Page 28 of That Rush

“Did you and Mommy have a wedding?”

“We did.”

“Was I there?”

“You weren’t born yet.”

“Are there pictures?”

“A lot of them.”

She thinks about that. “Then why did you stop being married?”

I settle onto the edge of her bed. I knew this question would come eventually. I expected more warning than a reading map and a dragon wedding.

“Your mom and I weren’t very good at being married anymore.”

“Did you fight?”

“Sometimes.”

“About me?”

“No.” The word comes out fast enough to widen her eyes. I soften my voice. “Never because of you. We both loved you more than anything.”

“What did you fight about?”

“I worked too much. I thought that was how I took care of our family, but your mom needed me to be home more. So did you. I kept promising I would, but the work always won.”

Krista was the parent who knew Josie’s routines, made the appointments, handled the fevers, and was there when she woke up. I loved my daughter, but my schedule meant no one could see it. By the time I changed, Krista had spent too long waiting for me to change.

“Mommy got mad at you?”

“She did. She had good reasons.”

“Did she stop loving you?”

Krista and I loved each other once. By the time she filed for divorce, too much disappointment had settled between us for that love to sustain a marriage.

“We stopped loving each other as husband and wife,” I say. I smooth the blanket over her legs. “We both kept loving you, though. And we learned how to be friends again. Sometimes grown-ups can be good parents from different houses, even when they weren’t good at being married to each other.”

“Mommy was a good mommy.”

“She was the best.”

“And you’re a good daddy.”

Her certainty is a weight against all the places I’m still not sure.

“I’m working on it.”

“You come home now.”

“Every day.”

“Even when the cows are doing stuff.”

I laugh. “Cows are always doing stuff.”