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“Then why did we come to breakfast?”
“You and Rhett are hungry.”
“You’re acting like a child.”
“Just drop it,” I ground out through my teeth. I turned to Rhett and pointed to his menu coloring page. “Are you going to color the tires?”
For the rest of the meal, Michael and I barely spoke. Rhett and I talked, and Michael spoke to Rhett, but there may as well have been a wall between us. Our son could feel the tension in the air and immediately snuggled into my side. He barely looked at Michael. I felt bad about it, but I wasn’t sure how to fix it.
By the time we got up from the table and headed toward the front door, Michael was so tense he looked like at any moment he was going to Hulk out of his clothes. When he stopped at the hostess station to talk to Nova, I gave a little wave but kept walking. I told myself it was because I didn’t know her and it would be awkward for me to stop, but the truth was that I was embarrassed.
I’d been talking shit when the girl had been perfectly nice to me. It hadn’t been my best moment.
“No car,” Rhett whined as I put him back in his car seat.
“We’re just going back to Daddy’s house,” I said, running my fingers through his hair.
“Grandma’s house,” he said, looking at me.
“You’re right,” I said, nodding. I’d wondered when he would realize it was the same house we’d visited when we got into town. “It was my house when we were little, but it’s Daddy’s house now.”
“Daddy’s mean.”
“Your dad’s not mean, buddy,” I said in surprise. “Daddy’s awesome.”
“Daddy.” Rhett scrunched his face into a scowl, and it was almost startling how closely it resembled Michael’s.
I sighed, struggling to find a way to explain. There was no way to explain the nuances of a relationship to a two-year-old.
“He wasn’t being mean,” I said, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “I wasn’t being very nice, and he was just making sure I knew that.”
“Mama’snice,” Rhett replied stubbornly.
“You’re my best friend,” I said, leaning in to kiss him. “You know that, right?”
“My best friend,” he said, sighing. He pulled his blanket against his face and stared down at his feet as I closed the door between us.
“You know, maybe it would be better if me and Rhett spent some time without you,” Michael said, startling me as I turned toward my door.
My stomach lurched. “What?”
“When you get somethin’ up your ass, he thinks I’m the problem,” Michael said in exasperation. “Which I get because you’re his mama. But you seem to have somethin’ permanently stuck up there, so he’s never gonna fuckin’ talk to me.”
“He met youyesterday.”
“And whose fault is that?” Michael snapped, his voice getting louder.
“You’re not taking him anywhere,” I said firmly, glancing at Rhett through the window. “Now can we leave the parking lot, or do you want to continue giving everyone—including our son—a show?”
Without another word, he rounded the hood of my car and climbed into the front seat. As I got in my own seat, my mind raced. I didn’t know how to make things easier between us. If I wanted Rhett to have a good relationship with his dad, I needed to facilitate it. I knew that. But I wasn’t sure how to ease the tension. It really didn’t matter what we were talking about. There was always this undercurrent of something threading through the conversation. My son wasn’t stupid, and he’d spent his first year and a half living with my parents—he knew how to read body language and tone.
I wasn’t any closer to figuring out what to do when we pulled up in front of my old house. Michael’s house. I needed to start thinking of it as Michael’s house. When I got Rhett out of the car, he whined and refused to walk, and I had to carry him inside.
“Hey buddy,” I murmured into his ear as I kicked off my shoes near the front door. “You wanna play with your cars?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?” I needled. “You love cars.”
