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“What does ‘robbing the cradle’ mean?”
“Where did you hear that?” I turn quickly from the spot I’m digging in, blinking fast.
I couldn’t have heard him correctly. Cary and I are conscientious about using that particular phrase.
“He said it. He said Cary is stupid, and you’re robbing the cradle.”
“Oh, I see.” I place the shovel on the ground and fall onto my bum, mirroring my son’s crisscross position. “Did your father say anything else?” I press, knowing full well it is a rocky slope.
“I dunno. He asks me about you guys a lot.” My son moves so we are side by side, leaning in, and wiping his nose on my shirtsleeve.
He’d like me to say it’s gross. To tell him to stop. I won’t.
He’s scared to admit how torn up inside he is. There’s more Bhodi isn’t confiding in me. Everything that has to do with the ever-changing custody situation is confusing my son. I think he’s brought this up to arm me against any attack. The last thing that shocks me is William’s intent to turn Bhodi against me.
“Does it make you uncomfortable when he brings up Cary and me?”
My son nuzzles against my shirt. I kiss his head and pull him close.
We finally have a wonderful man, an amazing role model in our lives, and William is out to ruin it again.
Why couldn’t Cary and I have gotten married before this mess began? Why hadn’t I sought to terminate William’s rights?
“You’re allowed to tell your father that, Bhodi.” I try explaining he can say as little or as much about what he wants to talk about in a way a fifth-grader can comprehend.
All the while, I’m not surprised William has been digging for information while I’ve been holding cards close to my chest, keeping my negative feelings about Bhodi’s father from my son. It’s not fair to put a child in the middle. The worst part is I don’t understand why Bhodi is even part of this tug-of-war.
I’m not entitled to anything of Cary’s and won’t be until we’re married. And that’s if I don’t follow through on pushing the idea of a prenup on Cary. He’s viciously arguing against it unless the deal leaves me with far more than I’m willing to accept.
Other than indulging his apparent jealousy, what does William have to gain by making me—or Cary—out to be the evil ones?
I’ve been there from day one.
Cary volunteered to brighten a child’s life. The fact that it was my son and we’ve created something more is dumb luck, not nefarious design.
The writing on the walls is clear. William is going to use this relationship against me in court. I literally gave him agiveby forfeiting years of child support and William can’t even be a decent human and not accuse me of doing something wrong by becoming romantically involved with someone younger.
Pretty comical since there’s an age gap between William and me and I didn’t leave anyone during a mid-life crisis. Funny how it wasn’t a huge deal when a man did itand left me pregnant, but adding that child back into the equation as he’s about to hit puberty is appalling.
My anger spikes along with my resentment of the double standard. I did everything I could to take the high road and prove I was the better person and still a man with his dick hanging out has control over my destiny.
How can anyone be blind to how the system keeps others down?I want to demand, spitting my outrage at the judge who agreed to this travesty. This charade, parading around like it’s justified.
My stomach sinks. Maybe marrying Cary isn’t a wise choice. What if William succeeds in driving a wedge between us? I’m torn between protecting my child and the man I love. And I’m back to wondering if it was smart to make Cary my now. If he isn’t my forever, then breaking it off will hurt less doing it sooner rather than later.
It’ll save his reputation and his wallet too.
What if we could have survived anythingbutthis? I guess we’ll never know since my depression has me ready to sabotage our impending marriage to keep Cary safe.
I take off my garden gloves and run my fingers through my son’s hair. He places his head in my lap. He was entitled to have a great dad. He deserved Cary.
The problem is that I actually don’t.
________________
It’s slow midweek at the club. I have the night off and am lying on Cary’s bed in Davina’s house. I like it here.
Cary’s mom comes and goes the same way my schedule ebbs and flows. She’s either at the beach or out in the garden. The landscapers mow the lawns and my pruning to rid myself of pent-up aggression has left them little hedge work. Davina’s keeping Mr. Johnston in the black. She’s been planting bulbs for spring.
