Jayne’s upstairs getting ready. I can hear the low hum of her hairdryer, the sound of drawers opening and closing.
When I came back home, she was like she always is. That was a relief. I can’t handle her negativity anymore. I need her to be my safe place, not yet another area of conflict.
I go into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water.
I’m drinking it, going through the list of donors I have to make the rounds with in my head, when Finn walks in.
He’s in sweatpants and a hoodie, hair wet from his shower after soccer, eyes sharp and assessing in that way only a sixteen-year-old can manage.
“Mama is going with you?”
“Yes.”
“She was supposed to go out with Aunt Iris. I was going to babysit Mikaela.” There is an accusation in his demeanor.
I raise an eyebrow. “She can go out with Iris another time. This Camden Gala is important.”
He leans against the counter, arms crossed. “Mom doesn’t want to go.”
“And how would you know that?” I demand, annoyed that Jayne has discussed this with our son.
He lets out a dry laugh. “I got ears, Dad. I heard you guys argue about it last night.”
I sucked in a breath and let it out in frustration. “Son, this is…look, tonight is important and?—”
“Important for whom?” He challenged, cutting me off.
I swallow the anger burning up my throat and calm myself before I speak. I don’t want to say something I will eventually regret. “It’s part of my job, Finn.”
He shakes his head, almost smiling, but there’s no humor in it. “You ever listen to yourself?”
I’m really not liking how this conversation is going. I’m the parent here. He’s my child. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand, keeping my voice steady when I am all but shaking with irritation.
He shrugs stiffly, avoiding my gaze. “You talk like everything’s about you. Your job. Your schedule. Your reputation. You don’t even notice how unhappy she is, do you?”
I set the water glass down hard. “That’s enough.”
“No, it’s not.” He now looks me in the eyes, and I’m shocked at what I see. Disappointment and anger. “She’s been miserable for months. You don’t help with anything at home, and when you do pay attention, it’s only to tell her what she’s not doing right.”
That is so not true, and my hackles rise. “Watch your tone.”
He doesn’t flinch. “I’m just telling the truth. You’re being anass to Mom.”
I stare at him, stunned. Finn’s the quiet, steady, even-tempered kid who doesn’t push back. I don’t even know how to respond.
“Son.” I force calm into my voice. “This is between your mother and me.”
He snorts a laugh, sharp and ugly. “Yeah, but we all live here, Dad. It’s not just between you two when she cries in the kitchen.”
That barb strikes its target.
And I think again,I don’t want to discuss this with him.
“Finn, I repeat, this is none of your business.”
“I’m not trying to disrespect you, Dad,” he murmurs, his voice quiet but so firm that it scares me. “I just think maybe you should stop expecting her to orbit around you all the time.”
That does it!
