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“It’s important for Jonny to stay in the house he grew up in.”
“And he will when he stays with me half the time.”
“I’m getting custody.”
“No, you will not!”
She turns around to leave, "We'll see about that,” curls bouncing in a way that lets me know they're newly washed. Weird that I can dislike someone so much yet know them so well. I don’t want to know she showered. I don’t want to see her face anymore. Divorce is a terrible thing, but being married to someone who makes you this angry, who used up so many years with a whole lot of nothing, is worse.
I used to love those curls.
I used to love her.
I fell for her bullshit.
Lost my family.
And worse, lost myself.
Who knows how this all will affect our son in the long run. Not just the divorce but the years he spent with a mother who manipulated everything to get her own way. My innate family loyalty was twisted to serve her. How it did that and cut out the rest of my family is something I will regret for the rest of my life.
Grabbing the counter I squeeze until my knuckles go white. As soon as she's gone I call to my son. Our son. The person who, regardless of anything I may want, or not want from her, will connect us for our entire lives.
He pokes his head out of his room downstairs, looks around. “Is she gone?"
"Yes."
Dragging his hand through sandy brown hair, Jonny frowns his way into the room, green eyes disturbed. "Who is the woman with the long black hair, Dad?"
Shocked I ask, “The woman with the long black hair?”
"Mom kept talking to Grandma about the woman with the long black hair being her new friend. But that she didn't like her. I thought it was weird."
I head to the kitchen, fatherhood driving me forward. “You eat lunch?"
“Just breakfast.”
"I'll make us turkey and cheddar sandwiches with some sautéed veggies.”
He takes a seat at one of the barstools of our kitchen island while I julienne broccoli, carrots, and brussel sprouts, considering what to say to him about this all the way until I add into the pan sun-dried tomatoes. Do you think it's nice for someone to call somebody else a friend and then say they don't like them?"
"No, that's why it was confusing." Jonny tilts his head, green eyes narrowed in perfect skin. "Sometimes girls are confusing." He reaches over and picks up a hot carrot sliver, eats it and winces at the burn. "At school they talk about each other even though I see the same ones hanging out together later. I don't like it.”
“Gossip is a dangerous thing. If someone is a gossip then just know you’re not immune.”
“Immune?”
“If they’re talking dirt about someone else on a regular basis, that’s showing who they are, not who they’re talking about. It means you could be the next person they gossip about. Be careful. Don’t get too close and never share your secrets with them.”
“Who is the lady with the black hair? Have I ever met her? Why doesn’t Mom like her?”
How do I explain that the reason Shelby doesn't like her is because she's beautiful? And that maybe the natural threat hit her lizard brain, that primal part in all of us that instinctively tells us when danger is near. And how do I tell my son that I'm interested in somebody other than his mother?
We eat our lunch at the kitchen island like a couple of bachelors ignoring the fact that we have a dining table. Why get it dirty when you're just gonna have to clean it? While we eat, I ask him about how his time was, and he tells me of the TV shows he watched.
“Did you do anything other than watch TV?”
“We went to the store to get groceries.”
