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“Probably,” I offer her, remembering a time when we were a team and shared opinions. I used to think Penny was more like me and Jillian was more like Peter. And maybe that’s still true but the way Penelope has latched onto her father lately makes me wonder if similarities mean nothing when it comes to love.
Her long dark hair is in a ponytail, and she grabs her tablet from the counter before she begins to head upstairs toward her room.
“Twenty minutes and then I’ll be up there to get you ready for bed,” I call out after her.
“’Kay,” she says in her sweet little voice.
I glance back at Peter and before I can ask, he sighs and sits on the stool Penny vacated. His long legs jut out and I glance down at his sock-clad feet. He hates wearing shoes in the house. It was something I used to think was cute about him.
“She’s convinced I’m always on Jilly’s side,” he explains. “But it’s hard to explain to her that although she doesn’t enjoy something that her sister does, she doesn’t need to mock it. And you know Jilly thinks the world of her older sister, so she starts crying and then it becomes this whole thing.”
He rubs his hands over his face, and I begin to see just how tired he truly is. How deep the lines of time have etched in his face, how the glimmers of gray have weaved into his blond hair. Peter’s thirty-six to my thirty-two was never something I paid attention to.
Until I realize this is the age Abraham was when I met him.
Thinking of a twenty-one-year-old me dealing with Peter as he is now confuses me. I can’t see this man dipping into that young a dating pool.
And it warps a past I once only saw through my own biased eyes.
“Parenting is tough,” I try to offer, “But they love you so much. And we’re doing the best we can.”
“Are we?” he asks, his bright eyes piercing mine as he sets his hands down on the counter. “Are we enough when we aren’t a unit anymore?”
My own fears stare back at me through his eyes.
“We’re still a unit,” I tell him, adamant in that truth. “Just because we aren’t together, doesn’t mean we aren’t a team.”
“You know what I mean, Sabrina,” he says, looking down at his hands on the counter, his wedding ring absent from hisfinger. “And you know it isn’t the same thing. Just look at tonight.”
“Honestly, I’ve been the bane of Penny’s existence since we told them we’re divorcing. So, I know exactly how hard it’s been.” I try to say it without resentment, but it still slips in the conversation.
His expression softens as he glances up at me again.
“I guess it comes with the territory. A tipping scale in one of our favors, depending on their moods,” he tells me, shrugging one shoulder.
“It was like that even before we decided to divorce.”
“Youdecided to divorce.” It’s a gentle reminder that makes me pause.
“Do you regret marrying me?” I ask, wanting to know the truth, even if it stings.
“There are a lot of things I regret. Marrying you isn’t one of them.” His words sound so even, so confident, so strong that I’m convinced I could lean on him forever.
“Sometimes I think you’re too good for me,” is all I can say in response. Because who would stay with me through all of this?
“What good is it if it doesn’t mean you’ll stay?” His question is quiet, but it breaks me down and I wipe the single tear that streaks down my cheek.
“You don’t want me to stay, Peter.”
“I want my family.”
His words make my eyes well with more tears.
“You were always so great about family. Even when I wasn’t easy?—”
“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “You don’t have to turn me into some kind of hero. I was selfish. I wanted you to myself.”
“And where did that get you?” My question sounds like a sob.
