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“Because you’ll expect it, and they’ll expect it,” he finally says. “And I’ll fucking disappoint all of you.”
“Okay,” I reply, my stomach churning.
I understand his reluctance. I understand not wanting to promise things to a kid and at this stage in our relationship, he probably wouldn’t even havemetmy kids yet, under normal circumstances. The problem isn’t that he’s hesitant to be a part of our lives—it’s that he’s more hesitant than he was before.
When I was with Jeremy, there were a thousand times I asked for things on behalf of the twins—please come to their play, please come home on Halloween, please make it back in time for their birthday party—and when he ignored me, what choice did I have? Leaving him wouldn’t solve the problem. It would just create a series of new ones.
This time, I have a choice. And if Caleb continues to not be what we need, I’m going to have to make that choice—no matter how much it hurts.
ON MONDAY NIGHT, Jeremy texts me to confirm the twins’ homework has been done. I can’t imagine why he’s suddenly interested, but the demanding way he asks—as if I’m somelowly employee—irritates me. The questionaloneirritates me, given how little involvement he’s had. When I don’t answer immediately, he calls Sophie’s iPad and proceeds to grill her about projects and what they’re learning…and then he asks to speak to me.
“Why didn’t you read them the horse book Sophie got from the library yesterday?” he demands. “She was supposed to discuss it today.”
I’m tempted to hang up. He didn’t care for six years, but he suddenly cares now? “Because she never told me I was supposed to read it to her,” I snap. “I’m not psychic, Jeremy. If they don’t tell me and the school doesn’t either, I don’t know.”
“You were also late on May third and didn’t send them in with the posterboard they needed last week.”
My jaw falls and my hands start to shake—with anger, with shock. Jeremy is compiling a list of every minor failing to make me look like a bad parent and the school is helping him do it.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I hiss, glancing over my shoulder to make sure the kids are out of hearing distance. “I’m essentially a single parent, Jeremy. Shit’s gonna fall through the cracks occasionally. You’d realize that if you’d ever lifted a fucking finger.”
“Why are you so angry, Lucie?” he asks. “You don’t sound like yourself.”
I slap a hand to my forehead. “Because…” And then I stop. This is ridiculous. The twins need me to help them with their history posters and they still need baths and I’m just not doing this with Jeremy tonight. “I don’t have time for this shit,” I tell him, hanging up the phone.
Within a minute, there’s a text from Molly.
MOLLY
Are you okay?
Of course. Why?
I just got this weird call from Jeremy. He said you were drunk or possibly had taken something and he wasn’t sure the kids were safe.
I stare at the words. Is this his next move? To tell enough people that I’m an unfit mother and create a paper trail to support it? I haven’t even replied before my mother calls.
“Hi, Mom,” I say with a heavy sigh. “I’ve got to do something with the twins, so this isn’t a great time.”
“Are you drunk?” she asks. “Jeremy said you were drunk.”
I press a hand over my face to hold in a scream.
I’VE HAD VERYlittle sleep when I get up in the morning. I was awake for hours last night, considering what I will say to the school. Legally, I assume they’ve done nothing wrong. Except these are such minor points, they shouldn’t have merited so much as a mention.
I normally drop the twins off in front to let the patrols walk them in, but today we park. I still haven’t come up with what I’ll say to Mrs. Kroesinger when I find her, but I am definitely saying something, and it’ll probably just make things worse.
Henry’s hand slips into mine. “Are you staying?” he asks, and that tiny hopeful note in his voice breaks my heart. I wish I could stay. I wish I could spend the whole day making sure he had someone to play with and was getting the help he needed. If I’d known how powerless it could feel to be a parent, I might have been too terrified to undertake it and Caleb’sonlyexperience of being a parent is the heartbreak, the powerlessness, the guilt. No wonder he’s scared.
“Not today, sugar. I need to talk to your teacher for a second.”
I grab Sophie with my other hand, and we walk up to theschool, past the yoga moms, whose conversation comes to a halt as we pass, their gazes sweeping over my dress and heels. It’s probably one of them who told her husband I’mputting on a showand perhaps she’ll come home with another story tonight.
We’ve just stepped into the lobby when Jeremy emerges from the school’s office with the principal and Mrs. Kroesinger, whose eyes go wide and guilty at the sight of us before her jaw sets and her face hardens.
My mouth is open, but no words emerge.
They just had a meeting without me, about my children.
