Chapter 7: The Boys
I told the boys that evening.
Not everything.
Not the parts they didn't need yet.
But enough.
They were at the kitchen table — Noah, nine, picking at the label on his water bottle; Eli, seven, with his chin in his hand; and Theo, four, already half-asleep against the back of his chair.
I sat down with them and I said: "Your dad and I need to tell you something.
There's a baby at the hospital.
A little girl.
Her mom passed away, and she doesn't have anyone to take care of her right now."
Noah looked up.
"Is she going to live with us?"
"We don't know yet."
"Is she Dad's?"
I looked at him.
Nine years old and already too perceptive for his own good.
"Yes," I said.
He nodded slowly, the way he does when he's filing something away to think about later.
Eli said, "Is she our sister?"
"She's your half-sister.
Same dad."
"That still counts," Eli said, with complete certainty, as though this were obvious.
Theo opened one eye.
"Does she cry a lot?"
"Probably," I said.
"She's a newborn."
He closed his eye again.
"Okay."
James was standing in the doorway.
I hadn't asked him to be there, but I hadn't told him to leave either.
He had his hands in his pockets and he was watching the boys with an expression I recognized — the one that means he is trying very hard not to show how much something is costing him.
"Are you and Dad getting divorced?" Noah asked.
"We haven't decided anything yet," I said.
"Right now we're just trying to figure out what's right for the baby."
"If she doesn't have anyone," Eli said, "she should come here."
"It's not that simple, bud."
"Why not?"
I looked at him.
Seven years old.
Completely serious.
"Because grown-up situations are complicated," I said.
"But she's a baby," he said.
"She doesn't know it's complicated.
She just needs somewhere to go."
James made a sound in the doorway.
Not quite a laugh.
Not quite a sob.
Something in between that he covered quickly with his hand.
I got the boys to bed.
Theo went immediately.
Eli asked three more questions and then went.
Noah lay in his bed with the light off and said, without looking at me, "Mom.
Are you okay?"
"I'm working on it," I said.
"That's not the same as yes."
"No," I said.
"It's not."
He was quiet for a moment.
"I think Eli's right.
About the baby."
"I know you do."
"But I also think you get to be angry.
You're allowed."
I sat on the edge of his bed.
"When did you get so old?"
"I've always been old," he said.
"You just don't notice because Eli's loud."
I kissed his forehead.
He let me, which he doesn't always.
Downstairs, James was washing the dinner dishes.
I stood in the kitchen doorway and watched him for a moment — his back to me, the water running, doing the ordinary thing because there was nothing else to do.
"Eli thinks she should come here," I said.
He turned off the water.
Turned around.
"I heard."
"He's seven."
"I know."
"He doesn't understand what he's asking."
"No," James said.
"But he's not wrong either."
I leaned against the doorframe.
"I called a lawyer today.
Just to understand what our options are.
What Karen's rights are.
What yours are."
"What did they say?"
"That Karen almost certainly has priority as next of kin.
That you could contest it, but it would be a long process and there's no guarantee." I paused.
"And that if Karen and you both agreed to a co-parenting arrangement, the court would likely support it."
James was very still.
"Co-parenting," he said.
"It would mean she grows up knowing both families.
Karen's and ours."
"And us?
You and me?"
"That's a separate question."
He nodded.
He didn't push it.
"I haven't decided anything," I said.
"I want you to know that.
About any of it.
The marriage, the baby, any of it.
I'm not there yet."
"I know."
"But I also haven't left," I said.
"And I think that means something.
I'm not sure what yet.
But something."
He looked at me across the kitchen.
The dish towel was still in his hands.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"I know that's not enough."
"It's not," I said.
"But say it anyway."
"I'm sorry.
For the affair.
For calling my mother before I called you.
For telling Diane things I never told you.
For all of it."
I stood there and let the words land.
"Go to bed," I said finally.
"I'll be up."
He went.
I stood in the kitchen alone for a while.
Then I picked up my phone and sent a text to Karen.
*I'd like to meet again.
Just the two of us.
No lawyers, no Patricia.
Just coffee.*
She replied in under a minute.
*Tomorrow.
9am.
You name the place.*
I set the phone down.
Outside, it had started to rain.
The boys' bikes were still on their sides in the grass.
I made a note to bring them in tomorrow.
Then I went upstairs.
James was already in bed, on his side, the lamp on his nightstand still on.
He didn't say anything when I came in.
I got into bed on my side and reached over and turned off his lamp.
We lay in the dark, not touching, not talking.
After a while he said, very quietly, "Thank you for not leaving tonight."
May you like
"Don't thank me yet," I said.
But I didn't move to the other side of the bed either.
