“Is towhat?” I demanded, trying not to sound triumphant.
In this case, though, the lapse had been only momentary. “Set a positive example and, with compassion, hold her to high standards.”
“Okay, butwhosestandards? Because when I signed up for this, I thought I was going to be doing it with you but”—don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it—“ever since Jaz arrived, there’s been times”—don’t say it—“I’ve felt like I’m living with your fucking dad.”
There was a frankly terrifying lack of visible reaction. “That seems needlessly hyperbolic.”
And I broke a little bit more. “Oh fuck off, Oliver. I’m not in a mood to think big words are sexy today. Imean it. You have been a judgemental, high-handed, closed-minded, borderline fuckingheartless—”
“My, my,” he drawled, “howhaveyou put up with me?”
“Stop being a dick. I’m fucking serious. I’m not saying you’ve been a monster—”
“You just called meborderline heartless.”
“Well,” I pointed out, “you did threaten to ship Jaz back to the pound.”
His eyes widened. “I did no such thing.”
“I was right there. I heard you.”
“No.” Oliver was beginning to fray, very slightly, around the edges. “She asked what the consequences would be if she continued to act inappropriately, and I explained.”
“You can’t explain to a child you’re going to send them away.”
“What was I supposed to say?”
“Literally anything else.” I threw my hands in the air. “Look, I realise I’m not great at this, either, but if there is one thing I know about, it’s feeling like you have to reject people before they can reject you. It’s so, so,soobvious that Jaz has been waiting for the day we say, ‘Sorry, you’re not worth it, here’s a bin liner.’ And now we’ve said it—”
“We haven’t said it.”
“Shefeelslike we’ve said it, and frankly,Ifeel like we’ve said it. And that’s the same fucking thing.”
“Then I’m sorry I misspoke. But perhaps I wouldn’t have if you’d had my back. Just once.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “I’ve had your back, Oliver.”
“You have sometimes refrained from actively undermining me. I wouldn’t call that having my back.”
“Well…well…your back has been doing shit I don’t agree with.”
“You mean disciplining our foster daughter?”
“I mean acting like that can only mean one thing.”
“It means quite a limited set of things.” Oliver ran a fraught hand through his hair. “None of which you seem to want to do. I didn’t ask to be the strict parent. You forced the role on me.”
“Bullshit,” I exploded. “You jumped into that role with both feet because that’s what you think parentingis. Because you were raised by arseholes, and for some reason I honestly can’t begin to understand, you’ve decided you want to follow in their arsehole footsteps.”
There was the sort of silence you got when you said something terrible to someone you really cared about. Of all the sorts of silence, it was the absolute suckiest.
“Oliver,” I tried, feeling sticky and messed up because part of me wanted to take back everything I’d said, but also…I didn’t? Because it was, like, true? Or close enough to true that I needed him to hear it.
And then, because I didn’t know how to get past the sorry-not-sorry-but-sorry of it all, the sucky silence continued until Oliver said “I see” in this quietly devastated voice. Followed by, “I…I’m not sure there’s anything more we should say to each other right now. I…I think I might go to bed.”
Once again, I was left in that dithery confused state because what I wanted more than anything was to go upstairs with Oliver and lie in his arms and pretend none of this had ever happened. Except it had. So I couldn’t.
“I…” The word hung there like a loose thread from a sleeve. “I might not?”
