“How is it not my problem? I care about you. I care about them.”
“For now.”
The words are so quiet I almost miss them. But the implication hits like a freight train.
“Are you being serious right now?”
She finally looks at me directly, and there’s something raw in her expression. “This is going to get messy, Dex. Custody battles and legal drama and crazy ex-husbands. Most people don’t stick around for that part.”
“I’m not most people.”
“Aren’t you?” She stands up from her stool. “Because from where I’m sitting, this is exactly the kind of thing that makes people realize they’re in over their heads.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it? When things get complicated, when there’s real problems instead of just weekend hockey and team barbecues?—“
“Stop.” I can feel my voice getting louder. “You’re putting words in my mouth that aren’t there.”
“Am I? Or am I just being realistic about what this is?”
“What is this, Golda? Because I thought we were building something real.”
“So did I. But real means the ugly parts too. And I’ve learned not to drag people into the ugly parts.”
“So you just decided I couldn’t handle it? Without even giving me a chance?”
She takes a sip of wine, and I can see her hand shaking slightly. “I’ve given people chances before.”
“I’m not your ex-husband. I’m not whoever else hurt you. I’m me.”
“And you’re here now because Elliot invited you to dinner. Not because I called you when I was scared.”
The accusation stings because there’s truth in it, even though it’s unfair. “How could I be there for something I didn’t know was happening?”
“You should have known.”
“How? How should I have known?”
“You just should have!” The words explode out of her, and I can see she knows how unreasonable she sounds. “You should have asked how things were going, or checked in, or?—”
“I saw you three days ago. You seemed fine. How was I supposed to know Evan was planning something?”
“You weren’t,” she admits quietly. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I went through one of the scariest days of my life alone.”
“Because you chose to go through it alone!”
“Because it’s safer that way!”
The words hang between us, raw and honest. Around us, I’m vaguely aware that Brody has quietly moved the kids out of the kitchen.
“Safer?” I ask.
She looks down at her wine glass. “If I don’t expect you to be there, I can’t be disappointed when you’re not.”
“But I want to be there.”
“Do you? Or do you want to be there for the good parts and hope someone else handles the bad parts?”
