Brandon and I speak over one another, and only one of us is honest. My attorney twists in his chair, the wheeled feet knocking into mine. I think that was his hint that I need to reset my attitude.
“We get that a lot,” Molly says with a chuckle, and I give my attorney a sideways glance and a half smile.
“It wasn’t all bad,” I say.
He blinks at me as Molly responds with, “That’s good.”
“It looks like all we have left to agree on is the parenting schedule. Am I right?” Molly pulls out both of our forms, two pages that paint very different pictures.
“That’s correct,” I say, pulling my hands together and resting them on top of my notebook as I scoot in close. I feel underdressed all of a sudden. I wore jeans and a floral blouse with my sneakers, which for me is rather dressy. Brandon is in a business suit, and our lawyers look like, well, lawyers. At least Molly is wearing a dress. It’s long-sleeved and drapes to the floor, though, so definitely not casual.
I swallow the dry lump my stress is forming before bobbing my head up to meet Molly’s gaze. Her soft smile sets me at ease. I’m sure it isn’t intentional, but I use it to get myself on track.
“I understand you have a proposal to make, Mr. Berchaund?” Molly turns her focus to Brandon, and he twists his chair enough to cross his leg over his knee. I used to watch him talk to his students this way when I waited to ride home with him from school. It was before we had the boys, and he was just an assistant professor. It always caught me off-guard, the way he’d lean back a bit and fold his hands behind his neck, almost peering down at the female students across from him. I could see everything in his office from the lobby. I wonder, though, what happened when he became full-time and got a new office in theback, without a window to the lobby, and blinds that shut out the world outside.
I shake my head, ridding myself of the vision of him picking up Caitlyn this way. I have a strong feeling my gut isn’t far off, but I don’t need to fuel my dislike for the man more than I already do. I can wait until later, when I’m at home and able to throw things in the back yard.
“I’d like to try fifty-fifty. At least until the boys start kindergarten. Maybe we can re-evaluate then.” His gaze lands on me, and I feel small under his scrutiny. I glance to my attorney, and he clears his throat.
“It’s proven that it’s better for the kids to have a primary residence at this age, and typically that’s with the mom,” Jeff says.
I swivel my seat to look back at Brandon, and he’s smirking but biting the tip of his tongue.
“Yeah, but I thought, you know, since you have a roommate and all, that maybe we should let the boys get used to things and have a place to go to that they’re used to. I’m still in the house, and their room is the same. It just makes sense, don’t you think, Linds?”
Linds.He doesn’t get to all me that.
“Don’t do that,” I say.
My attorney clears his throat, but I press on.
“Do what?” Brandon leans forward, resting his hands on the table as his posture straightens. It’s smug. Like him.
“Don’t pretend you’re any better than me,” I say. “Are you telling us you live in that house all alone?”
I quirk a brow and hold his stare, and he mocks me, exaggerating his tight smirk and forcing a pulled in brow. After a few awkward, quiet seconds, he scoots back from the table and switches his crossed leg.
“All I’m asking for is a few months, through the fall. And then in January, we can evaluate how the boys are doing and see where we’re at.” He’s baiting me, and if I don’t agree, it’s going to look like I’m being difficult. But he won’t be doing things with the boys when he has them. He hasn’t done as much as take them to a park since the monster truck day trip that I found out he only did because Caitlyn’s father owns one of the racing teams.
“The boys want to play tee ball. They’d like you to coach,” I say, leaving out the other half of the boys’ plan. If Brandon agrees, I’ll cross that bridge, but I have a feeling he won’t want any part of hitting practice and baseball pants.
“I have a full course load, and my office hours are late. I can’t commit to that,” he says, his voice softer now. His cracks are showing. He’s not going to give up any of his priorities for our boys, and his priorities are to spend long hours at the college and to galivant about at faculty parties with Caitlyn. I give this proposal two months before he begs me to take the lead.
“They’ll be so disappointed,” I say, biding my time for a few seconds before raising a finger with my next idea. “Can you at least get them to practices? I’ll get them on a team, and if I need to pick them up when you’re working, I’d be happy to do that. They really want to try this. It means a lot to them.”
I hold his gaze and the anger brewing behind his pupils is intense.
“This istheiridea, huh?” he says.
“Yes. It is.” I’m not lying about this so I’m able to say it with certainty and not look away. Brandon studies me silently for a beat, likely deciding whether I’m telling the truth. I’m sure he’s pieced together that Brooks is a ballplayer, but the boys’ grandfather is a storied high school baseball coach, for Pete’s sake. It’s entirely possible their new-found interest in the gamecame from him. It probably didn’t, but itcouldhave, and that’s the difference.
“Fine. I’ll take them to practices, though I won’t need your help. I don’t want anything cutting into my time with them more. I’ll already be losing hours with tee ball.”
Our attorneys make eyes at one another, and I hope everyone in this room is bearing witness to my ex’s perspective. He doesn’t care that this is an activity our boys want. It’s not anything he’s interested in, and therefore it doesn’t count and he shouldn’t be punished. What a piece of work.
“And we re-evaluate in November, before the holidays,” I say, finding my spine all of a sudden.
Brandon holds my gaze hostage, and I feel as if there’s something whirling in his head that he’s not saying. I just can’t figure out what it is.
