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“How long is a while ago?”
“Seven years ago.” The words were spoken without a second of hesitation.
I turned away from the road and gave him a quick once-over. Seven years? So right about the time we were divorced. Did he get a promotion that long ago? Had I just not known?
I glanced at him again and found him watching me, wearing this soft look full of all kinds of meaning I didn’t understand. Like he was silently conveying an important message, but the words were all blurry and smooshed together.
I turned back to the road again and cleared my throat. “So, you, uh, got a promotion, then? In order for you to fire her?”
He nodded in my periphery. “Yeah, I got it right before…”
Before the divorce. Right before. When we were still together. And I’d had no clue. It spoke volumes about our state.
“That’s good. Great. Good for you.” I turned the radio on low, desperate to fill the tense silence between us.
“Yeah, it’s been good.”
Good, good, good.
My already damaged heart cracked a little further then.
Why hadn’t he told me? Actually, why would he? Back then, he’d come home late. We’d eat dinner in silence, and while I cleaned up, he’d play with the boys. Once they were down for the night, we’d lie in silence in the same cold bed.
I couldn’t fault him for not talking to me about the promotion. It wasn’t like I’d told him I was thinking about going back to work, or that I was considering leaving.
“Do you like this Melinda? She sounded feisty.”
He leaned his head back against the seat and chuckled. “Oh yeah. She’s the best. Really gives me a run for my money.”
“Sounds like it.” I smiled. He needed someone like that.
“Yeah, you’d like her. She’s a lot like you.”
Heat licked up my spine at those simple words. A lot like me?
“How so?” I held my breath in anticipation of his answer, willing my heart not to beat right out of my chest.
He shifted in his seat, his focus trained on my face, and cleared his throat. “Knows what she thinks and isn’t afraid to tell me. Calls me out on my crap, I guess. No-nonsense.”
Huh, that wasn’t what I expected. “Jeez, she and I both sound like a delight.”
He laughed. “You are. But only because I have fun irritating you. Makes us a good—”
My heart sank when he cut himself off.
What was he going to say? Team? Partner?
It didn’t matter, really. Because we didn’t make a good team. If we did, then we wouldn’t have ended up here.
“Good allies,” I supplied. We hadn’t made it as partners, but co-parents? We were good at that. We didn’t even have to be friends, and we weren’t. We had one mutual goal, and that was all there was between us. The desire to shape our boys into strong men with loving character. And so far, we’d done a pretty decent job of it.
“Yeah…” He took a deep breath. “Allies.”
“That’s my son! That’s my son!”
I used to be one of those quiet moms.
The mother who spoke softly to her kids. I doled out granola bars and kisses like they were pennies. Now, I’d evolved into a full-blown soccer mom. It had taken a couple of seasons to do it, but phew, was I there. Now I doled out orange slices (when Hank didn’t) and a lot of overly excited, shouted praise.
