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I turn away from him and focus on adding spaghetti in the pot. Angie is coloring at the breakfast table, headphones on while she listens to music. I am grateful, at least, that my son waited until his sister was distracted to lay into me.
“Dad, it’s gross!” Benji says.
This, too, is something he’s said a few times now.
The thing is, he’s notwrong.He’s just… not understanding the nuance.
I stir the sauce. It’s Benji’s favorite, his grandma’s recipe. I was hoping it would smooth out the wrinkles between his brow, which he’s been sporting since his mother dropped him off this afternoon.
Post-vacation blues mixed with his disgust over my new relationship—the first one since I was with his mother, in fact—has made my sweet, temperamental boy more temperamental than sweet.
“Benjamin.”
He scowls at me.
“I never would have wanted you to find out like that, seeing me… kiss her.” This, at least, is very true. “I know you don’t want to see me dating again?—”
“It’s because she’s, like, my aunt or something. It’s basically incest,” Benji sneers.
I point the spoon at him. “It’s not, and you know it. Come on, Benj.”
He deflates a little. “Itisweird, though.”
That I’ll allow.
“It is,” I agree. “I didn’t know she was Lewis’ sister when I met her. I didn’t know until today.”
Benjamin frowns. “I don’t like it.”
“That’s fine.” I turn around and stir the sauce again. “It’s fine that you don’t like it. I promise to try to be as respectful to that as I can be.”
“I don’t want her to come here,” he says quickly.
I turn to him with my brow raised. “Alright,” I agree slowly. “Ever, or just when you’re here?”
“Ever.” Then, after a beat, “I mean, I guess just when I’m here. Or Angie.”
“That’s fair,” I allow. “Do you mind when Lewis is at your mom’s?”
Benji’s frown deepens. “No… but… it’s different.”
I don’t see how, really, except that this is new. But it doesn’t have to make sense to me.
I just nod.
“No visits to the house,” I agree.
Benjamin sighs. He rests his chin on his fist, giving me a slow, contemplative look.
“Do you…” he wrinkles his brow. “Like her?”
“Like-like?” I tease.
He rolls his eyes. “Dad, be serious. I’m not a kid. You can talk to me.”
My heart swells. I’m both so painfully proud of my boy, trying hard to sound like a man and be as open and considerate as one, and so sad that he’s growing up.
“Miss James,” I say, and Benji rolls his eyes again. “Is a very nice woman. She’s very good at her job. She’s caring and considerate. I think… she’s a nice woman.”
