Page 36

When I ask him to tell me what happened, my three-year-old gives the most detailed witness statement imaginable. Apparently Daddy’s friend shows up. Apparently Daddy is angry. Apparently Daddy says bad words, tells her to leave, and yells. Apparently Theo gets yelled at too.

That part makes my hands tighten on the steering wheel. “What do you mean Daddy yelled at you?”

His little face crumples. “He said stay in truck.”

The guilt hits me immediately—not at Simon, but at the whole situation. I know how hard Simon works to be patient with Theo, how seriously he takes being a father. If he raises his voice, even by accident, he’s probably still beating himself up about it. Still, hearing it doesn’t make it any easier.

I let out a long breath. The problem is that now I have information—information I absolutely should discuss with Simon and absolutely do not want to. Because talking about it means acknowledging that whatever is happening between him and Veronica is getting worse. And because a tiny, selfish part of me feels relieved to hear things aren’t going well.

Which is a horrible thing to feel. I know that. It doesn’t stop me from feeling it anyway.

“Then Daddy say she go home.”

I grip the wheel tighter. “Did he now?”

“Yep.” Theo nods enthusiastically, then immediately asks the most important question in his world. “Can we get nuggets?”

I stare at the road for a second, then laugh—a real laugh this time. “Yeah, buddy.”

“YAY!”

***

I don’t get a chance to text Simon for the rest of the evening.

By the time we get home, Theo is already negotiating for dinosaur nuggets. Dinner then Lego towers, then bath time drags on twice as long because every single toy has to take a turn down the “water slide” he’s constructed out of a washcloth. Before I know it, it’s eight o’clock and Simon is calling.

“Hey, bud! How was school?” His voice fills the kitchen from where I’ve left the phone on speaker while loading the dishwasher.

“Good!” Theo says immediately. “I had a cupcake for Owen’s birthday!”

“Oh yeah? What kind?”

“Blue!”

Simon laughs, low and warm. “Blue isn’t a flavor, dude.”

“It is.”

I roll my eyes and keep wiping the counters, pretending I’m not listening. This is the routine now—Theo talking a mile a minute while Simon listens. I catch pieces here and there: something about school, something about dinosaurs, something about T-ball. Mostly I just let the sound of their voices wash over me while I finish cleaning up.

Eventually the conversation starts winding down.

“You be good and go to bed for Mama without problems, okay?” Simon says.

“I will. I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, Theo.”

Something twists in my chest. No matter how messy everything else is between us, Simon has never once failed to make me certain that he loves Theo.

I dry my hands on a dish towel and step closer. “Hey, Simon, can you stay on for a second?”

There’s a pause.

“Uh…” He clears his throat. “Yeah. Of course.”

I take the phone off speaker and send Theo off. “Go pick out your bedtime books.”