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“We’re going to have to move.”
This news gets no reaction out of him.
“Does that not concern you?”
He shrugs, his tiny shoulders hitching as if it doesn’t even matter.
“The kids at school are mean to me. They probably won’t even notice I’m gone.”
As if my heart couldn’t break any further.
“I guess Micah won’t be coming with us?”
“No, Harley. Micah lives here. Your dad has to find work.”
He finally looks up at us.
“And we have to go where he goes?” His little brows draw in, confused. “Why? Can’t we just go visit him like we used to?”
I realize now who the child would choose if he had to pick between Micah and his own father. Micah plays soccer with him without getting tired after fifteen minutes. He holds conversations with him without having to look to me for help. He has two motorcycles. He took him shopping for Christmas gifts.
It's not that Robbie is a bad guy, but he’s not very good at the dad thing. Robbie is almost scared to be a dad, and he gets flustered very easily. Harley loves his dad, but I think he’s more comfortable and accustomed to spending time with him in a controlled setting.
“You don’t want to move?”
“Can Micah come with us?”
I sigh, having already answered this question.
“No, Harley. He can’t.”
Harley nods as if he’s trying to understand. He’s trying to be strong because he doesn’t like to upset me, but he’s young and frustrated. He rarely asks for things, and I wonder if he’s been building up all those asks for this moment right now, for the one thing that’s impossible to give him.
I know following Robbie to wherever he finds work is selfless. It’s helping my ex and giving Harley time with his dad, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s the wrong choice for all involved. Was the pep talk I gave Robbie the other day at the park the wrong way to go? I know it would hurt Harley if Robbie walked away, but would it be better in the long run? What if Robbie really messes up down the line? Is it better for him to give up and walk away now?
I’ve second-guessed a lot since Harley was born, and this is just another one of those things. Only this time, my gut is torn on what’s the right decision because I can’t tell if my choices are muddled because the decisions now involve things I want and things I feel Harley needs.
I wasn’t going to ask Harley what he wants because it’s unfair to put the weight of that on a child so young, but he’s making it clear what his position is. As far as he’s concerned, he can have the best of both worlds. He can stay and have Micah in his life, and he can keep with his routine of seeing his dad once a month. Nothing has to change.
I drop my head into my hands, the throbbing that has been a constant for nearly two weeks at the base of my skull threatening to get worse.
“I’m going to go watch TV,” Harley mutters.
I can’t even lift my head to acknowledge him, and that’s another way I’m being unfair to him. He deserves better.
I’m zoned out, wishing for a miracle when a knock echoes through the small house. I no longer get excited that Micah may be on my front porch, and when I stand from the kitchen table, I notice that Harley doesn’t even pull his eyes from the television.
We both know it’s Robbie. He’s the only one that’s been coming over. I pull open the front door and step to the side, but he doesn’t give me the soft smile he normally greets me with.
His face is animated this afternoon, and I immediately step in front of him. I recognize that look. It’s one he’s had numerous times when he was high as a kite.
“No,” I tell him, blocking his entry into my house.
Emotions clog my throat. He hasn’t even been out of prison for a month, and he’s already back to his old ways. I should be livid, but a rush of relief washes over me. If he’s going back to his old ways, then so can we. He can disappear, and we don’t have to move.
“I’m not,” he whisper-hisses, reading my mind, but his actions are jerky, his hands shaking as he bounces on the balls of his feet. “I have great news.”
“Robbie,” I warn. “I’m not doing this with you again.”
I’m facing him fully, so Harley doesn’t see what’s going on, pleading with my eyes for this man to not ruin what innocence I can preserve for our son.
“I haven’t been using, Luce. I swear. I got a call. I just got a really good job.”
I take a long look at him, searching his eyes. His pupils are normal size. His skin is his normal color, cheeks a little pink from the cold. His lips are dry and cracked.
