Bad Cruz

I wish.

Later that evening, Bear and I were flung on the couch in front of a reality TV show where celebrities were stuck on an island, eating worms and uncooked rice, drinking raindrops to survive, while fighting one another about existential threats like hair extensions or who really had butt implants.

“What do you think about giving your dad a chance to explain himself?” I asked casually, passing Bear a bowl of freshly made popcorn.

Bear buried his hand in the bowl and tossed a handful of it into his mouth.

“I think it’s never going to happen.”

“Never is a strong word.”

“It’s an accurate one, too.”

I thought about it for a moment.

My feelings were torn.

A part of me wanted to protect Bear at all costs, to make sure he wasn’t going to be disappointed if Rob decided to up and leave in the next few months, or even years from now. After all, the man hadn’t shown a terrific track record with his life choices.

On the other hand, I couldn’t bear the idea of preventing my son from having a male figure in his life—his own father, no less. I didn’t want to deprive him of anything. He deserved to have two loving parents, and Rob claimed he was a changed man.

“You know,” I said, crushing a piece of popcorn in the bowl between my fingers. “When your father and I first met, everyone thought he was going to become a professional football player. He was a rabid Panthers fan. He had a football with all of the players’ signatures. All of them. And he kept it in a cold, dry place in his garage so the signatures wouldn’t fade. He once told me he wanted to give the football to his son. I’d thought it was such a sweet thing to say.”

Bear looked at me like I’d peed in his popcorn bowl, before rolling his eyes.

“I don’t even like football.” I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could, he stood up and shook his head. “And I don’t like jerks, either. So this doesn’t bode well for him. If you let people walk all over you, you’re giving them the power to hurt you. Good news is, Dr. Costello is off the hook even though they’re friends, but only because I want to play Assassin’s Creed real bad. Good night, Mom.”Tennessee

The next day, I’d texted Rob during my morning shift at Jerry & Sons and told him that Bear had asked for more time.

Rob: Thanks for the update. Will you keep me posted?

Me: Yes.

Rob: I ran into your dad downtown yesterday. He had a flat tire. Helped him fix it.

Me: Surprised he didn’t murder you.

Rob: He wanted to. It helped that we had an audience.

Me: Shame.

Rob: What would you say if I asked you to have dinner with me?

Me: I would say you are completely delusional and should probably lay off the drugs.

Rob: Gotcha. Will try again next week.

Cruz, however, was another story.

I had no responsibility toward him, and there were no loose ends for us to tie. He tried calling me in the morning, but I sent him straight to voicemail and sincerely hoped he wasn’t going to drop in at the diner.

We’d agreed to put our little affair behind us after the cruise, and now that we were back in town, there was no point in prolonging the inevitable.

Three days later, after a long shift full of patronizing customers and snafus, a local woman who accused me of trying to write down her credit card details when she paid (I didn’t) and Coulter, who had decided he was going to stop making food with onion since it made him cry, I rushed to the bridal salon where Trinity had a fitting.

I burst in midway through the event to find my mother sitting on a crème upholstered couch at the back of the bridal shop, bawling her eyes out, and Gabriella sipping from a flute of champagne with a sour face and a bright pink gown.

Trinity stood on the bridal viewing riser in her wedding gown, a flawless lace corset with a chapel train and an embroidered diamond belt.