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I self-sabotaged because of my issues.
Dante knows something’s amiss. Every morning when I exit my bedroom, I do my best to put on a brave face, assuring him Troy will be back soon. Days are bearable due to my workload, but the nights are too much to take. All I do is replay every second of our time together, of what we had—every kiss, every look, every touch, every word. His smile, his laugh, the way he loved me, doted on me. The way he fathered his son with the utmost care. The things he noticed that I didn’t.
Every night after putting Dante down, I gaze over at Troy’s empty bedroom, thinking of how much time I wasted with my hesitance.
I spoon more green beans on Dante’s plate, and he pushes it away.
“I don’t need anymore.”
“Okay, then brownies?”
“No. I’m full. I don’t want to eat my feelings.”
“What? Where did you learn that?”
“I’m not supposed to tell.”
Parker.
Instantly, I’m on alert. When she’s down, sometimes she’s way down. Have I missed something? She seemed fine when she called to check on me.
“Did you hear someone having an adult conversation?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me, son.”
“I’m not! I’m not supposed to tell!”
He walks into his bathroom in an attempt to evade me, and I follow as he grabs his toothbrush.
“Dante. I want you to tell me where you heard that.”
“It’s a secret.”
“Dante,” I warn.
“He’ll be mad at me.”
“Who?”
“Troy.”
“Dante, tell me this instant.”
“Fine,” he squeezes paste on his brush and shoves it in his mouth.
“Wheb Trub was little, his dabydy…”
“Son,” I warn, taking the toothbrush out of his hands.
He huffs, spitting out a mouthful of paste. “When Troy was little, his daddy left him all alone with his mommy, and he ate his feelings and got really fat. All the boys in school were mean to him, ‘cause he was a weirdo.”
“What?” It’s like a punch to the stomach.
“But it’s okay, Mommy, because he started running real, real, fast.”
“Really fast,” I correct with my heart beating in my throat.
