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“Did I miss an email?” I ask, my voice shaking and barely civil, my palms sweaty against the twins’. “I didn’t realize there was a meeting.”
Jeremy and Mrs. Kroesinger exchange a smug, knowing glance. “No meeting,” says Jeremy. “I wanted to address some concerns.”
What do I even say? These three people have just met, probably to discuss what a terrible parent I am, so do I throw a fit in front of my children to prove I’m thebetterparent? Do I make threats I’m not sure I can back up?
The principal gives me a firm, chilly smile. “I need to get going. Good to see you, Jeremy. Mrs. Kroesinger, perhaps the twins can walk back to class with you?”
Everyone disperses and Jeremy looks me up and down. “I assume you’re the most lowly employee at TSG, based on the outfit.”
It barely makes a dent. I’m still stuck on the earlier statement. “Whatconcerns?” I finally ask.
“I simply wanted them to understand that our households operate differently, and that the twins may be struggling more when they’re staying withyou.”
“Whathouseholds?” I ask. “They always stay with me.”
He allows himself a small chuckle. “That’s going to have to change too, since you appear not to be up to the job.”
He walks away, stopping to talk to the yoga moms on his way to the car. They greet him with smiles and stare me down as I walk past.
My mother would have told them off, and I’d have been absolutely horrified, but now I sort of get it.
It’s tiresome, being the designated punching bag every fucking day. You start wanting to show them you can hit back.
CALEB’S TRUCKis at the office by the time I arrive, and I want to see him, but I’m too upset to offer him much of a reunion. I go to my desk instead and call Harrison, who is gratifyingly enraged and says he’ll call Jeremy’s lawyer and put a stop to all of it.
When I hang up, I discover Caleb standing behind me, his brow furrowed.
“Hey,” he says, perching on the edge of my desk, “I thought you’d come find me once you got in.”
I swallow. “Sorry. I’m having some issues with Jeremy and the school and I just—” I shrug in lieu of saying the rest aloud:you don’t want to be a part of our lives that way, but the kids are my priority and I’m not willing to pretend otherwise right now.
He hesitates. “You can talk to me about that stuff, you know.”
My nails dig into my palms. “You’ve made it pretty clear that you’d rather…keep it all separate.”
“And that’s okay with you?”
I swallow as I meet his eye. “Obviously, it isn’t a situation that will work long term for my kids. We’ll just see what happens.”
He leans forward, staring at his clasped hands. His jaw clenches. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Normally, I’d try to finesse this, but I’m too numb. I bury myface in my hands. “Caleb, my kids come first. That isn’t going to change. If what I’m doing isn’t in their best interest, I’ll stop doing it, no matter how much I don’t want to.”
His eyes fall closed briefly before he stands. “Okay. We’ll talk later.”
I nod mutely as he walks away. It sure doesn’t seem like this talk will involve any kind of change on his part. So what happens to us when he admits it?
IGETthe twins a little earlier than normal and we do all the things there’s not usually time for in the afternoon: we stop by the park, I help Henry with Snap Circuits and play diner with Sophie (I’m the customer, she’s the waitress. She informs me that everything I try to order is ‘not very healthy’ and suggests a different option instead. I don’t see a lot of work in the service industry in her future.)
And the whole time, my stomach is a boiling cauldron of worry. Are Caleb and I done? I regret being as blunt as I was, but that doesn’t mean what I said wasn’t true.
Over dinner, there’s a knock on the door and all three of us startle. Jeremy’s the only person who ever comes here when the kids are awake. Sophie races ahead of me. By the time I come around the corner, the door’s been flung open wide.
Caleb’s eyes meet mine. “I was thinking of taking my boat out. I wondered if you guys might want to come.” His uncertain half-smile breaks my heart.
He isn’t ending things. He’strying.
“You’re still in your suit.”
