and focus on the clock on the tiny desk.
