Page 68 of Until You

Mother. Fucker.

My mouth goes dry as I fumble for a reasonable explanation, all the while freaking out over what the hell they might have seen this morning on their phone when she left.

Our kiss? Tenny disheveled and laughing as she walked down the driveway?

“Really?” I ask. “She wasn’t there long. Maybe the app needs to be updated. Let me see your phones for a sec.”

My palms grow clammy as both girls hand over their phones. With them staring at me, I stealthily go into the app on each phone and delete the motion alert this morning which, plain as day, shows Tenny walking down the driveway toward her house.

Evidence erased; I hand them back. “There. I updated them for you. They should be good to go now.”

Note to self: pause the cameras next time Tenny comes over so you don’t get caught.

Because there will be a next time.

“Speaking of Tenny,” I say. “I wanted to run something by you.”

“Like what?”

“I’ve offered for her to come and stay in one of the spare bedrooms for a few days. The repairs on the cottage might take a bit of time and she—”

“Did she say yes?” Addy asks, eyes wide, excitement evident.

“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her today.” Another lie. I’m definitely going to hell. “I put the offer out there to her. We’ll see if she takes me up on it.”

“Please make her take it,” Addy says.

“We might get some decent cooking then.”

I throw my balled-up napkin at Paige. “Hey.”

“I know, I know. You do your best.” Paige rolls her eyes. “But I mean . . .”

“I never claimed to be a chef. Not by any means. Your mom . . .” I clear my throat to cover for my stall. “Your mom was the culinary wizard. Not me.”

Silence falls over the table, and I wonder if I’m doing them a disservice by not talking about their mom more. It just seems like every time I do, they grow sullen and it takes more than a while to snap them out of it.

The department therapist tells me this is normal. But am I doing enough for them? Am I doing it all wrong? Am I fucking them up more than their mom’s desertion did?

That’s the shitty thing about parenting. You only know if you did it right about twenty years too late.

Both of their heads are angled down, looking at their plates of food.

Fuck.

“So uh, girls. Look at me, please.” Both reluctantly lift their eyes to me. “I know I’ve said this before, but it’s okay to talk about your mom. It’s okay to be happy over memories we had. It’s normal to want it to be like it used to be. And it’s perfectly normal to be angry and pissed at the both of us too—”

“Why would we be mad at you?” Paige asks. I know they act old, but right now, in this moment, it hits me how young they are, and the upheaval—the trauma—they’ve experienced in such a short amount of time.

It takes me a second to find the words. To swallow the acrid bitterness toward a woman I once loved and now despise for doing this to our family. To be mature and honest even when it pains me to a fault. “It takes two people to make a marriage work, and it takes two people to make one not work. We’re both at fault, so it’s okay to be mad at me too.”

Damn you, Brittney. Damn you for making me have the hard discussions with them and explain why they didn’t mean enough for you to stay.

They both nod quietly.

“I also don’t want you to think that if you want to see her, it’s going to hurt my feelings. Okay?”

“Okay,” they say in unison.