At Mom’s, Luke fell asleep against her chest while Miles kicked beside me on the couch.
My phone rang.
“Bring them home,” Derek said.
“No.”
“I’m their father.”
“Then start acting like one.”
“Bring them home.”
He went silent.
Then his voice sharpened.
“Do you know what this makes me look like?”
There it was.
Not “Are you okay?”
Not “Is your arm worse?”
“Do you know what this makes me look like?”
It was about what it looked like.
“Tell people the truth,” I said.
“NO! How dare you make me look like some deadbeat?”
“I didn’t make you look like anything, Derek.”
“What am I supposed to tell my mother?”
“Tell people the truth.”
“The truth.”
“And what’s that?”
“Tell her I broke my arm. Tell her I asked you to help me. Tell her you said moms don’t get sick days.”
Silence.
Then Derek said, “You’re humiliating me.”
That was when I understood.
“You’re humiliating me.”
“You weren’t embarrassed when you said it.”
“What?”
“You weren’t embarrassed when I was begging you.”
“Hope.”
“You’re embarrassed someone might find out.”
My hand shook when I ended the call.
“You weren’t embarrassed when you said it.”
Mom noticed.
She just reached for Miles.
“Give him here.”
“I can hold him.”
“I know.”
That was different from “You can’t.”
So I let her.
“Give him here.”
***
